Amelia sighs. “When are y’all coming back across the pond? I want to see you with my eyes and not a picture.”
“We’re thinking of flying over one last time when I’m thirty-two weeks.”
“So—in two weeks?”
I grin. “Yep.”
“You better send a new bump picture!”
“If you send me more storyboard for the movie, it’s a deal.”
“Deal,” Amelia says.
I push the table beside my rocking chair in front of me, and put my feet up, looking out at the lake where Liam’s kayaking. I’d been going with him every day until this week. I’m just so tired—and huge.
“So how are things?” Amelia asks.
“Still really good. Which you would know if you ever emerged from that studio of yours at a time we’re both awake.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m just kidding.”
“Not entirely.”
“That’s true,” I admit. “I do miss you.”
Three weeks after news about the Sheep Island shooting got out—it broke Twitter and set off a worldwide obsession with Liam and me—Liam and I said a temporary “goodbye” and he moved into the largest tree house on Pirate Island. He brought a small staff with him—rehab nurses, a therapist, and a mindfulness guru—and he stayed there with them for three weeks while I visited my family in Concord and appeared as a guest on The Rhodes of Concord, spilling all the beans I could, from Bryce to baby Clary to my new romance with Liam.
My family’s press advisers correctly theorized that the more the public knew in the wake of Sheep Island, the less they’d want to know. They’d feel in the loop. Thank God for Liam and me, they turned out to be right.
I was able to say just a little about Bryce because it turns out Bryce himself made our NDA null and void; he released the pictures of me. A friendly reporter at TMZ—okay, maybe more greedy than friendly, given what Liam paid the guy—squealed the email address the images were sent from.
It wasn’t hard for my lawyers’ private eye to trace it back to Bryce. Apparently, he thought I “didn’t look that bad” in the images, and was betting that if people saw me looking roughed up, they’d assume we’d had a fight—a fight in which I’d struck him, too.
And this is why Bryce has been in a psychiatric facility the last few months.
After Liam’s at-home rehab, he and I stuck to Gael until about mid-pregnancy, welcoming my parents over to Haugr Castle, then Frank and Frieda from the ranch in Estes, followed by Amelia, and then Mags and Charley. Then we spent a few weeks back in Georgia.
During all this time, the parliament in Gael was organizing royal reform—and coming to grips with Liam’s company. After what happened, Liam had lots of processing to do, and one thing his new therapist advised was being as honest as was logical and possible about his life and wants.
Needless to say, since the day Liam publically claimed his company, the apps have been selling like crazy. Just last week, they released a new one that utilizes satellite signal to track cell phones, even after they’ve been broken or submerged in water.
It’s a simple spin on the type of technology Heath used to track Liam’s phone to Sheep Island after he got the sketchy text. Apparently something about the punctuation threw him off and made him think the text was sent by hand, and not the voice-to-text Liam uses. The masked man Ronald and Drucilla Gibson hired to jump Liam in the beachside parking lot ignored directions they had also given him to use the voice-to-text feature. And thank God he did.
Turns out, Ronald Gibson was a bastard son of King Gregory’s father, the first Gregory. He’d been harboring his royal ambitions since childhood. The saddest thing? King Gregory knew all about the lunatic, but he and Liam are so not close, Liam himself was left wide open for the blackmail setup. He didn’t feel like he could approach his father and ask about his birth.
Even now, after several months of therapy, their relationship is strained. But Liam is working on it. Working on his end of things if nothing else. After Liam’s mom’s death and before King Gregory married his new wife, he had an alcohol problem. And then a drug problem. And apparently, he’s had issues with both during his entire royal tenure. They’ve been hidden by the press, but yeah…
That he treated little Liam the way he did is not surprising, objectively at least. But it still makes me really, really sad.
I give Am the Liam update without spilling too many private details. It’s true he’s doing really well, just like it’s also true he has his moments where he’s really sad—or angry—about his early years.
“Mostly, he’s just moving on, you know?”
“That’s good. That’s really good.”
I think it’s easier with Oliver and me. “Also, living on Pirate Island for a little while. I think it keeps both of us focused on the basics.”
“Do you think you guys will stay there after Ollie comes?” she asks.
“No. I still think we’ll move into Haugr Castle. Maybe hit this place up on weekends.”
“But no America?” Amelia asks me in a woeful tone.
“Not until the parliament decides for sure when Gregory’s term will end and Liam’s will start. But when they do, we’ve talked about coming over to the States for half a year or so. So everyone can bond with Ollie.”
“Good. That makes me happy.”
I watch Liam get out of his bright green canoe and pull his shirt over his head. Damn, and now I’m happy too.
“Are you listening, girlie?”
“No,” I admit.
“You’re distracted.”
“Yes.”
Liam is walking up the path from the lake water to our cabin. Swathed in fog and dripping sweat, he looks delicious enough to lick.
“Is he finished with canoeing?” Amelia asks me.
“Kayaking. And…maybe. I think he is.”
“What a hussy.”
“Catch you later?”
Am sighs. “Sure. Enjoy yourself. And call me soon.”
“Always.”
Liam is wearing black basketball shorts and Keen kayaking shoes. His hair, still short, is sticking up a little in the front, damp from where he probably pushed it off his forehead. His lips curve as his hazel eyes meet mine. When he smiles fully for me, his bearded cheeks round out.
I smile back, as much at the face I’ve come to love as at his amazing chest and shoulders.
For a prince, he looks an awful lot like a woodsman.
When he reaches the porch, he gives me a cocky smile and leans down, kissing my hair. I want a kiss on the lips, so I grab the back of his neck. Liam knows what I want and crouches down in front of me.
“I’m sweaty,” he warns, leaning in. His lips brush the corner of my mouth.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Mr. Clary…”
“Shouldn’t that be prince?” he teases. His scruff tickles my cheek, making my body tingle.
“Prince Liam.” I press my lips gently to his, and Liam pulls me out of my chair, so I’m standing in front of him. He’s crouched and holding both my hands.
“You’ve got a prince down on his knees, Lucille…”
“Right where I want him.” As his mouth covers me through the fabric of my skirt, I grip his short hair, grab his shoulder.