Black Keys (The Colorblind Trilogy #1) (56 page)

I sent the king my goodbyes and best wishes with Prince Fahd, wishing I could tell him so myself, but too afraid because I didn’t know if I would meet the queen there or not. She certainly wasn’t someone I wanted to see...
ever
again.

“Are you ready, Princess?” Mazen asked softly.

Not at all.

I nodded, despite myself, and Mazen put one hand under my thighs and the other around my back, carrying me bridal style, and then walked us out the door as I buried my head into his chest and breathed him in.

“The third day after the wedding my whole family came to visit you as the traditions say,”
Mazen had told me when I asked what had he come up with to explain my departure from the kingdom to his people. “
I told them you couldn’t meet with them because you were sick. Now I’ll tell them you got even sicker when you left the wing to visit Princess Rosanna after we thought you’d gotten better. Since then we’ve been trying different medications on you but nothing has helped, so we had to go visit your doctor in the States.”

A few months later he would say it didn’t work out and we had to get a divorce. We’d go our separate ways, like we had planned from the start, and he would take care of the paper work.

It broke my heart all over again just hearing those last words.

Outside, there was a huge gathering of black cars, one ambulance and four police cars. Once we stepped outside, the sounds of fireworks rang out one after another, and they flashed in the sky enough to light up the whole place. The sky actually brightened with the amount of fireworks they set off.

Too bad I was too heartbroken to even smile at the sight that had always made me grin enthusiastically and scream cheerfully.

“Why are they doing that?” I whispered my question to Mazen.

“Because this is how a princess leaves, Princess,” he smiled softly down at me, even if his eyes held a fire of sadness that was even more colossal than the sky above us.

When we got into the car, Mazen didn’t let go of me. I stayed on his lap all the way to the airport, the same road I’d taken just two nights ago. The same road I’d thought to be too long then, but now seemed to be too short. The same road I never knew I’d take while starting to make my way back to my homeland–and be that depressed about it.

The hum of the expensive cars that surrounded ours was quiet and soothing, but nothing even compared to the sound of Mazen’s heartbeats underneath my ear.

He kissed my forehead repeatedly all the way to the airport, and I kissed his chest right above his heart in return, my tears never drying, nor my chest willing to stop swelling.

The car slowed down and my heartbeat raced, and I could swear I felt Mazen’s hand tightening over me a bit more. I heard the guard who was driving us asking, “Forgive me, Your Highness, is it the first or second jet?”

“First.” Mazen replied. When the car stopped, and the doors opened, neither of us seemed to want to make a move to get out of it.

The silence that surrounded us spoke volumes about how brokenhearted and miserable we both were, that even our silence was sad enough to put me in tears which seemed to have sworn to never leave me for the night.

We got out of the car when we both knew that we couldn’t stay any longer. It wouldn’t do either of us any good, we realized. When Mazen put me down on my feet, I threw myself into his arms, hugging him and saying, “I’m going to miss you, Mazen.”

I miss you already.

He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m never going to forget you, Princess,” he replied. When we pulled back to look into each other’s eyes, I saw his bloodshot ones through my tears, announcing how hard he was trying to keep from letting his tears out. It broke my heart even more. And his small sad smile–last one I got to see–pained every inch of my insides.

We kissed once, twice...then the third one was only a peck. I took a step away from him, my hand still tangled with his, and with another step, our hands let go of each other. I believe I felt a knife cutting through my chest and straight to my heart just at the loss of his touch.

I waved him a final goodbye when I reached the last step on the stairs to the plane, and when I got inside...I fought really hard not to collapse to the floor and curl into a ball.

I found my laptop and cellphone on the table in front of where I was seated, but–shockingly–I found no interest in them at all. All of my attention was focused on the window, where I could see Mazen still standing with his hands folded behind his back. But his head was not held as high as he’d always kept it: he was looking down at the ground as if he couldn’t move his gaze up and watch me leave.

I touched the glass of the window with my hand, and cried some more for the man I never thought I’d be crying over–or even shedding one tear for. I cried for the man who had shown me more love and protection than any other man had ever shown me. I cried for the man who handled me with care, and taught me things with patience. I cried for the man who asked me to stay with him for six months to save his sister’s life and her reputation, only to have me fall for him in six
days
, no less. I cried for the man whose race and beliefs I’d loathed most of my life, only to end up falling in love with him, utterly and unconditionally.

