The Princess Affair (25 page)

“I’ll be thinking of you,” she had murmured before leaning in to kiss her with infinite gentleness. “And praying for him.”

By now, she was probably on her way to the train station. The thought made her feel even more alone.

The hospital employee stopped in front of a door of frosted glass. “Here you are, ma’am.”

Ian pushed the door open to reveal her father, phone to his ear, in mid-pace across the room. He gestured for them to come inside. As she entered, she turned to see Ashleigh rising from an armchair. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and she pressed her quivering lips together, clearly trying to be brave. But it wasn’t her turn.

Sasha opened her arms, and that was all the invitation Ashleigh needed. She threw herself into the embrace, sobbing quietly against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha closed her eyes and stroked the back of Ashleigh’s head, just as she remembered her mother doing when she’d suffered some scrape or bruise as a child.

“He’s going to be all right,” she murmured. “He’s got the best care. And the whole world behind him. But most importantly, he has you.”

Ashleigh didn’t answer, but gradually, the shaking of her shoulders began to subside. Finally, she raised her head. Even with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks, she was exceptionally beautiful. She and Arthur would have such lovely children.

A stab of fear sliced into her chest, but she grit her teeth and stood strong against it. Leaning forward, she kissed Ashleigh on the forehead, then stooped to take a few tissues from the box on a nearby table.

“Thanks,” Ashleigh whispered.

Sasha tried to smile. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She had to speak with her father. Now off the phone, he stood at the window, one hand braced against the frame. “Father.”

He turned slowly to look down at her out of too-bright eyes. Otherwise, his craggy face was impassive. In that instant, she thought about the chasm that gaped between them—the thousand misunderstandings and cruel words and hurtful deeds. Right now, none of it mattered. She could only imagine how difficult it was for him to be standing here, contemplating the loss of his son after already losing his wife. Stepping forward, she grasped his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his chest.

“I love you.”

He remained motionless for several seconds before patting her awkwardly on the back. She wondered what he was thinking—whether he, too, wished she could have taken Arthur’s place. Gathering herself, she stepped back.

“He’s going to be all right.”

“Yes.” He nodded once.

“What more do you know? Anything?” As she asked the question, Ashleigh stepped up beside her and linked their arms together.

“No. But hopefully these tests will be able to give us a much clearer sense of his…prognosis.”

“Have they let you see him?”

He shook his head.

“And Lizzie? She’s on her way?”

He glanced at his watch. “She should be here within the hour.”

“Very well.” She surveyed the room, taking it in for the first time. Two chairs and a sofa were arranged around a small glass table. Two vending machines hummed quietly in the far corner. The place positively reeked of fear, and she had to swallow hard before she trusted her voice again.

“I’m going to try the hot chocolate that machine is advertising. Would either of you like something to eat or drink?”

“No, thank you.” Her father turned back to his contemplation of the window.

“I’ll come with you,” Ashleigh said, still clutching her arm.

Sasha got them each a cocoa and they sat on the sofa, sipping the watery drinks, knees touching. They didn’t speak. She thought of Arthur, somewhere nearby, lying still and unresponsive as the doctors hovered over him. The image made her shiver, and she mentally reached out for a memory of Kerry. The broad smile that was the hallmark of her enthusiasm, the cadence of her rich alto voice as she read aloud, the fierce tenderness in her eyes as she touched Sasha with possessive reverence.

Miraculously, Sasha felt her anxiety ease a little. Thinking to send Kerry a text, she removed her phone from her purse. But as she looked down at the blinking cursor, she couldn’t think of the right thing to say. Before Ashleigh’s call, they had been poised at a pivotal moment. Kerry wanted their relationship to be open—at least, eventually. While she certainly wouldn’t be pushing for that now given Arthur’s accident, her desire wouldn’t simply fade away, never to return. If Sasha had no intention of ever granting Kerry’s request, she had no right to lead her on now. It all came down to the fundamental question. Was she willing to come out?

“Do I dare disturb the universe?” she murmured, thinking of how Kerry’s face had lit up while she was explaining the significance of the poem.

