Page 12 of American Royals II: Majesty
“Of course it’s enough!”
He spoke with such conviction, as if the truth of his words was self-evident. As if loving her was as simple and uncomplicated as the fact that the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
But their relationship had never been simple. From the very beginning they’d been sneaking around, living on scattered moments together: the secret brush of Connor’s hand over her back as she slid into a car, their eyes meeting in a crowded room and lingering a beat too long. The late nights when he slipped into her bedroom, only to leave before dawn.
Even now, no one knew about them except Samantha, and Sam had no idea who Connorwas,only that Beatrice loved someone who wasn’t Teddy.
For months, Beatrice had told herself that those stolen moments added up to something worth protecting. But she knew now that they weren’t enough.
She thought with a dull pang of what her father had said the night she told him that she loved her Guard. That if she pulled Connor into this royal life, he would eventually come to hate her for it—and, worse, he would come to hate himself.
There was a cold wind coming off the river; Beatrice had to stop herself from going to shut the window. “This obviously wasn’t an easy decision. But it’s what’s best. For both of us.”
“Why areyouthe one deciding what’s best for both of us?” Connor said roughly. “When you’re making choices about our future, I want a damn vote!”
Before she could answer, he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her.
There was nothing gentle or tender in the kiss. Connor’s body was crushed up against hers, his hands grasped hard over her back, as if he was terrified she might pull away. Beatrice rose on tiptoe, digging her fingers into his uniform.
When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing heavily. Beatrice’s hair fell in damp wisps around her face. She looked up and saw the quiet anguish in Connor’s eyes. He knew her well enough to know that she didn’t normally kiss like that—with such wild, desperate abandon.
He understood that she’d been kissing him goodbye.
“You really mean this, don’t you,” he breathed.
“I do,” Beatrice told him. It struck her that those were the words of the wedding service, words that normally swore eternal love. And here she was, using them to tell Connor that he should leave her forever.
His jaw was tight, but he managed a nod. Beatrice almost wished that he would shout, call her cruel names. Anger would have been so much easier to bear.Anythingwould have been easier than this: the knowledge that Connor was in pain, and she had caused it.
“In that case, Your Majesty, please accept my resignation. I’ll be leaving your service. And this time, I won’t be coming back.”
He paused as if waiting for her to protest, to beg him to stay, the way she had once before.
Beatrice said nothing. She couldn’t ask Connor to remain here as her Guard while she married Teddy.
If she asked it of him, he might say yes. And he deserved so much more than that.
“I understand.” To her surprise, she spoke as if nothing was wrong, even though she hurt so much—deep inside her, in the hollow, lonely place she never let anyone see.
Connor’s gaze met hers, as cool as a mountain lake under gray skies. “I’ll go inform the head of security.”
Beatrice felt cold all over, yet she was sweating as if she’d come down with a fever. She watched, curiously immobile, as Connor turned back to cast one last glance over his shoulder.
“Goodbye, Bee.”
When he was gone, Beatrice made her way numbly around her father’s desk. She still wasn’t crying. She felt like a frost had settled over all her emotions and she would never feel anything again.
She paused behind her father’s chair, her hands resting lightly on its back. She’d never sat in it before, not even when she and the twins used to sneak in here as kids, to steal lemon candies from the secret drawer and spin the enormous globe. For some unspoken reason, sitting at the king’s desk had felt as utterly off-limits, as sacrilegious, as climbing onto his throne.
Slowly, Beatrice pulled out the chair and sat.
“Mademoiselle Deighton.” The French ambassador sailed forward to greet her with an easy double kiss, one for each cheek. He was handsome, and a shameless flirt; the French never sent anyone who wasn’t.
“Bonsoir,Monsieur l’Ambassadeur.” She flashed him a brilliant smile, grateful for all her years of high school French.
It felt like half of court had turned out for tonight’s event at the George and Alice Museum, or the G&A, as everyone called it. In celebration of Beatrice and Teddy’s engagement, the museum was opening a new exhibit titledROYAL WEDDINGS THROUGH THE AGES.
Daphne’s eyes cut across the room to where Jefferson stood with Samantha. He still hadn’t said hello. Aside from their brief exchange at the Royal Potomac Races, Daphne hadn’t really spoken to him since that day at the hospital—when she sat there with Jefferson, waiting for good news that had never come.
