Chapter 22

22

ADRIAN

"Can we have this crisis somewhere else?" Phillipe's back is to me as he checks whatever he has simmering on his burner.

I flinch at his words. My brother is normally self-absorbed but not intentionally hurtful. "Rude."

He swirls around, his brows furrowed and one hand on his head. "What? No," he says with a sigh that sounds dramatic, even to me. "My lab shouldn't be the planning center for this. Not because I don't want to be involved, but because this experiment is…delicate."

Are those strawberries? The sweetness mixes with the musty scent of his lab, and a low throb in the back of my head warns me of an impending headache. "You dragged me down here?—"

He crosses his arms. "Dragged? Really?"

"—and were adamant that I talk things out instead of letting them bottle up, or worse, end up running away again."

"Yes, but?—"

"And you invited Reggie." I gesture toward my steward standing off to the side awaiting orders. "This get-together was your idea."

"I'm not denying that. I would just like to move it somewhere more suitable." At my raised brows, he adds, "Less reactive to negative energy."

Negative energy? My body tenses, readying for a fight. My loss, my grief over losing Isaac and Simon, isn't negative energy…it's devastating.

"If I may, sir, perhaps we can move this discussion to the study if Prince Phillipe is able to leave his experiment."

"Well, I—" Phillipe begins, but I raise a brow. "This is time-sensitive, Adrian."

"Your choice. Here, with negative energy that is bound to get even more negative—which might mess up your love potion or whatever it is." Phillipe gives me a death glare, but I ignore it. "Or upstairs, in the study, and you set a damn timer. I need my brother on this." The last part is said in a quieter voice with considerably less anger and more desperation.

Phillipe sets his timer, and we congregate in the study. We wait until tea is brought in. Reginald waves Anton away and pours. Then there's no reason to wait. We are set. Ready for my meltdown.

"Have you heard from Isaac?"

"No. And I don't expect to. His goodbye sounded final." My voice breaks on the last word. I pick up my cup to hide behind my tea, but my hand shakes, so I put it back down. Maybe I should just go to my room and suffer my misery alone.

"Have you talked to Mr. Weiss?" Reginald asks, taking an active part in the conversation. I'm not really surprised. He got along well with little Simon. This is important to him as well.

"No."

"Do you really think Luka did this?"

"Who else?" I stretch my hands to get rid of the feeling of ants crawling all over me. I will never forgive myself if Isaac loses custody of Simon. I don't think that can happen, but even the thought of it has my stomach roiling. "Why would Jane go to someone else when she had a reporter at the ready?"

"Maybe it wasn't Jane."

"Then who, Phillipe?"

He put his hands in the air in a defensive fashion, and I realize how harsh my voice was. "You could have been seen in America. I'm just offering suggestions. Do you want me to talk to Luka?"

"Since when is he Luka and not that bastard trying to ruin our family?"

Phillipe sits back, crossing his arms. I'm totally messing this up. They are trying to help, and I'm being a prat.

"I'm sorry."

The room is warm. Not because it's August but because the fireplace is lit to keep away the draft. It's never quite warm here. Phillipe stares at the fire, watching the flames. "I don't think it's L—Weiss. But I can talk to him if you want."

"We can talk to him." I scrub my hands over my face. I'm so tired. But I can't sleep. I want to text Isaac to see how he's doing, but I know that's an awful idea. I stare at my mobile phone. Is he as miserable as I am?

The ringer going off startles me so much that I almost drop my mobile. I juggle it in my hand to see who's calling. Isaac. I press the button, praying he doesn't hang up. Then, his voice. "Adrian?"

"Oh my God, Isaac. Are you?—"

"I don't need you to fucking take care of me. Do you get that?"

His anger hits me like a gale wind, harsh and strong. "What? Of course you don't." The idea of me taking care of Isaac is ridiculous. But Isaac doesn't stop. I'm not sure he's even listening to me. His voice gets louder.

"I don't need your money. I thought we covered this. Sure, I let you drive us around in luxury cars and a royal plane, and then the palace—just stop helping."

Those last words sound final, and I must do something. "How dare you," I say, making it up as I go along.

"Excuse me?"

