A Princess Next Door (Rothman Royals Book 1) (8 page)

It was the typical kind of social farce I’d been part of all
my life, but it felt worse than normal. I think because of Jack. He made me
notice how artificial it was and how much I didn’t want to be a part of it.

I fervently wished I was back in Minneapolis, in my
apartment or Jack’s apartment, hanging out and eating pizza. Maybe it wasn’t
what a princess should want, but I lusted after it like a fantasy.

We kept the walk short, since it wasn’t particularly fun for
anyone, and finally the guests started to leave. We waved them off, as was
expected of us, and I ran to catch up with Victoria before she started to leave
for her room.

“Is something wrong?” I called after her.

She turned around at my voice. “Why would something be
wrong?” Her voice was cool, clipped, all wrong.

She was the prettiest of the three of us sisters, with fair
hair that fell in perfect curls, dark blue eyes, and lovely classic features.
She was normally outgoing and social, with a great sense of humor, so her
behavior tonight wasn’t like her at all.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “But something is definitely
wrong. Are you…are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad?”

I made a frustrated sound in my throat. “I don’t know.
That’s why I’m asking. I thought things were…were fine between us. Did I do
something?”

She just looked at me, and I could tell she was hurt more
than angry.

“Victoria, tell me what I did. You know why I had to leave.”

“Yes, I knew. You did it for yourself, without thought for
what it would do to anyone else.”

“What are you talking about?” I was almost in tears, so
upset was I by her obvious reproach and my inability to figure out the reason.

“When you refused to marry Edward, what did you think Mother
would do? She wasn’t going to let that fortune get away.”

I gasped, raising my hand to cover my mouth. “She wants
you
to marry him now?”

“Of course she does. What did you think would happen?”

“But I didn’t think…Victoria, just tell her no. Tell her no
like I did.”

“Some of us care about our families and don’t want to throw
them away like so much rubbish.”

The words were like blows, knocking the wind out of me,
making me sway on my feet. “You know that’s not true.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to know that.” She turned her
back on me then and walked away, with as much grace and dignity as she always
had.

I stood and stared after her, barely able to breathe.

Maybe I had been selfish. Maybe I had only been thinking
about myself. It all had made sense to me—doing what felt right to me, for
me—but evidently my sister had to bear the brunt of my decisions.

I felt an arm go around me, and I buried my face in Jack’s
chest.

“It’s all right,” he murmured against my hair.

“No, it’s not. She thinks…she said…” I managed to mumble out
a mostly coherent explanation of what Victoria had just said to me.

“Well, it’s not true,” Jack said, when I’d finished. “You
weren’t being selfish. She can make decisions for herself just like you can.
It’s just wrong for her to pressure and guilt you the way she is.”

Part of me knew that was true, but it wasn’t the only truth
that mattered to me.

Victoria had been my best friend all my life. We’d stayed up
late, telling each other secrets. We’d explored all the nooks and crannies of
this palace together. We’d laughed and shopped and done each other’s makeup.

And I’d ended up hurting her terribly.

I shook against Jack for a minute before I made myself
straighten up. “I’m sorry the dinner party was so terrible.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m pretty tough. I got through it.”

He’d gotten through it because he’d known it was temporary.
It wasn’t an inevitable part of his life.

Not the way it was mine.

***

The next day, I told my mother that
we weren’t up for any social functions, although I agreed to have tea with her
and her friends, as long as Jack didn’t have to come too. My excuse was that
Jack wanted to see Villemont, since he’d never been there before, so Mother
arranged for the limo to take us on a tour.

We stopped at every site that was remotely noteworthy, and at
every place we visited, people went out of their way to welcome us and show us
around. So instead of an enjoyable sightseeing trip, Jack had to face a fuss
everywhere we went.

He wasn’t as miserable as he’d been at the dinner party, but
I knew this wasn’t how he would have chosen to spend the day.

At around two in the afternoon, we were sitting on a bench
in the main city square, drinking coffee we’d just bought from a café. For the
first time, Jack looked genuinely relaxed.

“I’m sorry about all the hoopla,” I said, trying out his word.
“It’s unavoidable.”

“So you have to deal with that everywhere you go?”

“For the most part.”

He made a face. “No wonder you wanted to move to Minneapolis
and stay anonymous.”

“It’s just here, where everyone knows I’m a princess. I
could go to Paris and most people wouldn’t know who I am.”

“But your mother doesn’t want you to live in Paris, any more
than she wants you to live in the States. Right?”

