Page 60 of Royally Arranged

I’ll need to hide it from Hester. He’d torment me forever if he discovered it.

My heart slammed into my ribs; I knew exactly what this was.My father’s journal?I fanned it in my fingers. I’d never taken my dad for the type to keep notes about his life. Flipping to a random page, I read the ink scribbles with immense interest.

March 20th, 1976

I’m eighteen today. Everyone made a big deal about it, Mother hosted a HUGE party, and when it was over, she donated massive leftovers to the local food bank. I went with her. It was nice to see so many smiles. But what I was really happy about was finally being able to get the family tattoo.

I told Hester I was a real man, now, and he got that look he always gets when I have something he doesn’t. What was worse was Father overheard us. He took me aside and told me that nothing would MAKE me a man. I had to earn it. What an asshole.

I sat up straight and reread the passage. I’d been forming my own idea in my head about my father’s relationship with his dad. Between the fishing photos, the big painting, and the general fond memories that came up whenever a local got talking, I’d been sure they’d gotten along.

But here he was, calling the man an asshole. My face hurt; was I grinning? Fuck, this was so weird.Thank you for this, Glen,I thought gleefully. When my siblings saw this, they’d lose their minds.

Unable to stop now, I kept reading.

May 2nd, 1976

Hester and I slipped out of class early today. Instead of going home, we spent all day fishing in our secret spot by the ocean. It was so good. I wish I could do it more. It’s been stressing me out lately just how much both Mom and Dad keep laying into me about my responsibilities. I’m only eighteen, what are they rushing me to be an adult for? It’s not like I’ll be king for a while. Dad didn’t sit on the throne until he was thirty-six. That’s way off for me.

September 10th, 1976

Got into another row with Dad. Apparently, I’m wasting my time being friends with Glen. He says I need to consider my stature and Glen’s limits. What the hell? Does he expect me to fake a smile and hang out with the same money-hungry men that he pretends to like because of “politics”?

He says again and again that I’m an idiot.

Fine.

I’d rather be an idiot than a fraud.

December 23rd, 1976

Tonight, I played piano for the Winter Ball. My mother had encouraged me to do it, insisting I’d be great. I’d practiced as much as I could, even skipping out on a hunting trip with Hester to make sure I could play “Greensleeves.” I was so damn nervous. Especially with Dad watching me the whole time from the corner of the room.

It didn’t matter that everyone clapped politely when it was over.

I felt every wrong note like it was scratching at the back of my teeth.

Hester’s smug smile stung.

But not as much as the disappointment in my father’s eyes.

I guess he was right. If I’m not good enough by now, I never will be.

Clutching the journal, I started to shake. This was surreal. I’d seen the way he’d looked at me while I’d played at the coronation, and at the time I’d thought he was irritated with me. But had he actually been envious? Reliving a time forty years ago when he’d performed after so many hours of practice, only to go away with his spirits crushed?

Then I’d played ... and no matter my flaws ... I’d been elated.

He’d witnessed the joy he’d been denied.

Then he’d had to watch me wear the crown meant for him.

I slammed the book shut. This knowledge was too much for me, making me second-guess my own feelings for the man I’d thought of as cold. Glen had said I reminded him of Maverick ... I’d denied it because it sounded insane.

After reading these pages, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

That terrified me.

- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE -

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