Page 70 of Royal Charmer
“Go,” she snaps, heading to the bathroom, probably to pack her toiletries.
I stand but I can’t leave. I need answers. I need hope. I take a seat on the edge of the unmade bed, lean my elbows on my knees, and rest my head in my hands. My mind is muddled, my nerves raw, exhaustion making me even tenser.
I hear her before I see her, packing her laptop across the room, and then she’s close, her flowery sexy scent washing over me as she zips her suitcase and yanks it off the bed. My chest constricts, and I wearily meet her eyes.
She searches my features, her expression softening. “Lucas, you really hurt me. You said you’d always be honest with me, yet you went behind my back. Trust is everything to me and you know that.”
I gave her my heart, and she threw it away. “I admitted what I did! That was honest. Now sit next to me.”
She eyes the bed and then me. “No.”
“Why not?” I manage through my teeth.
“Because I’m mad at you, and you have no right to be mad at me and order me around.”
“Please,” I bite out. “I just want to talk.”
“Fine.” She sits a ridiculous distance away. “But only for a minute. I have to get to my signing.”
I shift closer, determined to get to the bottom of this without losing my temper. “Alice, tell me why you, who are known for uplifting happy love stories, wrote this story where the scoundrel is never redeemed. He’s miserable and alone at the end, stripped of everything that means anything to him.”
She scowls, crossing her legs and smoothing her dress over them. “I don’t want to talk about my story with you. The first draft isn’t meant to be discussed or criticized. It’s meant to be a raw messy outpouring.”
My throat tightens. “Of you and your feelings.”
She tilts her head. “Yes, in a way.”
“But you said your readers want them to end up together, to be happy and in love. You need to fix it. Change the ending.”
“You don’t get a say in this! I don’t care if you hate my story. It’s mine.” She exhales sharply. “The real issue is, how can I ever trust you again when you go behind my back?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I won’t go on your laptop again. I wish I hadn’t in the first place.”
She shakes her head. “I just don’t understand why you wanted to read it so badly.”
Because I need answers. Because I’m yours, you have my heart, and I want you to be mine.I can’t say it because it hurts too much to know I’m alone in this. “Because I was curious what you did with the fake engagement after ours,” I finally say. “What about your readers? What about your editor? Do you care what they think? Because this story turns into a tragedy, and it hits that note hard.”
She waves that away. “If my editor gives me any trouble, I’ll add a five-years-later epilogue. After Diana has enjoyed her independence, she will fall madly in love with the gardener.”
My gut does a slow roll. She’ll leave, and then she’ll move on. “Surely the gardener wouldn’t be as interesting to her as the scoundrel?”
“She cares not for titles only for the good heart within.” She’s in her Regency speak as she thinks of her story. I know all her idiosyncrasies and love every last one of them.
“What if the scoundrel has a good heart within?” I press.
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t. He’s a scoundrel through and through. Unrepentant. Unreformable. He led her on and ruined her.”
“Where is the happy ending?” I bark. “There has to be one! Write a better epilogue.”
Her eyes flash. “Why do you care so much about the ending? You’re not the writer here!”
“Because I love you!”
She holds up a palm. “Lucas, I just can’t. I can’t argue over the story you were never supposed to read, can’t…” She takes a shaky breath. “I can’t be with you anymore. I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.”
My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. I want to argue that she can trust me, but I know I was in the wrong. Just like I know she doesn’t see committed love in her future with me.
She grabs her suitcase and walks out. A moment later, she pokes her head back in and shouts at the top of her lungs, “And there will be no epilogue with the gardener!”