“What was that?” asked Ashleigh.

The door opened and a doctor, dressed in a white lab coat over pale green scrubs, entered. Sasha jumped to her feet, Ashleigh one beat behind her. Her father turned, hope and fear warring plainly on his face.

“Your Majesty.” The doctor inclined his head, then turned to Sasha. “Your Royal Highness. Ms. Dunning. My name is Philip Herren, and I am the neurologist in charge of Prince Arthur’s case. The prince is currently in critical, but stable, condition.” He gestured to the chairs. “If you would be so kind as to sit, I will explain some of the details.”

Sasha sank back into her chair. Critical, but stable. The phrase raced through her brain like a dog chasing its tail, going nowhere. Ashleigh found her hand and clutched it tightly.

“By all accounts, Prince Arthur endured a serious blow to the head. He also suffered several contusions and a broken right wrist, which we have already set. In cases such as his, the primary danger is swelling of the brain, which can lead to permanent damage. We’ve inserted an intraventricular catheter into his brain in order to monitor the pressure. If necessary, we’ll remove a small section of his skull to accommodate any brain swelling.”

Silence fell. Her father looked as though he wanted to speak, but couldn’t. Ashleigh looked as though she might burst into tears.

“What are his chances of waking up without any lasting damage?” A tiny part of Sasha felt absurdly proud that her voice remained steady.

“He is young, healthy, and strong,” Dr. Herren said. “He has a very good chance, provided we can keep the swelling under control. Even in the best-case scenario, however, it may be days or weeks before he wakes. These next twenty-four hours will be especially critical. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

“May we see him tonight?” Ashleigh asked.

“Briefly, yes. I can take you to him now, if you wish.”

Sasha rose quickly, but her father held up one hand. “Doctor, before we go, is there anything…” He paused, wrestling with a surge of emotion. “Is there anything you require that you don’t currently have? Anything at all…”

Dr. Herren’s fingers twitched, and for a moment it looked as though his innate compassion might compel him to touch the King. But then, remembering himself, he slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Your Majesty, right now I have full confidence that this is the best facility in the world for Prince Arthur’s present needs. If I ever believe otherwise, you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” The King cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Take us to him, please.”

As they left the room, Sasha slipped her left hand into her father’s right. When she squeezed tightly, he returned the pressure. Chin raised high, she prepared herself for what she was about to see. No matter what, she would remain strong. For Arthur.

*

It was nearly four o’clock in the morning by the time she left the hospital, and then only because her father insisted they all return home to get some rest. Arthur’s condition hadn’t changed in the intervening hours. Thankfully, Lizzie had arrived just in time to spend a few minutes with him before Dr. Herren had cited the risk of infection and shepherded them back to the private waiting room.

Sasha wrapped her arm around Lizzie’s waist as they walked through the nearly deserted corridors behind Ian. Like her, Lizzie had a suite of rooms in Clarence House, and they would take a car back together. She didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. When Lizzie stumbled once, Sasha pulled her even closer. She was exhausted. They all were. And they hadn’t even made it through the first twenty-four hours yet.

Ian spoke quietly into his wrist mic and then turned toward them. “There is still a substantial crowd outside the hospital. You’ll be given a police escort to the car.”

“Thank you.” Sasha turned to Lizzie and tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Are you ready?”

When Lizzie nodded, Ian led them around the corner. Waiting in front of the double doors stood a group of policemen. As they closed ranks around the two of them, Sasha caught sight of the crowd. It had tripled since her arrival. At least.

“My God,” Lizzie breathed. “Look at them all.”

“The princesses!” someone called as they walked out into the night. The cry was taken up and spread throughout the people, followed by a cheer that resolved into their brother’s name, chanted over and over and over.

Sasha felt the tears running down her cheeks, but for once she didn’t care what she looked like to the waiting cameras.

“Thank you,” she said, as they made their way slowly through the masses. And louder, “thank you.” She glimpsed men and women and even some children, many still drenched from the earlier downpour. Her people. Gathered here for her brother. She reached out one hand and felt their fingers against hers—slender fingers, callused fingers, tiny fingers. Her people.

