Page 37 of Exes Don't

“Den of what now?” I huff.

“You’re trying to rattle me,” she says from where she’s standing behind me. “But I am un-rattle-able. Like a baby toy without the beads inside of it.”

“With a spot-on analogy like that, you’re really making your point there.”

“Thank you. I thought so too,” she says. “Now, tell me about how a prince from Penwick came to be a professional football player in the United States.”

I power through my reps. “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”

“Humor me.”

“Fine. I’ve always loved football. American football. I came to play here for university. It’s a tradition for Penwick royalty to study abroad—broaden our horizons, learn from the outsideworld, so to speak.” I bucked tradition a bit when Istayedabroad, but no need to go into that. “I had a good college career, and I got some interest from NFL scouts. Since I don’t have to assume full-time duties at the palace until I turn thirty, I took the opportunity to do what I love.”

“What do the Penwickian people think of you being a pro football player?”

I rack the bar and spin around to face her. “You’d have to ask them.”

“Sure, I’ll just call all my contacts in Penwick right up,” she says. We walk back to her bar, and she unracks her weight and starts in on her next set. At the top of one of her reps, she says, “Seriously, Anton, give me something to work with.”

I keep my focus on her back. “The River Foxes have some fans across the pond, yes.”

“What about your mother?” She finishes and faces me.

“You already know the answer to that too.” I cross my arms and stare at her. “I’d rather you didn’t ask me to humor you about this particular subject.”

I go back to my bar and speed through my next set. She stands silently behind me for all ten reps, and I rerack the bar with a satisfying clatter. When I turn around, she’s nibbling her lip.

“I didn’t mean to—” She cuts herself off, as if she’s not certain exactly what she didn’t mean to do. “I’m trying to—”

“Do your job. I know.” I run my hand through my hair, walking past her and waiting for her to set up. I don’t speak again until her back is to me and she’s four reps into her set. “How about this? It’s a challenge to balance the two worlds that I straddle. But I give my all to the project that’s in front of me, whether that’s my home country or my team here. My mother…understands that.”

Rose racks the weight and spins around. She, of all people, should know that my relationship with my mother is a complicated one—one I don’t appreciate dredging up and discussing. Back when we dated, when I thought we were going to be togetherforever, I told her about how I feel like a puppet. How I can’t say no to my mom, even when I want to, because duty has been so ingrained in me. Rose knows it all, and right now, I hate that I let her in—hate that I let her see me vulnerable. It feels unfair given how everything ended between us.

I turn toward my platform, but Rose catches my arm. I freeze at the soft yet firm contact of her skin against mine. I slowly raise my eyes to hers, waiting for her to pull away. Surely she feels the snap, crackle, and pop at the physical contact. It’s a dangerous thing to feel so combustible. The thin line between love and hate and hurt and help blurs.

She holds firm to my bicep. “It’s not personal, bringing up your mom.” I glance away, but she presses on. “It’s a logical question.”

I flick my gaze back to her. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

She nods. “That’s fair.”

She releases my arm and steps back. We each finish our squat reps in silence before I lead her over to the exercise balls. I start in on my rollouts, and she does some sort of ab workout. We go through our motions in silence.

I’m lost in thought about my mom. She’s never been warm and fuzzy toward me. I respect her, and I wish she would extend me the same courtesy. She’s always treated me as if I’m a pawn in the game of her life. There have been several moments where I should have been bolder. More confrontational. Stood up to her and made my voice and my desires heard. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t be floundering now to share with her what I really want for my future. I haven’t breathed a word about it to anyone. I don’t know if I can.

Instead of thinking about my mother or the massive decision I need to make, I latch onto something much more pleasant, and that is the way Rose looks with a focused, even expression on her face as she contorts her body into a sequence of bicycle kicks and crunches. I’ve always admired her fluidity of motion. It’s the dancer in her. But there’s something deeper than thattoo. Her bearing and the grace with which she carries herself—in everything—is just purely her. It’s who she is.

She catches me staring.

I blink, my face immediately flooding with the heat of embarrassment. It really sucks to have feelings for a person and not have them reciprocated. Can we get that out in the open? “Sorry,” I mutter, averting my gaze.

“It’s fine.” She shrugs. In my periphery, I see her move to stand. She crosses her arms and waits on me.

I close my eyes, focusing on my form as I finish out my own reps. When I’m done, Rose is staring at me intently.

I grab for my water bottle. “What’s the hard look for?”

“Nothing.” Rose shakes her head slightly. “I just… I remember her. Your mom,” she adds quietly.

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