"When have I ever treated you as someone incapable of taking care of yourself? When, Isaac?" I realize I'm not trying to get him to stay on the line. I'm angry. And it's foreign to me. Have I ever been this angry? Have I ever been allowed to be angry? No. Phillipe leans closer. When I look at Reginald, his head is turned away. Not like him at all.

"Now. Right now, Adrian."

"Stop fucking ranting and tell me what's going on. Or I'm hanging up."

The quiet on the line matches the silence in the room. I almost apologize. The impulse is there. Do what I always do and make everything right. But I resist that urge with everything I have. I deserve to know. I deserve…better.

Isaac drags in deep breaths. "Okay," he says, calmer, but the anger is still there in his tone. "The letter from my lawyers wasn't about Jane taking me to court. Or Jane at all."

I wait, but there's nothing more. "What was it about? What did your lawyers want?" I'm frustrated and tired, and I want to beg Isaac to give us a chance, but I can't.

"You really don't know?"

What in the hell? "How would I know what your lawyers want?" I ask, standing and pacing the room. My gaze lands on Reginald, and he looks stricken. Guilty. And I know. "Your legal fees were all paid."

"Thank you for finally admitting it."

"I admit nothing. I wanted to pay off your bills for you. But I knew you wouldn't appreciate that, Isaac. But there are others…" I don't name names. What's the point? "Others who care less about your feelings and more about Simon."

"Are you saying I don't care?—"

"Don't be an idiot." I know immediately it's the wrong thing to say. Isaac gasps, but I ignore it. "I'm saying you might be too proud to see that this is a good thing. Now, if you need to go back to court, you'll have the means to do it. If you don't have to go back, you can quit that horrendous job you hate so much. That will be better for Simon, and you know it. Take the assistance in the good nature it was intended and say thank you."

"I—thank you." His voice is softer. More even. But also tortured, like it costs him something.

"Not to me. I told you. I didn't do this. But you're a smart guy, Isaac. I'm sure you'll figure it out." I need to get off my mobile before I do something stupid. More stupid.

"Wait—don't hang up."

Hope blooms in my chest, even though hoping is a mistake. "Why? Do you want to yell at me some more?"

"I've never heard you so angry."

"I'm…" I push my lips together to bite off my apology.

"I shouldn't have yelled. I'm sorry, Adrian."

My eyes prickle, and I blink away tears. I never cry. Almost never. "You were upset."

"Yes. And I hate myself for admitting this, but…it was kind of hot."

What do I say to that? I end up in the corner of the room. How many times have I stood in this spot staring at the painting of birds breaking free? Flying off to the unknown. Which would be better than standing still. "Isaac…"

"I know. God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He laughs. "I'm apologizing a lot."

"I miss you." I can't hold the words back any longer.

His sigh tells me what I don't want to hear. "I miss you too. But nothing has changed—I can't do this to Simon. He needs stability—you told me how much you hate being in the public eye all the time. How difficult it is. We have the press camped out in our yard, Adrian. He starts school next week. What if this doesn't blow over? I'm sorry. I wish?—"

"No, don't," I say, pressing my fingers into my eyes to hold back the tears.

"I better go."

I nod even though he can't see because speaking is difficult. I manage a "Goodbye, Isaac," and then he's gone. I stand there for a few minutes, getting myself together.

"All right?" Phillipe asks, his hand on my shoulder. I shake my head because I might never be all right again. "Let's call Weiss and see what this is about." The strength in his voice helps. I stand taller. I can do this. Even if Isaac and I can't be together, I owe it to him and Simon to fix this.

As we return to our usual spot, Reginald stands. "Your Highness, I apologize for…" His voice trails off, and I cross my arms and raise a brow. "Well, not for what I did?—"

"You didn't have to use your own money."

"Actually, I did. You wouldn't have done it"—I start to speak, and he raises his hand—"for good reason. I was the only one who could have. But I'm sorry you got the brunt of his anger. Although not—" He shakes his head. "It is not my place to say anything."

I'm not sure I want to hear what he has to say. "I trust you, Reggie. Go on."

But he still hesitates, staring straight ahead.

"Shall I give it a go? Tell me if I get this wrong, Reginald." Phillipe strides past him and turns, his hands behind his back. "Anger looks good on you."

"You're getting it wrong," Reginald says, with a lift of his eyebrow.

