Then Nicholas says, in that tone that doesn’t leave any room for argument, “Not today, you’re not.”
After I give the Prince a tour of the house, we get to work. Hanging sheetrock and spackling isn’t exactly light exercise—and with it being an usually warm day, I’m drenched by noon, sweating out all the poison from last night. We order sandwiches from the market a few blocks over and after rehydrating and a hot shower, I feel less like a heap of trash somebody pissed on.
There’s a line from a movie—I forget which one—about how the perfect way to end a hard day’s work is with a bottle of beer. Whoever wrote it knew his stuff. Because later, Nicholas and I sit in the back garden, each of us with a cold bottle of beer, watching the sun go down.
It glows deep pink and bright orange—like God struck a match and lit the sky on fire. And I think of Ellie . . . of how I want her here watching the sunset, all wrapped up in my arms, on my lap, every single night.
“I’m going to tell you something I haven’t told anyone,” Nicholas says, his eyes on the sky. “When I came home for the first time after abdicating, and attended my first event, it was . . . uncomfortable.”
He braces his elbows on his knees, looking down at the bottle, picking at the label. “The way they looked at me had changed. You could feel it in the air. I don’t think I fully understood the respect I commanded previously, the power I’d had—until that moment. Until it was less than it had been. I felt . . . neutered.”
I nod, because that’s it exactly—less than.
Even with the family I come from, I’ve never felt looked down on, not since I was fifteen years old. I work hard, I’m the best at what I do, and that matters to me. The idea of people thinking I’m trying to weasel my way under a door, take something—someone—that I don’t deserve is . . . unpleasant. It lays in my gut like a rotten food—needing to be purged.
“Do you know how long it lasted?” Nicholas asks.
“How long?”
“About five minutes. That’s how long it took for me to spot Olivia across the room. And then I thought—I get to have her. Keep her. Love her and be loved by her . . . forever. This astounding, brilliant woman. Then I asked myself: Why do I give a shit about the opinions of people I’ve never given a shit about and still don’t?” He snaps his fingers. “And like that, the unpleasantness got knocked on its arse. And I felt like me again.”
I take a pull of my beer. “So it’s just that easy, then?”
Nicholas glances at me thoughtfully. “When you look at her, does the whole world just sort of . . . fade away? And she’s the only thing you see? The only thing you ever want to see?”
I smile stupidly. “Yeah . . . yeah, it’s just like that.”
“Then yes, it’s that easy.”
Nicholas drinks his beer. “Besides, when it’s all said and done . . . I’m still a prince and you can still kill anyone in the room with your bare fucking hands. So . . .” He taps his bottle to mine, “cheers.”
AFTER LEAVING LOGAN’S HOUSE LAST night, I didn’t go back to the party. I couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine having to slap on a smile and pretend that I was okay. That I didn’t feel like my chest cavity was filled with concrete. But although I was sad, I didn’t cry. Because it doesn’t feel like Logan and I are done—like we’re over—like I need to mourn. It’s more like we’re stuck, twisted up in vines that are holding us in place.
Olivia came to my room. She left the party early, because she was tired and even with the flats, her feet and ankles were swollen. Her toes look like ten overstuffed sausages—the kind that Bosco once ate a whole package of. Our dad’s coming to Wessco next week, so he’ll be here when the babies are born and he’s bringing Bosco with him—the little demon. It’ll be good to see them, to talk to my dad, hug him. I’ve missed him. He’s good at reminding me that even when life is difficult, we can figure it out, make it better.
Liv and I talked about men. How stupid they can be, how stubborn. She said that change is hard for everyone—but for leaders like Logan and Nicholas, it’s particularly difficult. Olivia made a lot of sense—she gave me sage, old-married-woman advice.
Then she offered me her bat.
I love her.
And now I’m in my room, lying on the bed, staring up at the canopy, my phone playing music from random playlists. “Collide” by Howie Day comes on—I’ve always liked this song. It reminds me of me and Logan. How our lives have woven around each other’s through the years. So many memories and moments. We’d circle each other, watch one another, veer away or try to fight it . . . but we were always pulled back together. Colliding. Connecting.