Chapter 18

18

ADRIAN

The difference between kissing Isaac and kissing Jasella is the same as the difference between the saber and the chopping knife. One feels familiar but not quite right and is something I was told to enjoy. The other seems foreign but perfectly suited. I am terrible at cutting things. But I just need practice. Not that I'll get practice cutting at the palace with my family there.

Isaac snuggles close and puts his head on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I can't help myself."

As the sun rises, the light peeks in through the small airplane windows and streaks his hair with gold. I run my fingers through the curls and kiss his cheek. "As much as I want to talk about the other night and the things I want, it's probably safer to talk about something else. Unless you want to sleep."

"No sleeping," he says but then tries to cover his yawns. He laughs and stares at me. His eyes are a rich, vibrant blue. "I don't want to waste a moment with you."

The words are sweet, but the bitter pill is buried underneath. He doesn't expect this to last. And honestly, how can it? "Zye says you're planning to quit your job at the real estate office. You hate it there?"

He traces the seam on the collar of my shirt. "You've met my ex."

"Is that the only reason?"

He shrugs his shoulder. "I love the work."

The hum of the airplane relaxes me. This, too, is familiar. "Spreadsheets? Everything adding up as it should?"

"You're making fun of me."

"Not at all."

His leg bumps into mine. I focus on his words and not how easy it would be to pull him into my lap. "My boss is okay," he says, playing with the buttons on my shirt. "And I have friends. Macy. You met her, remember?" He glances at me, and I nod.

"She seems nice."

"Nice?" He scoffs. "She's fierce."

"Is that a thing you do? Surround yourself with fierce people who love you and want to protect you?"

"Zye needs to learn boundaries. If he says anything to you, just ignore it."

"It's fine." I kiss him. "I like how protective he is. That's how friends should be." Have I ever had someone that protective of me? Not my family. Not someone who wasn't paid or duty-bound. I study the clouds lying like pillows in the sky.

"Adrian…"

I can't take the pity in his voice. Why had I told him about my old governess? "We're talking about you and why you want to quit your job. Or rather, why you are still there when you hate it."

"It pays the bills. Better than Zye ever can."

"Did you grow up poor?"

He laughs. "No. We weren't rich, but my parents did well, and I'm an only child. I never wanted for anything."

"I went to university and changed my major several times. But I finally earned a degree in economics."

He tilts his head with a cute grin. "Really?"

"What?"

"I expected you to say art or something. Economics seems…boring?"

"As opposed to accounting?"

"Shut up." He laughs and slaps my chest. "Your art is amazing. You're so talented."

"Thank you, Isaac. I'm glad someone thinks so."

"What do you mean?"

"My parents haven't discouraged my doodling—as they call it—but they haven't encouraged it either. They wanted me to do something…practical."

"I'm sorry?—"

"Don't be. I wanted to do something useful. We have briefings on the state of the country. And words like economic growth and trade barriers are batted around with other words like income stability. We have a farming community. Mostly wheat and barley and vineyards. But we also have citizens with barely any food. Or they don't know how they will care for their families. Their insecurity is warranted." I lift his chin, and he meets my gaze. "Where does yours come from?"

His eyes close and his face tightens like he's trying not to give anything away.

I backtrack immediately. "I'm sorry. I don't know enough about your country. That might be normal."

"No." He blinks and tries to smile. "Actually, for some, it is. But I—" He shifts until he's sitting up and perhaps not so vulnerable.

Reginald and Simon are laughing and slapping and yelling, "Slapjack!"

"It's none of my business. I want to know everything about you. Please tell me if I go too far."

The sadness in his eyes has me wanting to retract my question. We have limited time. Why am I pushing? "It's fine. Just not easy to talk about. I told you about Jane. I'm…a planner. I saved—because that's how I am, and we were having a child. I made sure we'd be financially stable. By the time I realized how much Jane was struggling, it was too late. I tried to get her help—no need to talk about that again—but nothing worked. I should have known better, Adrian, but I always paid the bills, so I didn't think." He swallows and stares at the ground.

I can guess where this is going. None of it is his fault, but the guilt is there in his eyes. Perhaps talking about it will help. "What happened?"

"I told you she emptied our bank accounts. But it was all our savings too—except for a nest egg I'd hidden. And then she took off. That time for months."

