Dirty Royal: A Bad Boy Royal Romance (18 page)

Physically and mentally.

I’m stretched thin, so thin that I’m about to snap. My older brother is dead. I have to replace him as the crown prince, even though I never wanted that role—not really, anyway, aside from childish envy when I was young. Now that I understand what comes with the title, I don’t want it.
 

I also can’t let my father down. I’m the only real family he has left. We don’t always get to choose how we’re going to spend our lives. It might seem like I’m unbelievably lucky to be a prince, but it’s a heavy fucking burden. Heavier than anyone can imagine.

That’s what I’m thinking about during the pause in our tiff as Jessica’s jaw moves up and down. She’s talking, but I’m not even aware of what she’s saying.

It’s not a much lighter burden to be with someone like me.

To have your life planned out for you just because you happen to love someone in the public eye.

Jessica didn’t know that when we first met. We were playing that stupid, reckless, no-strings-attached game. We should have realized it could only backfire. I should have known that the moment I saw her and my heart practically stopped. One look was all it took. I went ahead with it anyway. I couldn’t have resisted if I had wanted to.

I’ve spent too long being childish, being aggressive, being selfish.

Of course, in typical goddamn fashion, I’ve only been trying to fix it in one area of my life.

I must be a letdown to Jessica every single day. She’s essentially alone here, and I’ve done nothing to mitigate the loss of her friends.

At the beginning of all this, my commitment was to her above all else, and Marcus’s death changed that. When my brother died, my eyes were forced open to all the responsibility that I would have to take on.

When my brother died, I set aside my childish hopes of getting married for love, spending weekends away with one another, sharing plenty of private time by myself with a woman—with Jessica.

How can I ask her to give up her own life for the one I’m leading now?

That’s the fucking dilemma. Now that I’m not such a selfish bastard, it’s clear to me that I’m asking too much of Jessica. The
situation
is demanding too much of Jessica. She didn’t have all the information when she agreed to be with me. It doesn’t make it less unfair that I didn’t have all the information, either.

My pulse races as I sit up against the pillows.

To be with me, she’ll have to give up most, if not all, of her freedom and privacy. That’s just the way of things. And Jessica—Jessica thrives on her freedom. She blossoms in the world knowing that whenever she needs to make a change, she can do that.

It wouldn’t be like that living with me at Sainthall Palace.

Everything in our lives will be tracked, planned, double-checked, monitored.

It’s the price of being part of royalty.

So before she can speak again, I say the words I swore I’d never say. I say them even though saying them batters my heart, breaks it.

“Maybe it would be best if you went back to New York for a while. Just so we could sort this out without so much bickering.”

Her mouth falls open as if I’ve slapped her, and she draws in a sharp little breath. “You don’t mean that.” Her voice is so soft I almost can’t hear her speak.

My mind turns over each of the times I asked her to come with me, asked her to be with me, asked her to stay. But I don’t back down. I can’t.

“I do mean it. It’s not even about—fighting happens with every couple. But this just isn’t the place for you, Jessica. You need to be able to make your own decisions. You have to be able to leave when you want to, work when you want to, do what you want to.”

I’m trying to be honest, but it’s so difficult to say those things to her that my tone is harsh, unyielding.
 

Her wide blue eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t allow a single one to drop. “Wonderful,” she says bitterly. “I only wish you’d thought of this before I hopped on a plane with you to come across the goddamn ocean. I wish you’d thought of that before I lost my
job
. I wish you’d thought of that before you decided to break—.” She stops abruptly, looking away. “It would have been nice to have been given a fucking ounce of consideration,
your highness
.”

Something inside me snaps.

She’s right, of course, but it’s not my fault that I was born to my mother and father. It’s not my fault that I was a prince of Saintland. And it’s not my fault that my brother died. This isn’t fair to either of us, but I am not the only one to blame for this situation. I’m just not. And maybe I should have thought this though before we got on that plane, but Jessica didn’t either.

I don’t need this from her.

I don’t need this from anyone.

“That’s fine, Jessica,” I say, my top lip curling in what I’m sure is an ugly caricature of a smile. “I know women like you have a need to be waited on hand and foot.” I saunter around the bed, throw my shirt over my shoulders, and step into my pants as she watches me, her mouth open, her hand over her heart as if I’m driving a knife into it, slowly, point first. “If that’s the case, then I’m not the man for you. I’m sure you’ll find someone who is just
perfect
for you back in New York.”

As I put my hand on the door handle and pull it open to leave, I hear a strangled sob escape her lips.

In a move I will regret forever, I leave the room, leave her alone, without another look.

Chapter 37

Jessica

I’m shattered.

Devastated.

Simply crushed.

All the air has drained from my lungs, and when I suck it back in, it feels like knives stabbing my chest.

Alec’s words–his cruel dismissal–have left me in shock.
 

“I’m not the man for you. I’m sure you’ll find someone who is just perfect for you back in New York.”

I don’t want to cry, but one ragged sob wells up and bursts from the very depths of my soul before I can stop it.

He doesn’t look back at me.

He doesn’t turn around.

He just…leaves.

He’s gone.
 

It has to be his grief, the absolute exhaustion he’s feeling, the weight of the world on his shoulders, that made him say those awful things to me. He couldn’t possibly have meant those things–any of it–not after all we’ve done together, not after this grand adventure of coming halfway across the world together, and definitely not after we’ve come to care so deeply for one another.

“I do mean it
,” he’d said. He might not have meant those final spiteful words that came out of his mouth, but there was one thing he was adamant about.

“Maybe it would be best if you went back to New York for a while. Just so we could sort this out without so much bickering.”

His words continue echoing, snowballing one on top of the other inside my head, building into a cacophony of heartbreak.

What the
fuck
?

I can’t believe it’s come to this. That I’m the one he blames for all the bickering. That he said I was
whining
. I cough out a bitter laugh. Until yesterday, we weren’t bickering. We weren’t disagreeing. We were hardly speaking because Alec has been so consumed by his obligations as the crown prince and I’ve been dutifully following the relentless schedule of a royal trophy girlfriend.

Don’t get me fucking wrong. There are perks. There are glorious perks that I
love
. The beautiful clothes. The meals prepared just to my liking. The gorgeous, glorious rooms that I get to stay in at Sainthall Palace, which is an honest-to-God fucking fairy tale castle. Watching the sun rise over the rolling hills to the south is like being the star of a Disney movie, and that Disney movie is your life story.

What they don’t tell you in the movies is that being the prince’s girlfriend, much less a princess, is not always easy.

Once the initial waves of pain and shock subside enough for me to wipe the tears from my eyes and no more take their place, I shake my head in disbelief.

Think, Jessica.

My bruised, aching heart wants to run after Alec, to find him wherever he is, and plead with him that what he did, what he said, was a terrible mistake and we can get through it.

No matter how hard I try, though, I can’t convince myself that we can work things out.

How can I go out on a limb for him—again—if there’s any chance he could reach this point again where he thinks he’s not the right man for me, and I’m not the right woman for him?

I want Alec so badly. That’s what caused the friction between us to escalate, that I wanted more from him than what he can give right now.

Maybe he’s right.

Something has to change, and that something should be me. He can’t change what’s expected of him, so it’s up to me.

“Maybe it would be best if you went back to New York for a while,” I tell myself.

Yes. I’ll go back to New York.

Once I’ve made the decision, my body swiftly moves into action.

The motions seem familiar, somehow comforting. I’ve uprooted and changed my circumstances enough times over the years that I know the process as well as I know how to navigate my own room in the dark.

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.

That one time was when I went 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.