Page 65 of Fallen Crown

“Tell me about your divorce,” she says as an opening.

“My husband, Enzo, moved to Boston months ago while I was still recovering from the accident I had on the Chilean racecourse. We’ve been separated for a while. This just makes it official.” According to Bellerive’s laws, Caitlin’s separation filing will backdate to the day Enzo left the island. He hasn’t returned since, so she said that date was as good as any, and if the press got hold of the documents somehow, the length of time makes me look sympathetic.

I can’t believe I even have to consider how my separation will look to the public in Bellerive and beyond, but I’m aware of who I’m on this race with. People will care. By the time the race is done, people might care a lot. His brand of charm is hard to resist, and I imagine it’ll translate just as well to the small screen.

Brice has his arms crossed and his head is lowered while I talk. Having him so close while I discuss this, given we haven’t had a chance to talk in private, is uncomfortable. I feel like a failure.

On the one hand, divorce was a necessary step after I kissed Brice, but on the other, I didn’t go into my marriage thinking this outcome was an option or even a likelihood. Certainly not when we’ve only been married a few years.

“Do you still love him? Is there any hope for the marriage?” Iris asks.

With Brice standing so close, I want to say no to both, but the reality is a lot more complicated. If Enzo were willing to try, really try, I would find it difficult to abandon my marriage, one I once wanted so much. Given the right memory, it’s easy to remember why I fell in love with Enzo, the qualities I still find attractive. It’s just that those memories and feelings have faded over the last year. Faded doesn’t mean gone.

“I’d rather not answer that question,” I say.

Brice drops his crossed arms, and he runs his hands through his hair in a gesture that looks a lot like frustration. He turns away from me and heads back to Wren and Riker where he slings his pack back over his shoulders.

“Winning is important to you?” Iris asks.

“Always. There’s still time to make up our team’s mistake, but we’ll have to sacrifice sleep.”

“You don’t think that might put some of your teammates in danger? Wasn’t your accident in Chile partially attributed to exhaustion?”

Her question is meant to raise my hackles and get a sharp response from me, I’m sure. I’ve already proven myself to be competitive and a tad bitchy. She can’t have this one, though. “Exhaustion? On a challenge racecourse? Can you imagine?” I laugh. “You’ll see, Iris. It’s impossible to make it out of this race without being exhausted. My accident was overconfidence.”

“Any regrets?”

“I don’t have regrets. I learn, and I move on.”

“What have you learned from your failed marriage?”

I’ve walked into this narrative with my eyes wide open, but I still hate it. If she keeps circling back to Enzo for the next ten days, I’ll be miserable. My arc on the show should be about overcoming tragedy to race again, but none of them truly know what I’m overcoming. Instead, my narrative is about a broken marriage.

“To be more discerning about my life partners.” I check my watch. “We really do need to get moving again.”

Iris lowers her camera and follows me back to the group. When I glance at Brice, his gaze is averted, and I can’t help feeling I’ve disappointed him.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Brice

There are checkpoints roughly every twenty-two kilometers. We make checkpoint one in twentieth place, and we make small gains at the second one on the first day. Tucker, not Riker, sets a punishing pace on the second day, and we hit tenth. With Maren coleading, I think we likely have a shot at being one of the top finishers, but Riker clearly isn’t pleased with her attitude. Wren seems resigned to the unspoken conflict, and maybe this happens often on the course or between the two of them during a race. I haven’t asked. No point in stirring the pot.

Despite the huge number of kilometers we’re accumulating, and the faster than comfortable pace, I’ve got too much time to think.

When Tucker said she was getting a divorce from Enzo, I was euphoric, and I’m positive I didn’t hide it very well. My expression, if captured on camera, will likely become a gif for the ages. I will become the international symbol for shocked and impressed. Chris Pratt in his Parks and Recreation role will have nothing on me. If I was the type to care about winning the lottery, I’m sure hearing she was getting a divorce was better than that.

Then I listened in on her interview with Iris—which I shouldn’t have done—and her answer made me feel like shit. As though maybe she’s filed for divorce because we kissed last week and not because her husband is a waste of space or because she’s developed real feelings for me. Of the three reasons, I’m good with two and three, but I’m royally pissed if it’s number one.

We haven’t had a single second alone, and I’m contemplating a bold move to resolve the underlying uneasiness between us. Patience isn’t my thing, and if Iris is going to shove that camera in my face every chance she gets, she’s about to get an earful.

We’ve stopped for lunch, and I gesture for Tucker to follow me. Iris clambers to her feet and shadows us with the camera, which is what I expected. My goal is to make this conversation hard to edit smoothly.

Once we’re far enough away from Wren and Riker, I turn on Tucker, who has a concerned frown on her face.

“Are you okay?” Tucker asks. “Did you forget to pack something? Do you need more water or food?”

“InterFlix is looking to build a narrative,” I say. “Their goal is to get viewers and to lure people in to watch the show.”