Page 49 of Heavy Crown

“Brice,” Posey says with a hint of warning.

He chuckles and splays out his hands. “Brent says he likes you best when you’re drunk. Who am I to deny him?”

When I take my seat in the armchair beside him, Brice grins.

“Alex returns tomorrow,” Posey reminds him, and my heart kicks. “You’re going to greet him with a hangover?”

“I am,” Brice says. “He’d expect nothing less from me.” He turns to me. “If you get cleared from your concussion tomorrow, when do you start in the kitchen? Desmond has been raving about your pound-packing concoctions.”

That makes me smile. Desmond has dropped by to see me a few times this week without a noticeable agenda from Alex.

“Monday,” I say. “I can’t wait to start.” Getting off the royal charity train I’ve been riding will be a relief.

He pours all of us a shot. “A toast.” He raises his glass, and we follow. “To getting fat.”

“No, no, no,” Posey says, and she waves her hand to stop us. “We need to toast Rory’s second year on the island.” She raises her glass again. “To new beginnings. May your second year be impossible to forget for all the right reasons.”

“Hear, hear,” Brent says.

I stare at my shot for a beat before tipping it back. Her toast is already coming true. After almost dying, I predict this will be my happiest year yet.

nineteen

Alex

Denmark is a beautiful country, and Princess Simone is a beautiful woman. The soft lighting above us glints off her dark hair as she laughs at something her sister said. As with all the other “dates” I’ve been on in the seven European countries I’ve visited, we’re surrounded by other people. Since I won’t have the luxury of seeing any of these women multiple times before Nick and Julia’s wedding, I’ve had to ensure our interactions are authentic. First we meet alone for drinks or a meal, and then I attend something informal at the palace. The two things that felt important to me were how we gelled in a one-to-one situation and her relationship with her family. Any open tension or hostility was an automatic no. My family doesn’t need to inherit the drama. There’s no way to know if she’s the cause or a victim in such a short span of time.

The women were told I was hoping to make a match before the coronation but not that I needed to. No one likes the stench of desperation linked to marital bliss.

While royals are often raised similarly—country over personal wishes—I’ve been surprised at the warmth that’s greeted me. The family dynamics have varied greatly, and some of the women I’ve had more in common with than others, but it hasn’t been the painful experience I expected. Most of my interactions have been pleasant, if businesslike.

Despite the ease with which I’ve shifted in and out of countries and families, a portion of my attention has been eaten up with thoughts of Rory. Our first meeting has spoiled me for anyone else. I expected the same spark, a similar inherent protectiveness, to settle deep within me at the sight of one of these women. After all, if I’m going to marry one of them, they should at least match my immediate connection with Rory, shouldn’t they? I’ve felt nothing of the sort. A touch of humor or a vague interest, but none of them have lodged themselves into my gut like Rory did the night I saw her through the car window.

Over the last week, I’ve hovered over my phone’s keyboard more times than I can count, desperate to reach out to her and understanding I shouldn’t. Will friendship be enough? The question has plagued me.

Marco, my personal assistant for the trip, comes over and whispers in my ear that it’s time to take my leave. Before going to the airport to return to Bellerive, I asked to visit a jewelry shop my mother mentioned as a favorite. A gift for my mother—an apology of sorts for my erratic behavior. She and my father have been a team since they were teenagers, and his diagnosis has hit her hard. My recent behavior has added to her load, but I can’t let Rory go. I won’t. Not yet, anyway. When I have to, I will, but for now, I’m clinging onto her friendship, a lifeline in the roaring current of what I cannot change.

“Excuse me,” I say to Simone’s family. “I must get going or I’ll miss my flight. Thank you so much for your hospitality and your openness in meeting with me.”

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Simone says. She comes to my side, a tall, lithe figure. I imagine we must look good together—dark hair, dark eyes, trim figures—but when I gaze at Simone, I long for blond hair, jade-green eyes, and an open expression I can read like my favorite book.

At the door, she embraces me, and she gives me a kiss on both my cheeks. My heart doesn’t skip, and my dick doesn’t twitch at the contact.

Tolerable to me and good for the country. I can’t afford to set a higher bar. Letting myself believe anything else is possible is foolish.

“It’s been wonderful seeing you again,” Simone says. “We were just kids last time.”

Teenagers. I was nineteen, and she was only fourteen. I barely remember meeting her, but she assures me I left an impression on her. The five years is nothing now. Hell, I’ve been contemplating a ten-year age gap, something I never thought I’d do, for almost two weeks.

“I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.” Not an untrue statement. “I’ll be in touch.”

Before she can say anything more, I let Marco and my guards lead me to the waiting vehicle. We zip along the streets of Copenhagen. Before long, we pull up to a concrete-and-glass store on a side street of the downtown core. My security sweeps the location while I wait in the car.

Since we called ahead, their staff have a back corner of the store ready for me to make my selection. Based on the criteria I gave them, they’ve pulled appropriate necklaces for my mother, and they’re laid out on the glass case. As I peruse the options, I catch a glimpse of green through the glass. Jade.

With a frown, I shift the box in front of me aside, and underneath is an entire case of jewelry made with the precious gemstone. The shade reminds me of the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Rory.