Infamous Desire (6 page)

*

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.

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.

I’m aware that everyone is watching us, snapping photos continuously and listening to every word we say.

I stammer, “It’s like I said on my n-note.”

“Yes, that note.” He sounds positively angry.

“Yes. I-I can’t take the pressure anymore.” I dart a glance at everyone around us. “I can’t stand being in the spotlight anymore. It’s too trying on me. I’m having sleepless nights … ”

“Liz, I sleep with you every night. Why the sudden about turn? And why haven’t you talked to me about this? If you were having problems coping, you should have just told me – ”

He stops short.

“Oh God, this is not you. Someone put you up to this.” His eyes snap fire. “Is it my father?”

This is all going so wrong.

“No.” I shake my head vehemently. I’m not going to drag anyone into this. “I’m doing this for us. You deserve better than me, Alex. You deserve someone of your stature, and whom your family loves.”

“I’ll be the judge of who I’m going to be with, thank you very much.” His mouth thins. “It’s obvious that you have been talking to the wrong people. Don’t try to deny it, because I know you, Liz. I know you well enough to know you’re doing this because you think it’s in my best interests. But let me be the judge of what’s in my best interests. Geez, you sound exactly like my father!”

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

He’s right – every single word of it.

“I’m going to do something in my best interests.” He’s on a roll – all fire and brimstone and righteous angst.

To everyone’s amazement, he gets down on one knee before me.

Yes, I know. My jaw is on the floor like everyone else.

His eyes are burning as he says, “Liz, will you marry me?”

I’m floored.

I’m more than floored. The expectant faces all around me – wearing expressions of delight, surprise and absolute shock, the shock of watching a historical moment in the making – whirl into a murky flotsam.

Oh my God, I think I’m going to faint.

Indeed, the sounds are starting to blend into the pounding of blood in my ears. My vision spins.

No, no, Liz, this is your moment, and you’re not going to spend it lying passed out on an airport floor!

I almost can’t catch the rest of what Alex is saying. He is still on bended knee, his beautiful face earnest.

He says, “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I want, and I want us to be together, Liz. You are the one who has stood beside me when everyone was against us. Hell, they are still against us. You are the one I want to be with for the rest of our lives. No one has the right to dictate what we can or cannot do, who we can or cannot love. This is the twenty-first century!

“So before all these witnesses – ”

People are filming this with their camcorders and cellphones, knowing this will bring them a goldmine on TMZ.

“ – I’m imploring you to marry me. Moldavia needs a modern princess with a heart, not some archaic tradition most of our citizens below thirty have never even heard of. We royals need to flow with the times. We need an upgrade. This is not to say I’m asking you to marry me for political reasons. I’m asking you to marry me because I love you, and I know you love me, and we deserve to be together for the rest of our lives.”

He takes a deep breath.

“So what do you say, Liz?”

The air crackles with electricity. There is not a murmur in the house. All faces swing from him to me. Everyone is looking at me, expecting me to say something.

Anything!

What do I want?

Oh, do I even have to ask myself?

I still myself to block out everyone else except Alex.

He is the reason I’m here.

His proposal changes everything. No longer will I have to be afraid that he is going to dump me down the line. Well … you know what I mean. He can still dump me, but I’m on firmer footing. Anyway, I don’t think of Alex that way.

My eyes are brimming with tears as I say in a small voice, “Yes.”

The crowd whoops with delight and cheers as Alex gets to his feet to sweep me in a bear hug. I’m crushed in his fervent embrace, but I don’t care if all the breath is knocked out of me, because I’m wrapping him in my arms equally as tightly.

It’s nice to know that the common people are generally happy for us.

A commotion parts the crowd.

Jasper elbows his way through, flanked by a couple of aides. Uh oh, I think. They’re coming to separate us and tell us it can’t be done.

“Your highness.” Jasper wears the gravest of expressions. “May I have a private moment?”

“Yes, of course.”

Jasper glances at me. “Alone, if you please, your highness.”

“I’ve just asked Liz to marry me, Jasper, and she said yes. Anything you say to me can be said to her as well.”

Jasper is momentarily stunned. His eyes flit, and then he nods.

“Step this way, please.”

My heart beating, I follow Alex and Jasper as the aides usher us to a room.

It is empty. Jasper closes the door.

“Your highness, you may want to sit down.”

“Cut the crap, Jasper,” Alex says irritably. “I’ve had a long and very trying day for most part. What is it?”

“Your father, the King, is dead.”

All three palace aides are the portrait of utmost solemnity.

I’m speechless.

As is Alex.

Jasper adds, “Long live our new King.”