What the fuck am I thinking?
She’s the only woman to ever inspire this kind of connection in me, to ever make my time with another human being so electric and almost unbearably perfect.
How can I possibly reduce her to a political asset?
How can I possibly replace her for that reason?
“Because this is your life now,” the voice in my head rationalizes.
I can’t stop the thoughts, can’t undo it.
This is my life now.
This is what my life is going to be like until I die. I have to put my kingdom first. I have to consider what would be best for Saintland before I consider my own happiness.
Just like Marcus did.
The realities are closing in on me. There is little if any room to improvise, to push back against the status quo, especially if Saintland is going to survive another century.
I shake my head violently, trying to deflect the thoughts racing through my head, but everything I’ve been thinking is true.
How am I going to reconcile my love for Jessica with my duty to Saintland? Ten days ago, it would have been an easy choice, but since my brother died and I’m destined to fill his shoes, it seems infinitely more complicated.
In the meantime, I tell myself, there’s no need to make a scene.
I cross the room, introduce myself to the German ambassador, and put my arm around Jessica’s waist.
“You look wonderful,” I whisper into her ear. She leans into me slightly, just enough for it to serve as a wordless answer without being inappropriate.
But before she does, I feel her body tense. I sense her withdrawing, as if she heard my unspoken doubts.
Chapter 33
Jessica
Something has changed between Alec and I, and I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is.
He still rushes from his morning meetings to eat lunch with me, still kisses me deeply and passionately before he leaves for his afternoon obligations, and still promises every time I see him that he will be less busy soon and can spend more time with me.
It’s like he could hear me doubting him the other night.
What was I thinking, anyway? That I would be happier with a man who had no future, no ambition? Sure, it would be nice to be with someone who could be spontaneous, able to take off on a last-minute vacation without having to coordinate his plans with the entire State Department, but then that someone wouldn’t be Alec.
I don’t want to give him up.
I’m not willing to give him up.
I’m not going to give him up.
That’s what I keep telling myself. Apprehension curdles in my stomach as I spend hour after hour attending briefings and etiquette classes and outings with Claire.
Not once have I accompanied Alec at an appearance.
But Claire carts me all over the tiny country of Saintland, and I take in historical sights, local eateries, and monuments while the staff photographer from Sainthall Palace and other members of the media snap hundreds of pictures and call out questions to me.
I’m Saintland’s Sweetheart. I only wish I was Alec’s sweetheart and not just flaunted as the country’s sweetheart on the cover of the daily newspaper.
Now that my name has been released to the public, they can’t seem to get enough of me. The tabloids are stuffed with stories about Alec and me falling in love, but none of them are true. I laugh with Claire when she reads the most humorous tidbits to me, but with every moment that passes, I feel more disconnected from Alec. I question whether coming to Saintland to be with him was the right choice, and I’m desperate to have freedom and privacy to do what I want, even to wander around Sainthall without being followed by photographers. Even to uproot everything again and start over somewhere new. Yet it’s becoming clear to me now that each time I’ve picked up and moved on, I’ve been running from something—Michael, boredom, something—and not toward something else. I think I’m reaching the point in my life when I want to take a stand.
Is now the right time to do that?
I want to talk about it with Alec. A few times I manage to hint at my unease, but it never seems like the right time for a full-blown, serious discussion.
One day, when he’s almost out the door, I catch hold of his elbow and draw him to me.
He leans down for a kiss, and the feel of his lips against mine reminds me why I’m here in the first place. That unearthly connection we have is still there.
“I need to tell you something,” I say breathlessly, before I lose my nerve.
“What is it?” He looks physically exhausted and worn-out, and there’s an expression clouding his eyes that I can’t decipher.
I want to tell him, “You haven’t been here for me.”
I want to say, “I’m afraid I made the wrong choice.”
I want to ask, “Is there room for me in your life?”
Instead, I say, “I just…I’ve been feeling out of place here.”