The plane moved, and then took off, and I left the kingdom. Left Mazen. And left my heart with him.

One day, I asked my grandfather,
“Papa, what’s one of the hardest things in life?”
and he told me,
“To smile when your tears are about to fall.”

He was right.

Once I was on the plane, I never thought of how much I feared it, or how much I hated being on it, like I had most of my life. I only thought of one person: Mazen. Only thought of one thing: I was leaving him.

My tears were not something I wanted to keep in. I was facing so many difficulties already; crying in front of strangers wasn’t my biggest concern. Leaving the last person I’d thought I could ever fall in love with, was. I had every right to bawl my eyes out.

I didn’t care how rude I sounded when I asked to be left alone most of the flight. I needed peace–at least around me. Because inside: there was undying war, and troubling fights.

The memory of him as he stood there all broken when the plane took off–I don’t think it could ever be more vivid in my head. It didn’t leave my mind for a second. Not for a moment. And it made me cry even harder just remembering his last words:
“I’m never going to forget you, Princess.”

He did one of the hardest things you could do in your life: he smiled while his tears were about to fall.

I didn’t have that kind of strength.

One day, I asked my grandfather,
“Papa, what’s one of the hardest things in life?”
and he told me,
“For fate to force you into doing something you never wanted to do.”

I couldn’t understand the irony of fate: when I loathed being in the kingdom so much and hated having to be there for my brother’s wedding, I found myself promised to the Crown Prince of said kingdom, for the rest of my life.

I struggled and suffered and tried to escape, but I failed.

And then...then I fell in love, and my eyes opened and saw things they’d never seen before. I realized I wanted to spend more time with him. I realized I was wrong in wanting to be away from him, and then–only then–I got my previous wish of getting away from him.
He
let go of me.

How unfair could life really be to me? With all of the struggles I’d had all of my life...this was something I should easily get through–but I couldn’t.

I didn’t have that kind of strength.

I might’ve straightened myself up, given myself a pep talk to be able to move on, stopped my tears from showing and stopped my voice from shaking. But my outside was strong for the sake of the image I had to keep up, because back home, I wasn’t the weak and crying ball of pity I’d been in the kingdom. I needed to get myself back on track to take care of the things that needed to be taken care of.

However, on the inside...I was dying. Slowly.

“Oh, thank goodness! I was going to start a search party for you,”
my assistant, and friend, said jokingly from the other end of the line.

“Terri,” I smiled softly into the phone, not realizing how much I’d missed her until I finally heard her voice.

“Are you okay? Where are you? How’s married life?”
she asked, all too cheerfully.

“Uh…you know about the marriage?” I frowned.

“Mhmm...and I guess you didn’t want me to know
?” I could sense the hurt in her voice.

I sighed, “Listen, Terri, I’ll explain later. I’m landing at JFK airport in an hour, okay?”

“Oh, the honeymoon is over already, Miss Workaholic?”

“See you in a few,” I said and hung up, frustrated to learn that Joseph had probably already made up stories about my marriage, and not knowing how much damage I’d have to deal with–along with what I
already
had on my plate.

One day, I asked my grandfather,
“Papa, what’s one of the hardest things in life?”
and he told me,
“When you can’t find someone who understands or feels for you.”

I couldn’t think of anyone I knew whom I could tell about what had happened. I didn’t know who would understand. Terri was so kind and a great friend, but what could I tell her when I didn’t even know what to say to myself?

My emotions were all over the place. I knew being home was the right thing for me, but...I couldn’t feel the things I’d thought I’d feel once I put my feet on the ground in my country.

I thought I’d feel relieved. I didn’t.

I thought I’d be able to block my mind from thinking of what I’d lost. I couldn’t.

I thought I would forget all of the nice and kind things I’d lived through in the kingdom. I wouldn’t.

I knew I should get him out of my mind and my heart, because it wasn’t good for me: ‘us’ was impossible and just plain wrong. And my heart always shouted at me, “You shouldn’t.”