Phillipe laughs. "Standing up for yourself looks good on you." Reginald nods.

But I disagree. "You're still getting it wrong. I was standing up for Isaac?—"

"You yelled at Isaac," Phillipe reminds me. The room seems to be getting warmer. Is that why my stomach feels queasy? "But you are expressing your opinion. Not letting others decide for you."

"Not running away," Reginald adds.

"I've changed my mind. That's quite enough honesty for one day."

Reginald smiles. He doesn't do it often. Not often enough. Only when—I swallow down those thoughts because attached to them is sadness. Longing. Not just for Isaac but for Simon. For a family of my own that I've always wanted.

Christ, I've been so na?ve. "Okay, thank you both."

"We're not done." Phillipe glances at Reginald, who nods, the traitor. "How are you going to fix this?"

"Because, if I may, Your Highness…" He waits. If I ask him to stop, will he? Probably. But I asked for their help.

I nod at him. "Go on."

He still hesitates as if trying to find the right words or the courage to say them. "You're still running."

A punch to the chest would hurt less. "Seriously? Good thing you enjoyed my anger from before because right now?—"

Phillipe places his hand on my arm. "Hear him out, brother."

I swallow my anger and my pride. "Fine. But let me refresh my tea before you further assassinate my character."

"Assassinate, really?" But Phillipe joins me on the settee. Once we are settled and have a fresh cup of tea, I take a restorative sip and nod.

Reginald rolls his eyes, and I almost choke on my drink. I've always thought he was doing that behind my back. Now, he evidently isn't hiding it. God, that makes this situation more real than anything else. "You're afraid, understandably so…sir." He takes a sip of tea, and I want to scream at him to hurry up. Who's the dramatic one now? "You're still letting others make the hard decisions for you. Your parents. The press." He pauses, and my frustration builds before he even finishes. "Isaac."

"It's his life, Reggie." I jump up, unable to continue sitting, and glare at him. "I can't tell Isaac how to live or raise his son."

"I quite agree," he says, calm in the face of my fury. "But Isaac is making decisions without all the facts."

"What facts?" I'm still yelling. Is this going to be a thing now? "He'll figure out you were the one to pay the bills. And the press?—"

"Isn't the point. Sit down, Adrian."

I sit. Not because my brother told me to but because I feel foolish yelling and waving my arms about like some…American. That strikes me as funny, and I start to laugh. My emotions are a mess. Like Simon, I need Stella so I can feel my feelings.

Phillipe pats my back. "There, there, brother." His voice is soothing, but he's shooting looks at Reginald that seem to say, do something .

I pull air into my lungs. The scent of the wood burning in the fireplace calms me, and I watch the flames flicker. The gold reminds me of Isaac. The way the light turns his hair to gold. The glow of his heart. So good. So honest. He's so beautiful. Reginald watches me, and I nod again. "What information do you believe Isaac is missing?"

"The fact that you're in love with him."

I start to deny it, but what's the point? "And how would having that knowledge change his opinion. His focus is on Simon."

"It might not change anything, but he deserves to know."

I don't want to make things more difficult for him. Don't they see that? And what about Jane? Isaac loved her. Simon still loves her. And for all her faults, I can tell Jane loves her son. "Sometimes love isn't enough."

"You're quite right, Your Highness." He sips his tea. Is that it? Because he really needs to work on his persuasive skills.

"And…?"

"I completely agree. Love isn't always enough. Sometimes, determination and sacrifices are needed. And sometimes, you just need to give up." He waves his hand dismissively. "Why bother. They're commoners. It could never work."

My hands tighten, and I'm about to blast him when I see the triumph in his eyes. Oh. His persuasive skills are fine. Good, really. "What can I do?"

Phillipe taps furiously on his mobile phone, shaking his head.

"What's wrong?"

"Timing is everything. And, as usual, Luka Weiss has terrible timing."

I put down my cup, my heart speeding up. "What do you mean?"

Phillipe stands, his eyes darting around as if he's already moved on. "The timer went off. I need to finish my experiment."

He's almost to the door by the time I catch up. "No, Phillipe. About Weiss?"

"Oh yes. He's here. I told Anton to hold him in the entryway until I return. Then we're going to find out exactly what is going on."