I might be single-minded and selfish, but when I heard someone crying, my instinct was to comfort. I followed the sound to a door which stood ajar at the far end of the corridor. Gently, I pressed it open, unsure as to how I should announce my presence.
Given that I’d decided to do what I could to help, regardless of who the afflicted party turned out to be, I felt for a moment that I was being rewarded as I saw that the crying sound was issuing from the same woman who’d occupied my thoughts for the better part of the day. I was so pleased to see Keira that, without realizing that I was doing it, I found myself smiling, an expression that was clearly inappropriate to the situation. Keira sat on a sofa in the day staff changing room, head in hands, gently sobbing. She was half dressed, as if she had begun to get changed and then not had the energy to continue as she was overtaken by grief.
I had no idea how many women I’d been with, and yet I felt as if I’d never witnessed such an intimate moment before. It was a raw scene—the sort of thing that no one would knowingly share—and I realized that the longer I eavesdropped upon it, the less thoughtful and the more creepy my presence became. Just loud enough to be heard but hopefully not loud enough to startle, I cleared my throat.
Keira jumped a little and turned, her tear-reddened eyes wide.
“Oh,” she said, a small and desperately pathetic sound. She gathered her clothes about her, making sure she was decent if not presentable. “I’m sorry, your Highness, I didn’t hear you…”
I held up my hands, dismissing her apologies. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. What’s wrong? Can I help?”
Keira shook her head, swallowing back tears and forcing a false smile. “No. But thank you for asking.”
I edged further into the room, not wanting her to feel trapped or pressured but not willing to leave her when she was so clearly upset.
“You can tell me—what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. Every girl needs a good cry from time to time. That’s why we watch weepy movies. It’s how we roll.”
I looked around the room. “Are you watching a weepy movie? Because it doesn’t seem like it. And people don’t cry for no reason.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“They don’t.”
“Then I guess I must be the exception.”
I sat down beside Keira, careful to leave a respectful distance between us. “Look…” I stopped to select my words. “I’m an ass. In so many ways. And a prick. And I think you said ‘bastard’ yesterday—that too. And a whole bunch of other words. But I’m also here. And for all that I may be an ass…”
“And a prick.”
“And a bastard, yes. I care.”
Keira met my gaze, her eyes still damp and her light makeup streaked. “Care about what?”
“Believe it or not, I care about all kinds of things. But right now I care most about you. And I can understand why that would be hard to believe given the way I’ve behaved, and if I’m honest I can’t really explain it because we hardly know each other. But there it is. I do care about you, and if something’s wrong then I’d like to help if I can.”
It seemed that she was searching my face for some sign of insincerity, trying to gauge if I was genuine or if this was just a line I used. I tried to look honest, which wasn’t easy as I considered that I’d been born with a thoroughly untrustworthy face. But it seemed to satisfy Keira, to a point at least.
“I just haven’t had a great day, that’s all.”
“I did try to be better behaved this morning,” I said.
Keira rolled her eyes. “Number one: having enough self-control to not parade your penis around shouldn’t be an effort, that should be a given. Number two: not everything is about you.”
I grinned at that. “Sorry.”
“Although I suppose this is a little about you,” she admitted.
“Oh, good,” I replied. “I mean…not ‘good’ per se. But if it’s about me then maybe I can fix it.”
Keira looked at me with an expression that was tough to read. “There’s a quality to you that’s either naivety or idiocy. I can’t tell which. It’s irritating but occasionally quite sweet.”
“That’s my jam.”
Keira laughed and shook her head. “Members of the British royal family really shouldn’t say ‘that’s my jam’.”
I nodded. “Word.”
“Or that.”
“I know, I was just trying to make you laugh again.”
Keira smiled. “I appreciate it.”