“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he began.
“Of course not. I asked in front of you. I knew, given a moment, you would know exactly what I was asking.”
“I thought …” Jamie’s voice trailed off.
He didn’t need to utter the words for Ele to know what he would have said. He thought the time of their parents’ assassination didn’t matter to her anymore. He turned toward her and leaned against the sill, crossing his arms in front of him. His stern big-brother—by two minutes—look. Ele saw it enough but rarely did he suit up like this for her.
“You hadn’t mentioned it in so long. I thought perhaps you didn’t notice anymore.”
Ele would have preferred to hold his gaze, but like the coward she was, she looked away from him. “You’ve been so busy over the last year; you just haven’t noticed. I know the exact time is insignificant. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place. But nothing has changed. Not really.” The statement lingered. “Have things changed for you? Significant things?”
Jamie moved closer, perching on the edge of her desk, as if proximity could make the conversation easier. She didn’t want to think about her brother experiencing things without her. But it was hard for their paths to cross consistently even though they shared the same residence.
“No, no changes. Are you sure you are okay with this”—he waved his hand toward her calendar—“trip?”
“If I wasn’t, I would have found a way to get out of it.”
They shared a grin.
“I think it will be fun for you. Something different. But also, it’s important right now. With the current political situation, it’s vital to give our country something to celebrate. And there’s nothing we love more than football.”
She shrugged. There were things she could say, inequities she could point out. But Jamie wouldn’t, couldn’t waver in his support of the crown on the issue of independence. To even ask him to share his thoughts would put him in a difficult situation.
“You could use some fun,” Jamie remarked, conveniently changing the subject.
“What makes this seem like such fun to you?”
“I don’t know. I just thought … your appearances are so staid. You know, your stamp collectors union and all,” he said with a wink. She opened her mouth to argue, but Jamie was quick to continue, “I know you love your committee work. But when was the last time you let go and cut loose?”
Ele shrugged. “My definition of ‘having fun,’ ” she quoted, “has changed in the last twelve years. And really, your great idea for me to have a good time is to send me out on an official event. Perhaps your definition has changed too.”
Jamie grinned. “It wasn’t planned that way. It just happened.”
“Of course it did.”
“Have you seen some of the lads? I heard they put together a calendar. Figured, if nothing else, you would have pretty faces to look at.”
Ele’s hand flew to her chest, her eyes widening. Head swiveling, she glanced around the room before scooting her chair back and peeking under the desk. “Thank goodness there aren’t any paps around. What kind of comment is that for the future king to be making?”
“Sod off!”
Ele snickered.
“Seriously though, any prospects I need to vet?”
“I’m the Spinster Ice Princess. Even the promise of vast riches and royal babies can’t entice men to notice me. Don’t you read the tabloids?”
“You know I don’t.”
“Maybe. But I know Charlotte gets a packet every morning and highlights it for you to read over your coffee.”
Jamie grinned but refused to comment.
“What about you though? Is there a beautiful aristocrat who has struck your fancy?”
In the roulette wheel of genetics, Jamie, Juliana, and Ele had won. They suffered no weak chins, heavy jowls, or hooked noses. If Jamie ever took the time to think about what he might change about himself, maybe he’d wish to be taller. But with his perfectly coiffed mahogany hair against the amber hues of his skin and his ice-blue eyes, most forgot about his height. If one were looking for an imperfection, his lips were too full and wide—a bit feminine, to be fair. Yet his appeal wasn’t wrapped up in the outer trappings. Charismatic and charming, Jamie didn’t have a personality as much as an aura. Ele knew there was a depth to him, some part of himself he hid away and only allowed very few people to glimpse. In his introspective moments, he left the door ajar.
“Do you think there is any opportunity for real, genuine”—he glanced at her—“guess that means the same thing”—his self-deprecating smile was in place—“connection?”
Goose bumps trailed down Ele’s arms, the subject matter so telling. She attempted to shake the melancholy of the moment. Because when it was quiet and the duties were done, she thought of it. Her brain didn’t function like Jamie’s; he was more intuitive than she. The subject matter though was the one thing she couldn’t analyze with her scientific method.
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps.”
“Is that what you want?” She knew everyone was supposed to want a connection with another person, but could a future king afford it? Could he share himself in that way?
Could I? With all of my rules and rituals and rigidity, is there someone who could fit themselves into the tight confines of our lives?
“Maybe it’s me. I’ve met countless women but never gotten that feeling. The one poets adorn with words. I can quote Shakespeare here.” His sad smile nearly broke Ele’s heart.
Uncomfortable, Ele shifted in her seat. “I don’t know.”
“Me either. You know I have never begrudged our lives. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” When Ele glared at him, he amended, “Of course, that. But I mean, I have never felt sorry for myself and this life we were born into. It’s probably blasphemous or treasonous to say this, but”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“I look forward to the day I will ascend the throne.” He smiled wickedly. “I just don’t want to do it alone.”
“Should I be offended?” Ele teased.
“No. You always have my back. And Jules too. But don’t you ever wonder if there’s something we’re missing out on?”
She did. “We have whatever we need and things we didn’t even know we wanted. And all we have to give is our time and effort. We get to travel the world, although we don’t really get to experience much of it, do we? Is it arrogant and selfish to think we deserve something else, something so indefinable as love?”
Jamie graced her with what she considered their smile—the slight tilt of the right side of the mouth, the crinkle of twinkling eyes. It warmed her. But not all the way through, not to the suddenly unearthed empty corner of her heart. Not even he could fill that spot.
“I get it. There has to be more, right?”
2
31 March
St. Peter’s Training Ground
Tristan Davenport was on top of the world.
He crested the hill in his BMW, the majesty of St. Peter’s Training Ground spread out before him. He wanted to race toward the complex, squeal into the parking lot, and let the sound of the rubber scraping the road announce his arrival. Although it was a solitary entry, in his head, there were trumpets blaring, banners waving, and crowds screaming his name.