“Right. Princesses stay home.”

“Wasn’t that Edward guy from Geneva?”

“Yes. If I’d married him, I would have moved to Geneva, but
that’s close enough for my mother.”

“But Minneapolis is too far.”

“I think it’s less the distance and more the fact that I’m
not living according to her wishes.”

“You know how I feel about that.”

“Yes. I know. But I thought one of your rules was to never
apply pressure. To let people make their own decisions.”

“You can make your own decision. But I’m allowed to say what
I think about it. And I think it’s just wrong. You can’t let her dictate your
entire life.”

“I haven’t.”

“If you move back here, you will.”

I gave him a sober look. “Has it ever occurred to you that I
love it here, despite all the hoopla. This is my country, you know.”

Something flickered on his face, something I couldn’t quite
recognize. But then he looked like himself again as he said, “I know. But my
point is still valid.”

Of course it was valid. I wanted to do what was best for me,
but I didn’t want to abandon my family or my country. And I didn’t want to hurt
the people I loved.

There was no good or easy answer for me here. Surely Jack
could see that.

“I’m sorry you’re having a terrible time,” I said at last.
“But I did warn you.”

“I know you did.”

“So you
are
having a terrible time?”

He arched his eyebrows. “Let’s just say it’s not the best
vacation I’ve ever taken.”

“It hasn’t been all that fun for me either.”

“So let’s go back,” Jack said, reaching out to take my hand.
“Let’s go back home. If neither of us wants to be here, let’s just go back
home.”

Very gently, I pulled my hand out of his. “Jack, you know I can’t.”

“I know you
won’t
. It’s not the same thing.”

When I went down to breakfast the
following morning, my mother was the only one present.

I was tired and depressed. It had been three days since Jack
and I had had sex, and emotionally I felt farther from him than ever. The faint
hope that had flickered in the back of my mind for the last month—wondering if
there was some way to make a relationship work—had almost completely died now.
I hadn’t slept, and a headache was pulsing just under my right eyebrow.

My mother looked as lovely and polished as ever. Her hair
was the same pale gold as Victoria’s, and her eyes were silver gray like mine.
There were traces of silver in her hair now, which was pulled back in a perfect
bun, and her face was immaculately made up—as perfect as her pale green morning
dress.

I’d never seen her less than perfect. Not in my whole life.

Standing there, exhausted and on the verge of tears for no
reason, I wondered if there had been any moment in my life when I’d almost been
who she’d wanted me to be.

“Well, don’t just stand there like a piece of furniture,”
she said, arching her eyebrows at me. “Get yourself some breakfast.”

I turned toward the sideboard and took a plate, placing a
croissant and some fruit on it. As always, a full breakfast had been laid out,
but at the moment the sight of the eggs, bacon, and ham made me feel rather
queasy.

“Sit down,” my mother said, after I’d poured myself some
juice and coffee. “We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t. There’s nothing to talk about.” My
voice wasn’t tart or defiant in any way. It was mostly just tired.

“Of course there is. This Jack Watson is not just a friend.
You can’t possibly think I believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe.”

“Pardon me?”

“Whatever happens between us is between me and him.” My
voice was scratchy, aching.

“Relationships are always larger than just two people. You
know that. You think your family and your country don’t matter at all?”

“Of course they matter. But he matters too, you know.”

“Naturally, he does. I never said he doesn’t. But there’s a
very real question about whether or not he belongs here. You’re the one who
brought him with you. What did you think would happen?”

“This,” I admitted, staring blearily down at my plate. “This
is what I knew would happen.”

“Then why would you have brought him here, if you knew he
wouldn’t belong? Are you trying to punish me?”

I almost choked. “Punish you? You think I’m trying to punish
you
?” I turned away from her for a minute, fighting to keep my composure.
Then I said very softly, “Maybe I was still holding onto ridiculous daydreams
that what I want might actually matter to you.”

My mother didn’t respond. She just stared at me for a long
time. I had no idea what she was thinking.

Finally, she said, “You’re a princess of Villemont, Amalie
Rothman. It isn’t a truth you can just toss away.”

“I know that.”

“But you want to?”

“No,” I replied on a raspy sound. “I just wish my life was
big enough to hold everything I want.”

“Our lives are never that large.” Her voice was softer now,
almost gentle. “No one can have everything they want. Sacrifices are always
made.”

I nodded, still staring down at my untouched plate. “I
know.”