The fear. The anxiety. The uncertainty. All of it shows in Isaac's eyes. His hand shakes as he rubs them.

"I won." Simon cheers, and Reginald demands a rematch. God bless that man.

"I'm so sorry that happened," I say, knowing how inadequate it is. But I'm not sure what else to say.

"I tried, Adrian. The arrests. Drug court. I stayed with her. Bailed her out. Rehab after rehab. We moved to a smaller place. I loved her—I wish I realized sooner that she hadn't gotten over—how much she still grieved for Emily."

"None of it was your fault. You did everything you could."

"Sorry." He smiles. "I had a point to this story. After that, we were no longer financially stable. And when I realized I couldn't save her without sacrificing our son, I had to let go. Put Simon first. Her parents were devastated. Losing so much so quickly. They tried to get custody of Simon. The divorce and custody battle was brutal. And costly."

"Where are her parents now?"

"South Carolina, I think?"

I kiss his face. The curve of his brow. The dimple in his cheek. The freckle just under his lip. "Thank you for telling me."

"No, thank you. I dumped a lot on you."

"Isaac, you are the strongest person I know."

He shakes his head with a laugh. "Your mother is the Queen of Lutiana. She was the only royal to ever win an Olympic medal. It was for something to do with horses, I think."

"How could you possibly know that? You didn't recognize a prince when he stood right in front of you."

"In my defense, you looked homeless." He grins, and kissing him again seems imperative. "Zye is full-on obsessed with your family. Your parents' wedding is what got him interested in wedding planning."

"How is that possible?"

Isaac tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"My parents married twenty-six years ago. Was Zye even born yet?"

His hand covers his mouth. "I never thought about it, but I think his mom recorded it because they watched it over and over. My point is your mom is fierce."

"Yes. A force to be reckoned with. But, Isaac, she was born privileged. As was I."

He nods, accepting my words. But did he believe them? "What was it like growing up a prince?"

"I never wanted for anything."

He tilts his head. "I don't believe that."

How does he see right through me? "Honestly? It was lonely. I told you about my governess, and I had various tutors. Everything from maths and history to fencing and art. And, of course, I had Reggie." I glance over at them. Simon holds up his fist and Reginald shakes his head, but then, after a few sighs, he fist bumps him.

"Oh my God. He deserves a raise."

My smile slips off. Isaac doesn't mean anything by his comment. "Anyway?—"

"What just happened?"

"Nothing—"

He stares until I'm tempted to confess everything I've ever done wrong. "Tell me."

I open my mouth, barely stopping the words from pouring out. "Is that a superpower only you have? Getting men to share all their secrets with you."

He threads our fingers together, and his gaze softens. "I'm sorry. Please tell me?"

Can I deny him anything? I take a breath and push it out with all my fears. "Reggie is my best friend." I squeeze his hand. "And he's paid to be with me. Isn't that a little pathetic?"

"No." He stares into my eyes, and the fondness in his gaze—and maybe something more—soothes me. "Reginald cares about you. It has nothing to do with your money or status."

As we drive from the airport to the palace, Simon talks nonstop.

"We ate hamburgers on the plane. And ice cream."

"I was there," Isaac says patiently, considering this is not the first time he's heard it.

Simon throws his hands in the air. "Hamburgers, Daddy."

"They were good."

"The best!"

Isaac chuckles. "Better than Burger King?"

Simon stops, his mouth open. And then he shrugs.

"Oh my gosh, the palace is beautiful."

Isaac and Simon crane their necks like tourists—which they technically are—as they stare out the window at my home. Simon squeals in excitement.

The excitement of the moment, sharing this with them, sours. How is this going to go? My parents were notified of our guests. Will they embarrass me? Undoubtedly. Will Isaac realize how pathetic I am? Again, probably. But I'm not sorry they're here. I want them in my life for as long as possible.

Frederick is waiting, and as soon as the car stops, he opens the door. "Welcome home, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Frederick." I step out of the car. "These are my guests, Isaac and Simon."

"Welcome to Lutiana."

Simon stares up at him. Is it the red-and-black uniform? "Do you live here too?" Frederick's lips quirk. "Yes, Master Simon."

His eyes widen. "That's what Reggie calls me. He's my friend. But I won him at Slapjack."

Frederick's brows barely move, but it's enough for me to know he's confused by this whirlwind of a child.

