Alec’s voice was soft. “It’s all right. I miss her, every day, but she suffered pretty terribly in the end. Looking back, as much as I loved her and needed her, I wouldn’t have wanted her suffering to go on any longer.”
I changed the topic.
“Who was king before your father?”
“My uncle,” Alec answered. “He wasn’t married and didn’t have any children. But don’t worry your pretty head about it, you and I will have a life outside all that. We’ll have appearances to make, of course, but the real governing will eventually be left to Marcus.”
“Hey,” I said, turning back to face him and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Are you proposing?”
His teeth flashed, lighting up the dark room, as he smiled. “That would have to be the world’s most underwhelming proposal.”
“You’re right,” I said, and then a yawn overtook me. “When we get to that point, you can do it in real style.”
Alec left our bed early the next morning, the sun just beginning to peek around the edges of the curtains. After sharing a couple affectionate kisses, he closed the door quietly behind him as he left the room. I quickly fell back to sleep, slumbering so deeply it was almost like a second night’s sleep for me.
When I finally wake up, it takes me a couple minutes to gather my bearings. Stretching out across the bed, I wonder lazily what time it is. My heart pounds a little as memories from last night flood my mind. Alec knows exactly how to push my boundaries and quash any inhibitions I may have while he drives me toward the most incredible orgasms…
I can’t think about that now, otherwise I’ll spend the rest of the morning—afternoon?—fantasizing in bed.
In the shower, I replay our last conversation. Proposing. God! Why would I bring that up now? Still, he didn’t shy away from it, which tells me the idea has crossed his mind, too.
I feel so calm and relaxed as I get dressed. Alec is talking to his father today so he can figure out the next steps we have to take. Today will just be a waiting game for me, and by the time Alec returns tonight, we’ll know what the future holds for us.
The clock on my phone screen indicates it’s just after ten in the morning, so at least I haven’t slept away the afternoon. It’s a little odd that Claire hasn’t arrived yet, though. She normally appears promptly at my door every morning at 9:30. Maybe she had to do other errands today.
I pull aside the curtains adorning the window next to my bed. The weather looks so lovely out that I decide to head into the village for breakfast instead of ordering from room service. Claire gave me a stack of Saintlandian money for incidentals, so I grab my purse, first checking to make sure my wallet is inside, and head downstairs. On our shopping expeditions, we’ve passed by a quaint-looking little café several times at the end of the block.
The sun is warm on my shoulders as I make the short walk to the café. The gentle heat of the sun’s rays reminds me of Alec’s hands caressing my skin, which reminds me of…other things that send a little shiver of pleasure down my spine. I can’t help grinning, even if there’s nobody around to see it. Coming to Saintland was the right choice, I tell myself.
Within minutes, I arrive at the little restaurant. I push open the door to the café, and consumed by my thoughts, it takes me a few moments to realize that most of the tables are full, somewhat unusual for this time on a weekday morning.
The café is strangely quiet. No one is engaged in conversation.
That’s…odd.
Patrons are staring down at their phones and tablets, noticeably preoccupied. Something is clearly going on. As I approach the serving counter, a woman sitting at one of the small tables bursts into tears. The man who had been sitting with her wraps his arms around her shoulders as he ushers her out the front door. The woman is now shaking as her sobs rise in volume.
Even the barista standing behind the counter appears solemn.
“Hello,” I say, my soft voice seeming to echo loudly in the eerie stillness of the café. I pull myself up onto the only remaining open stool next to the counter. “Could I have a bagel, toasted with butter, and a chai tea latte, please?”
He gives me a long hard look, then nods, not saying anything.
The sound of the bagel popping up in the café’s toaster seems uncharacteristically loud. I’m not often embarrassed in public situations—living in New York City makes one immune to that early on—but as the screech of the milk steamer fills the shop, heat rises to flush my cheeks.
This whole thing is just too damn weird.
The barista hands me my cup and a small paper bag containing the bagel, but when I fumble to open my wallet, he holds up his hands.
“No need,” he says, his voice choked. “No need.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice almost a whisper, my eyes full of confusion. “Thank you.”
I return my wallet to my purse, and then pick up my cup and bag and head toward the door.
Back out in the sunshine, I’m filled with a sense of dread. What the hell was all that?