Before my mother could say anything else, voices sounded
down the hall. I looked up to see Jack come in with Lisette behind him, and
then a young man I didn’t immediately recognize.

It took me a moment to realize it was Alexander Georgeson,
the son of Francis Georgeson, the family administrator. The last I’d seen Alex,
he’d been in college and had looked like a boy.

He didn’t look like a boy now, with his strong, lean body
and square-cut jaw. He was working with his father now, I vaguely remembered,
so he was on staff at the palace.

The voices I’d heard were him and Lisette arguing about politics.

“Not at the breakfast table, children,” my mother chided.

Neither Lisette nor Alex were children anymore, but they
didn’t object to the instruction. They just gave each other looks that promised
the argument wasn’t over and went to the sideboard to fill their plates.

Jack stood for a moment, looking down at me with an
expression I couldn’t understand.

“Good morning,” I murmured, my voice hoarser than I
expected. It almost hurt to see him like this, big and handsome and sober and
not at all like himself—like he was almost already gone.

“Morning.” He looked like he would say something more, but
instead turned away to make his way through the line of chafing dishes. He
didn’t take nearly as much food as he normally would have, so I knew he wasn’t
feeling well either.

When he sat down beside me, my mother asked, “So what are
your plans for the day?”

In her own way, I knew she was trying to be generous by not
assuming she could plan our day’s schedule herself.

“I don’t know yet. We haven’t made plans,” I said.

“We’re having lunch on the lawn, followed by croquet, if
you’d like to join us.”

I glanced over at Jack with a silent question.

“Sure,” he said. “That sounds like fun. Although I’ve never
played croquet before.”

“You’ll pick it up quickly,” Lisette said with a smile,
clearly trying to break through the tense mood in the room. “If your stores are
for sporting goods, I guess you probably played sports yourself.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, smiling at Lisette with close to his
normal warmth. “I played football in high school—and other sports for fun.”

“American football, right?” Alex asked, clearly just for
clarification.

“Oh. Yeah. Right. I played a little soccer, but American
football was the thing in my hometown.”

Jack had told me about his small rural hometown, but I had a
hard time visualizing what it would be like. I wanted to visit it sometime,
know more about it, about him.

Although, that wasn’t likely ever to happen.

“Such a crass, uncivilized sport,” my mother murmured.

The worst thing was she wasn’t even trying to be mean. It
wasn’t a personal comment—just her normal snobbery.

Jack blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to reply, but
immediately closed it again.

He was holding back, the way he had for the last two days.
Cutting off what he wanted to say so he didn’t offend my family—even when they
were incredibly rude to him. It spoke to the strength and kindness of his
heart, that he wasn’t mouthing off just to make himself feel better.

It just wasn’t right, though, for him to be treated that way.

“Mother,” I chided quietly, giving her a significant look.
“Jack likes American football. I thought we didn’t offend our guests. Isn’t
that rule one?”

“Of course, dear,” she said with a slightly surprised smile,
as if she hadn’t realized anyone could actually like the sport. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Watson. I’m sure there’s more to it than I’m aware of.”

I met Jack’s eyes, and I could tell he wanted me to just let
it go, so I didn’t say anything else.

He was miserable here, and it wasn’t getting any better.

***

After breakfast, I suggested to Jack
that we take a hike in the morning, since that was the only activity I could
think of that wouldn’t surround us with other people. He looked pleased with
the suggestion. I went upstairs to change my shoes and came down to join Jack,
finding him staring at a portrait in the main hall.

“That’s Henry, the first king of Villemont,” I explained,
coming over to stand beside him. “He was a devoted hunter and insisted on being
painted with his dog.”

Jack peered closer, looking interested. “It’s not a very big
crown.”

“None of the kings of Villemont have ever worn large crowns.
Humility has been a moral imperative for them. It’s part of our history, after becoming
a sovereign nation. It’s the whole smaller-is-better idea.”

Jack chuckled. “That’s a good motto for a country of this
size.” He moved down to look at the next portrait on the wall. “Is this the
second king?”

“Yes, that’s Henry II. He was a musician, which is why the
pianoforte is included. Look at the flowers behind it. Those were the favorite
of his wife. She died just two years after they married, giving birth to their
son, and he never got over it. The green, purple, and silver of those flowers
became the national colors for Villemont. My mother still presents people with
bouquets just like that whenever she is trying to be diplomatic or extend a
hand of grace.”

We moved through the rest of the gallery, looking at the
portrait of each king of Villemont, ending with the painting of my father that
had been done ten years ago.