"You won at Slapjack."

"That's what I said, Daddy."

"You are quite good at that game, Master Simon," Reginald says, nodding toward the door. "Shall we go in?"

"Race you, Reggie."

Isaac's hands clasp Simon's shoulders, keeping him in place. He leans down and whispers something to Simon, and the boy nods, his shoulders slumping.

"He's fine," Reginald says, winking at Simon. His smile immediately returns to his face.

As we walk, Simon bumps into Isaac more than once. His head is tipped back as he stares at the palace. I take my home for granted, but now, seeing it from a guest's perspective, a child's perspective, I can appreciate its magnificence. The domed towers rising on both sides, the pillars in the archway, the balconies that extend around the palace. Simon walks backward, watching the fountain in the middle of the circled drive.

As soon as we step through the archway, Simon turns to me and whispers, "You live here?"

I ruffle his hair. "I do."

His eyes ping-pong around the room. The chandeliers. The mahogany staircase. The marble floors. The open space of the drawing room that could possibly fit their entire house. After Isaac's confession about his economic instability, I'm almost embarrassed by my abundance. My privilege. The differences between us are stark. Not that I care about that, but I worry he will.

But those worries fade into the background when we are presented to my parents. Isaac's eyes go wide as Reginald bows. His gaze shoots to me. I forgot to prepare him for this moment, and I can see his indecision. Should he bow or not? Simon breaks free of Isaac's grasp and steps up to my mother. I hold my breath. What is this child going to say? But Simon bows, waving his hands out beside him. "Your Majesty."

My mouth drops open. Reginald smiles smugly. And Isaac lets out a nervous laugh. I press my hand to his back, and we approach my parents. I bow, and then Isaac bows.

Once we've adequately greeted them, my mother waves her royal hand for us to sit. I despise all this pomp and circumstance, but it comes with the privilege and the responsibility.

Tea is served, and Simon asks for root beer. The servants don't even flinch at the request.

Once everyone is settled, my mother begins. "I'm so happy to finally meet the man who has disrupted the royal wedding—years of planning—and stolen my son's heart."

Isaac tenses, and I sigh. "Mother, that is not at all correct."

She takes a sip of her tea and raises a brow. "No? Which part, dear?"

I recognize the glint in her eye. She's enjoying this and paying me back for everything over the last month. Maybe the last year. I open my mouth to say something. I have no idea what, but if I leave it, I have no doubt she will fill the silence. My brother rushes into the room. His hair stands straight up and he's forgotten to take off his lab coat.

"I'm here. Sorry." Did he run up the stairs?

"Phillipe," Mother says. "Glad you could join us."

At least Mother is now focused on him and not me and my guests. But Simon jumps to his feet. "Phillipe?" he asks, his eyes practically taking over his face. "Are you a mad scientist?"

My brother stares at Simon like he's never seen a child before. I roll my eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Isaac begins, but my brother waves him off.

"He's fine." Phillipe leans down and shakes his hand. "You must be Simon. I've heard a lot about you."

"Adrian said you live in the dungeon. Is that true?"

"Yes, but don't tell anyone. Maybe I can give you a tour later."

Simon grins and nods, giving his father a hopeful look.

"We'll see," Isaac says.

Simon squeals as quietly as he can, which still isn't very quiet, and I laugh. Isaac must be off his game.

"Shut up," Isaac says to me, and then his eyes pop open and he turns to Mother. "I am so sorry."

To my surprise, she laughs. "Don't mind us. This is quite entertaining." She shares a look with my father, and I tense. I know that look. "In fact, I'm quite looking forward to our upcoming gala Wednesday evening. Rene will be here tomorrow, Adrian. Please be available," Mother says, giving me a royal stare.

"Of course. Thank you, Mother."

"Rene?" Isaac asks, mostly to me, but my mother can't resist responding.

"The royal tailor. The gala is formal."

Isaac's face pales. I'd rather not have his first event be at a wedding reception for my ex-fiancée's sister. Everyone will be watching. Some of them—Jasella's parents—won't be at all happy. But not having him with me is unthinkable.

I take his hand. "Isaac, will you and Simon do me the pleasure of being my guests at the Brimstone gala on Wednesday evening?"

"Yes?"

"You don't sound convinced."

He leans closer. "Because, Adrian. There is something you're not telling me."