The first thing for me to do is pack.
I don’t have much to take back with me because, aside from my wallet and a few personal belongings, Alec bought for me when we arrived in Saintland. After a brief search through the closets and drawers—it’s hard to know where everything is when you have a staff not allowing you to lift a finger—I pull out a small duffel bag from the bottom drawer of an antique wardrobe. I stuff in a couple of pairs of panties, a plain t-shirt, and the yoga pants I wore on the flight here. I toss in the book I’ve been reading—they won’t miss it—my phone charger, and a pair of low-heeled, casual shoes. Another shirt. My hairbrush, toothbrush, and a small tube of toothpaste…I throw in a few other essentials and then zip the bag closed.
I decide to take a quick shower—it takes me under three minutes—and then pin my hair up into a bun on top of my head.
I pull out a pair of comfortable, somewhat dressy grey pants from the dresser, a silky light blue camisole top, and a navy blue exercise hoodie I haven’t had the chance to wear yet. I stuff the hoodie into the bag. It’s summer in Saintland, but I may need it on the plane.
I grab my passport, shove it into the side pocket of the duffel bag, and take one final look around the rooms, committing to memory the way the sun beams in around the curtains, the angles to the dark cherry finish of the headboard.
Then, I’m ready.
My heart feels numb.
I need to get out of here before a chink appears in the armor of pain and numbness that’s drowning me and I cave to the love hidden beneath it all and go after Alec.
I open the door to my rooms and step out into the hallway, duffel bag in hand, only to run straight into Claire.
“Oh!” she says, stumbling back.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” I say, stepping to the side before continuing down the hall.
“Jessica? Where are you going?” she asks, a surprised look on her face when she notices the duffel bag.
“I’m leaving.”
“To go where?” She hurries after me.
“Home.”
“What?”
“Alec—Prince Alexander and I—.” When I say his name, my throat restricts painfully. “We’re not going to be continuing our relationship. I have to go. I have to get back to New York.” I try to keep my voice level, but it dips and wavers.
“Jessica, wait,” Claire says, a note of panic in her voice. She reaches out and catches me by the arm. “Wait. You can’t just leave.”
“I can, and I’m going to. You can’t stop me, Claire. I’m going to the airport.” In spite of myself, my eyes are filling with tears. How goddamn embarrassing.
Claire runs her hand up and down my arm in long comforting strokes. “I understand,” she says slowly. “But listen to me, Jessica. You want a flight back to New York, right?”
“Yes.”
“You could be waiting there for hours, maybe even until tomorrow, and there will be reporters…let me make the flight arrangements for you.”
“You don’t have to do this, Claire. Any minute, I’m sure the prince will call and say your time with me is over.”
Her eyes are filled with determination. “Let me help you.”
“Okay.” I’m too tired and drained to argue.
“Come back to your rooms.”
“They’re not my rooms anymore.”
“They’re still your rooms. When did the two of you make this…decision?”
Claire puts gentle pressure on my arm, guiding me back to the doors of the queen’s rooms.
“An hour ago?”
“All right. Wait here,” she says, steering me to the table next to the window seat. “Sit here while I have breakfast sent up.”
“Okay,” I say, as she takes the duffel bag from my hand and sets it gently on the floor by the table.
“I’ll be back soon,” she says kindly.
Claire flits from the room, her face already buried in her tablet, leaving me alone again, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, the ragged sound echoing the agony that courses through my body.
I have to leave here, but first…
I have to wait.
Chapter 38
Alec
You think you’ve changed, and then your old habits come rushing back to the fucking surface.
After Marcus died—Jesus, has it only been two weeks?—I fucking swore to myself that I was done with my raging anger, my bitter resentment, and these knee-jerk reactions that never get me anywhere.
With the exception of that one time.
There was only one time when anything positive resulted from expressing my anger, when I became so sick of the bullshit I was constantly facing at the hands of Marcus and my father, and that was when I escaped to New York.
Because I met Jessica.
And now, for her own goddamn good, I’ve destroyed all of it by telling her to leave.
I half expect her to come running after me.
To fight with me.
To fight for me.
To fight for us.
Even if it means she has to take drastic actions. Jessica has a fiery spirit. If she thought it was necessary, she’d go so far as to slap me across the face. I’m sure of it.