Nick came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and went directly into the bedroom to get dressed. I heard the bedroom door close and lock. A few minutes later he came out of the bedroom wearing the sweats and T-shirt from the night before and a pair of running shoes.
He had his leather jacket over his arm and his suitcase in his hand. I assumed his expensive suit was stuffed in the suitcase. I was sure a prince would have a backup Armani or two in the car.
Wow, that was nasty.
You have no right to be nasty, Rebecca.
Stop it.
“Do you think the roads are cleared yet?” he asked as he put on the leather jacket and zipped it up. I could tell that he was forcing himself to be polite. He didn’t look at me as he spoke. He busied himself with putting on his gloves.
“I think so,” I said, offering a smile he didn’t see. “I heard Carl’s snow plow go by a few minutes ago, so the road to the Overlook should be clear.”
“Fine. Then I’d better go.” He picked up the suitcase and moved to the door leading to the stairwell that went to the kitchen below.
“Yes, I guess you’d better.”
He opened the door and stared down the darkened stairwell for a moment, as if he were staring into an abyss he was being forced to go down into. He spoke again without looking at me.
“I’m not the man you left with before, Rebecca,” he said solemnly. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“I know that.” I took a deep breath and released it slowly as tears filled my eyes. “It’s just that, well, I can’t just leave this place…”
“I understand,” he said quietly. He turned his head to look at me and our eyes finally met. The machismo and bravado had left him for the moment. There was a great sadness in his eyes that I knew I had caused. It made me feel like shit. A single tear ran down my cheek.
He said, “You can’t live your entire life barricaded in this bar like it’s some high castle because you were hurt once before. The world is passing you by, Rebecca. You just have to give it a chance.”
Before I could say anything, he went down the stairs and got into his car.
I went to the window and watched him drive away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Rebecca
The moment Nick left, my old life came roaring back and I fell into my routine. I cleaned the kitchen, took a long hot shower, got dressed, and opened the bar in time for the lunch crowd to straggle in.
When I said lunch crowd, I meant the five or six regulars who came in for their recommended daily allowance of grease, hops, and barley. The same five or six would be back for dinner and, if the weather permitted, drink until it was time to close.
As I served the lunch crowd their usual beer and burgers, I caught myself glancing out the window. I knew Nick was a proud man. He was a freakin’ prince, for Pete’s sake! He wasn’t going to come crawling back to try to convince me to leave with him. I’d had my shot. I’d fucked it up. As usual.
Besides, why would he want some barmaid from Snowcap, New York, when he could have a real princess or, at the very least, a Hollywood actress or a Victoria’s Secret model!
I wasn’t ugly, but I was no Grace Kelly. And I sure wasn’t the kind of woman Nick Rostov was used to having by his side or in his bed.
After the lunch rush (rush, who was I kidding?) I checked the satellite receiver and was relieved to find that my phone, TV, and internet were working again.
There was no phone, cable, or cell service this far up in the mountains, so I’d been happy as a pig in mud when I’d found out I could get it all via satellite—at least when the weather was clear.
I fired up my laptop and Googled the name Nick Rostov.
“Son of a bitch.” I sighed as the search returned over a hundred thousand results. Nick’s gorgeous face popped onto the screen in a dozen photos. In the largest photo he was wearing an expensive suit, his hair was perfect, and his smile would have put George Clooney’s to shame. He was standing on a red carpet next to Jennifer Lawrence. Seriously? Jennifer Lawrence????
The brief description next to his photo said: Nikolay II, prince of Kosnovia. Nikolay II is the reigning monarch of the principality of Kosnovia and head of the Princely House of Rostov. Prince Nikolay is the son of Anatoly II, king of Rostov, and the former Katarina Andropov of Ukraine.
“Wow…” I said with a sigh. “He really is a prince.”
My eyes scanned the page of headlines that had Nick’s name prominently featured. Some of them were gossip reports linking him to a bunch of different starlets and models. A few were press reports from various events he’d attended around the world.