Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
We’d been in the kitchen a while now. My TV interview had aired earlier tonight and even though my stomach had felt like it was gnawing at itself, everything had gone well. The story was presented compassionately. I didn’t feel like I was misrepresented or misunderstood. It was strange feeling like something had finally gone my way for the first time.
Henry and I had ended up here in the kitchen afterward. Genoveve had gone to bed early, but I was starving after a day of barely eating anything.
Now we were making sandwiches together, under the wan, fluorescent overhead light in the dingy old kitchen.
And it was miraculous.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been able to assist with any cooking process, even if it was just assembling sandwiches. A crew of three people would make me a sandwich in the castle, even if I’d tried to ask to do it myself.
Instead I was here, bumping arms with Henry, getting my hands dirty. He reached over to steal the lettuce from me, and his dimples appeared as he smiled.
It was overwhelming how good it was. It was the simplest thing in the world, and yet it was perfect. This simplicity was what I wanted. Why did I need ten thousand dollar coats when I could have this? Grocery store roast beef sandwiches with a man I loved this much?
After we sat at the small, yellow wooden table in the kitchen and ate our sandwiches, I finally told Henry what had been tumbling around my mind all night.
“I think I’m going to go talk to her tomorrow,” I said softly. “And I’m… going to ask her to remove me from the royal succession.”
Henry furrowed his brow. “You’re kidding,” he whispered.
“I’m not kidding,” I said.
Henry started shaking his head, slowly at first and then more vigorously. “Don’t do this just for me.”
“It’s not just for you.”
Henry’s dimples were long gone now. He looked plagued with worry.
“I know you want to be the king one day,” Henry said. “And I don’t care what I have to do, I will never take that away from you. Marry some prince, for all I care. You can have a fake marriage, just to satisfy the royal requirements. He can… I don’t know, he can sleep in guest quarters or in his own wing of the castle. I’ll still be the one in your bed at night.”
I shook my head. “You’re sweet,” I said. “But I know you don’t want that.”
“Not really. But I mean it,” he said. “Fuck the rules. As long as I can have you.”
“No,” I whispered. “No more secrets. I’m done with them. I want you to be my husband. My real husband, one day. And I don’t want to have you as a dirty secret for the rest of my life.”
He was still for a moment, and then he lifted one eyebrow. “You proposing to me already, baby?”
I let out a long laugh that was a relief I hadn’t realized I needed badly. I took Henry’s hands in mine, squeezing his fingertips. “When I do propose to you, it’s certainly going to be a lot cooler than that.”
“Oh yeah? What if I propose to you first?”
“Don’t make it into a race!”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m just saying. If the time feels right to me someday, I’m not going to wait around to propose.”
“Henry,” I said.
“What?”
“Have I told you that I fucking love you?”
“You have,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “And I hope you keep doing it for a very long time.”
He stroked his palm up and down my spine, pressing small kisses to my temples, my jaw, my collarbone.
“I’m going to do it, though,” I whispered. “Tomorrow. I’m telling my mother that if I can’t marry you, I’m never going to be king.”
Henry leaned back, looking me in the eye. “Who does become king or queen, if you aren’t there to take the spot?”
“My cousin Mattreg,” I said. “He currently lives in Norway.”
“Mattreg?” Henry said. “What the hell kind of name is that?”
“You don’t even want to know the names that some of my distant family members have.”
He nodded. “So it’ll be King Mattreg instead of you,” he said. “Is Mattreg a nice guy?”
“Mattreg is a two-year-old baby,” I said. “If his royal ruling style is anything like his current interests, it will certainly include playing with wooden blocks and laughing hysterically any time someone blows bubbles.”
“Oh dear,” Henry said.
“Yep.”
“You don’t have to do it right away,” Henry said. “If you aren’t ready. Sleep on it for a week. Or for a month.”
“I’ve already slept on it enough,” I said. “And I don’t think I’m ever going to be ready to tell her. Not really.”
“Because you don’t want to give up your legacy to someone who still wears diapers,” Henry said.