And I was almost surprised to realize that I was having a
good time, talking about the history and lineage of Villemont to Jack, who
seemed genuinely interested.

“You really love this stuff,” he murmured as we finished.

“What stuff?”

“Your history. These paintings.”

“Of course,” I replied, surprised by his comment. “I’ve
always thought this portrait gallery is the best representation of the history
of Villemont we have in one place. Art can convey so much more than a litany of
events. These are real people. Living, breathing men. Who devoted their lives
to a country and all the ideals it was built on. You can see it in them, can’t
you?”

I hadn’t intended to say so much, especially since Jack
hadn’t had a very good time in this country. But he was gazing at me with
something in his expression I couldn’t quite pin down. It was almost a question
and almost awe and something else unnamable.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head, as if dispelling his thoughts. “Nothing.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay. Are you ready to go then?”

I was hoping we could get out of the palace on a good note,
but that hope was in vain. My mother caught us before we left and gave us
directions to the paths we should hike and strict instructions about being back
in time for lunch on the lawn.

I kept telling her we would be fine, and Jack kept holding
back whatever he wanted to say.

So the good moment between us didn’t last very long.

***

It was a pleasant day for a hike,
with clear skies and vibrant sunshine. We trekked up a fairly easy mountain, and
I was relieved by the freedom and the quiet. I figured Jack was too, since he
didn’t say anything as we hiked.

When we got to the top, we sat down in the grass against a
rock and ate the snack I’d brought with me—water, apples, and mixed nuts. I
closed my eyes to enjoy the sun, and when I opened them I saw that Jack was
staring out at the blue-gray mountains on the horizon, stark against the vivid
blue of the sky, the higher ones still peaked with snow.

 I could read his expression very easily, and my heart sank
again as I processed it. “You’re not having a good time here,” I murmured.

He turned his head quickly to face me. “It’s fine, Amalie.”

“No, it isn’t. My mother is rude and condescending to you.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the end of the world.”

“You aren’t able to say what you want or be who you want,
for fear of offending people. You can’t…be yourself.”

“I can deal with that for a week. How often do people get
along with the families of their significant others? It’s always a practice in
biting one’s tongue.” He reached his arm out to pull me against his side.

I leaned against him, feeling exhausted again and sadder
than ever. “But it’s more than that with us. Isn’t it?”

Jack exhaled deeply. “Yeah. I think it is.”

I closed my eyes. “We’re just too different. Two different
worlds.”

“That doesn’t make it impossible.”

I tilted my head up to meet his eyes. “Then what does make
it impossible?”

“That you still want to be part of this world,” he said,
very gently. “That, no matter how much they try to force you into a role that
doesn’t fit you anymore, you won’t make the decision to be who you really want
to be. You’re still too scared to live without a safety net.”

The words hurt—so much I lost my breath. He made it very
clear that the impossibility of our relationship was my fault. And he was
probably right, which hurt even more. “I keep telling you it’s not that easy.”

“And I keep telling you it’s easier than you think.”

I shook my head, pulling out of his arm since something else
was joining the pain in my heart. Something sharp and almost angry. “Do you
hear what you’re saying, Jack? What you want me to do? You want me to give up
my home, my country, my family—for you. You want me to sacrifice my identity to
be with you. You keep saying I’m afraid to live without a safety net, but
you’re doing the same thing in your own way. You won’t give up who you think
you are and who you want to be, but you’re asking me to do just that. I know it
happens in romantic stories, but in real life it’s not something anyone should
ask of someone they care about. Do you hear how selfish that is?”

Jack groaned. “I’m not asking you to sacrifice everything,
Amalie. How can you think I’d do that? I’m not asking you to give up your
family and never come back here again. I’m asking you to be who you really want
to be—which is a graduate student in art, living in Minneapolis.” He paused
before he added thickly, “With me.”

In so many ways, it
was
what I wanted—but it was only
part of what I wanted. “What I truly want,” I finally said raspily, my eyes
starting to blur with tears, “is for my heart not to be so hopelessly torn.”

Jack’s features twisted, and he pulled me against him again,
wrapping both arms around him. “I’m sorry it’s so hard,” he said at last. “But
you’ll have to make a decision eventually. And I hope, for my sake, that it’s
sooner rather than later, because I’m in too deep with you as it is, and
there’s no way I can be part of this world. If you’re not going to decide for
me
,
then I’m going to have to…break things off.”