Page 73 of Slippers and Thorns
He shoved the swirling thoughts down. He’d never get to sleep if he kept dwelling on it.
“Are you going to let me into my bedroom, Oliver?” he sighed.
“Are you going to make her cry?” Oliver retorted.
That was an excellent question; Michael only wished he knew the answer.
“Oliver,” he groaned, “I’m exhausted. Can’t you just let me go to bed and we’ll talk about it in the morning?”
Oliver scowled back at him. “Doesn’t seem to me like there should be much to talk about. Not for a man of his word.”
Behind the scowl, Michael could see the disappointment that grew with every second that Michael didn’t give the reply that Oliver thought he should. He couldn’t lie to him, though. How could he lie to Oliver, a man who had done the most to raise him, next to his own father? But at the same time, how could he bear to see such disappointment in the eyes of that same man?
He still didn’t have an answer.
“Fine,” he huffed. “If you won’t be reasonable, I’ll just sleep on the sofa.”
Stomping over to the nearest piece of furniture, much like the small child that used to quail under Oliver’s scolding eyes, he dropped onto the seat and stripped off his boots, not even bothering to set them up neatly. Instead, he tossed them lightly to one side, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction with the haphazard way that they fell. It was a fitting picture of his mental state at the moment.
Oliver said nothing, only standing more stiffly at his post. The disappointment on his face was clear as he resolutely looked away from his charge.
It was no use hoping that he would leave soon and allow Michael to slip into his bed next to Ella; Oliver was nothing if not honorable and stubborn. Now that he had decided Michael wasn’t worthy to enter, he would stay there all night, or until one of his fellow guardsmen came to relieve him.
Not that they would; given it was the crown prince they were standing up to, Michael knew Oliver wouldn’t trust anyone else with the job. It was why he was here, instead of one of Ella’s own guards.
That, and the fact that Michael would never have stood for Charles keeping him out of his own room, let alone standing inside their suite outside Ella’s bedroom door.
Michael’s lip curled as he stuffed a throw pillow under his head. Ella had said there was nothing between them. But even if she wasn’t interested in Charles, Michael had to wonder if the feeling was mutual.
Wait—why was he worrying about the guard? Why did it matter what Ella did if Helena was his true love?
If she was.
If. An awful lot came back to “if”.
Iftrue love was real.
IfHelena was correct that only a kiss from her true love could wake her.
Ifhe was Helena’s true love, what then?Ifhe chose to send Ella away so he could marry Helena instead, what would that do to Ella? To him? To his kingdom?
IfHelena was his true love and hedidn’tsend Ella away, would that ruin his life? Helena’s? Ella’s?
Worst of all, whatifHelena was wrong? Whatifhe wasnother true love, and yet he sent Ella away? Could he bear the consequences of such an action?
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position on the short sofa as he tried futilely to block all of the maddening thoughts in his mind.
It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER 32
Ella
E
lla moaned into the pillow as the early morning light slipping past the curtains hit her face. She was incredibly tired still, but she wasn’t asleep, anyway; she might as well get up and stop pretending.
Rolling over, she stared unhappily at the empty spot on the other side of the bed.
