Infamous Desire(16)

There’s a pregnant pause.

“You’re a good woman, Elizabeth Turner. I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

We would probably never have met under different circumstances, I don’t say.

*

The only thing I am taking from Tatiana is my one-way plane ticket back to Chicago and some cab money.

I am a coward. Rather than to go through challenging explanations and teary goodbyes, I decide to write Alex a note. It is early afternoon and Alex is nicely tucked away at work in one of the many companies he heads.

I’ve packed only the clothes I came in. I have left everything else I bought here on Alex’s expense account in the closets of my guest room. Just like taking money from Tatiana, it wouldn’t be right.

I sit down to write the note. My heart is leaden as I move my hand pedantically to scribble the words on the palace notepaper with the embossed Moldavian seal.

… I’m sorry …

… I have decided to go back home because I can’t take the pressure anymore. This is your life, not mine, and I don’t think I can live a day longer in such trying circumstances …

… goodbye. I will always treasure our moments together.

… don’t try to contact me. I will not return this time.

That last hurts the most of all. My tears are rolling down my cheeks and dripping off my chin, and I sign the note with a shaky hand. I seal the envelope and write Alex’s name on it. Then I put it on his pillow – the pillow on his side of the bed in the guest bedroom that we share. Since we’ve come home, Alex has not slept a single night away from my side.

I’m doing the right thing, I convince myself for the hundredth time that day.

I dry my tears by scribbling little goodbye notes to the King, Queen and even Claire, thanking for their kindness in having me as a guest. I place these carefully on my desk where they can be picked up by the maid.

I pick my backpack up and head downstairs. Jasper is waiting for me in the hall. He is the only one in the palace I have told of my plans. Needless to say, he approves.

He smiles.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes.” I don’t feel any animosity towards Jasper. Like everyone else, he’s just looking out for the royal family, a family he has come to call his own.

We go into the car. Jasper gets into the front passenger seat. We are in the exact same position as we were when I first arrived – a fitting coda to my sojourn here.

He turns to me. He looks less displeased than I have ever seen him.

“You’re not a bad person, Ms. Turner.”

“I never was.”

“What you’re doing is admirable, and I respect that.”

“Thank you.”

“Under different circumstances … ” he lets it trail.

No, I will him. Don’t say that under different circumstances, we could have been friends – because we never will.

Thankfully, he doesn’t finish the sentence.

I look back at the palace as the car drives out towards the gates. Its image sears in my mind, forever imprinting itself as a bittersweet memory.





Chapter Eleven


I’ve checked in and I’m holding my boarding pass in my mouth as I bend over to tie my shoelaces. I’m in the clothes I came in as well – a halter top and jeans. The boarding announcement has just gone up, and the passengers on my flight – to London, and which would subsequently connect to Chicago – are already forming two lines: one for first and business class and the other for coach.

I’m on first class, the only concession I’ve allowed myself. At least I deserve a good night’s rest after all the emotional turmoil I’ve been through.

“Liz? Liz! Stop!”

I look up, as do the other passengers around me. Alex is running down the terminal passageway, dressed in his suit and tie.

My heart sinks.

I really don’t want a scene. The note was bad enough. And what is he doing off work so early anyway? Has someone from the palace alerted him?

Excited chatter buzzes around me as many of the passengers recognize who he is. Alex’s physical perfection is unmistakable – the floppy almost shoulder-length hair, the intense blue-green eyes, the marvelous composition of his features against his cheekbones. Several passengers raise their digital cameras and cellphones to snap both Alex and myself. Earlier, none of them recognized me because of what I’m wearing.

It’s amazing how much we are defined by what people expect of us.

Alex slows down as he comes up. He’s panting slightly as though he has sprinted the past few miles (and maybe he has).

His face is ashen.

“Liz, why?” There’s pain in his voice.

I wince. I never planned for this scenario, and so I don’t have a rehearsed script. I’m also a naturally honest person. I can’t tell bald face lies very well. Sure, I can do it on paper … but with Alex’s beautiful, pleading face with all the hurt in the world etched upon it … I’d have to be made of stone.