And then, as the crowd began to thin, she saw Kerry. She stood near the edge of the throng, wearing a raincoat that matched the color of her eyes. Those eyes were brimming with tears, and one had even escaped to trickle down the gentle slope of her cheek. Sasha wanted to chase its path with one finger and then brush it away.

“Kerry,” Sasha whispered.

She hadn’t gone back to Oxford. She had come to the hospital. To keep the vigil for Arthur. To be close. As their eyes met, Kerry kissed the tips of her fingers and raised her hand.

“Sasha?” Having felt her trail behind, Lizzie was looking at her in confusion.

She hurried forward, then glanced once over her shoulder. Kerry had been swallowed by the crowd, but she could still feel the pull of her gaze and the memory of their last, tender kiss.

Kerry rose from the kneeler, crossed herself, and turned into the side aisle. As she had entered the chapel at Magdalen College, she’d felt a little silly. Now, after lighting a candle and offering up a prayer for Arthur, that feeling had dissipated. She might not know exactly what she believed in anymore, but she believed in something. Some power, some force, some being—something benevolent and creative and compassionate. In her prayer, she had asked for healing for Arthur, guidance for his doctors, and comfort for his family. Especially Sasha.

She had received only one message from Sasha—a text, shortly after they had seen each other at the hospital.
Thank you,
was all it said. Kerry had replied,
Please let me help. Whatever I can do. Anything.
But she had heard nothing back.

Nearly three days had passed since Arthur’s accident, and the prince’s condition had cast a pall not only over all of the United Kingdom, but also the world. But as most of the global community rallied behind the royal family, some media outlets used the tragedy as a way to stir up drama. When the monarchy announced late Sunday morning that it had been necessary for Arthur’s physicians to drain some cerebrospinal fluid in order to relieve the pressure on his brain, several of the more sensationalist reporters had questioned what would happen if Arthur died of his injuries, pronouncing Sasha a “brainless socialite” who was unfit to rule. Just thinking about their ignorant criticisms set her teeth on edge. She wanted to protect Sasha from every last word, and she couldn’t.

“Being with me would just make it worse,” she murmured as she stepped out into the dark. The rain, which had lasted on and off for days, had finally given way to a clear, wintry night. Shivering, she jammed her hands into her pockets and began to walk quickly up the hill.

And then her phone vibrated.

Heart suddenly racing, she fumbled to pull the phone out of her pocket, reminding herself all the while that it was probably Harris checking in on her.

But it wasn’t.

I’m nearly at Oxford. I need to see you. I’ve booked a room at the Old Bank. They’re expecting you.
As Kerry looked down at Sasha’s message, utterly incredulous, another came in.
Please.

She didn’t think. She ran. The Old Bank Hotel was on High Street in the center of town. She could be there in less than ten minutes. As she ran, thoughts flooded her head. Ultimately, they all boiled down to two: Why was Sasha here? Had something worse happened to Arthur?

A few blocks away, she slowed to a walk. It wouldn’t do to enter one of the finest Oxford hotels at a dead sprint. By the time she reached the revolving doors, her breathing had evened out. As she moved toward the desk, she flipped open her wallet and held out her identification.

“Ms. Donovan,” the clerk said smoothly. “Of course.” He handed her a keycard. “Room six nineteen.”

Too impatient to wait for the elevator, Kerry took the stairs two at a time. The suite was empty. She turned on the lamp near the bed and then moved to each window, lowering and closing the blinds of each in turn. And then she sat on the bed, eyes trained on the door, beyond all coherent thought. Only moments later, the door opened and Sasha slipped inside, closing it quickly behind her. Her face was unhealthily pale, and the skin beneath her eyes was dark with fatigue, but she was still the most beautiful woman Kerry had ever seen.

“Sasha?” Two syllables contained the thousand questions Kerry couldn’t seem to articulate.

“Thank you.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “For being here. I just—”

“Sasha.” Once Kerry had her attention again, she managed a lopsided smile. “Please come here and let me hold you while we talk.”