Satin Princess(10)

I’ve traveled light. One suitcase and a duffel bag. It was more than slightly depressing how neatly my life could fit into two bags. I even put my first frying pan in the suitcase. It’s the only sentimental possession I allowed myself to bring. Everything else is consigned to the dustbin of my past.

“Don’t mind Clark,” Freya whispers once the butler is gone. “He seems like a stuffy old codger, but that’s only because he is.”

She laughs at her own joke while I shake my head. “He doesn’t seem to like me,” I say.

“He just doesn’t know you,” she dismisses. “He’s accustomed to seeing the same type of people all the time.”

“Is it really just that? Maybe he loathes Americans in particular.”

“Sure, but who doesn’t?” Her eyes twinkle and then she yanks on my arm. “Come on. I want to show you the gardens.”

It’s lovely outside, if a little gloomy. The clouds hang over us, casting a gray pall on the freshly mowed lawn. I’m wearing a light sweater, though I’m not quite sure it’s up to the task. I’m usually better at handling the cold, but not recently. I wonder if the change has anything to do with my pregnancy.

“You okay, Jessa?” Freya asks, watching me with a worried expression on her face.

I nod. “I’m… fine.”

“That wasn’t convincing at all.”

I take a deep breath. “It’s really beautiful here. And you’re so nice to do this for me. I just feel… sad, I guess.”

“Of course you do. You just left your home and you have no idea when you’ll go back. Or even if you’ll go back.”

That sends another storm of shivers running down my spine. I can’t imagine never going back. America might not have always been perfect, but it was home.

I’m still hoping it will be home to my child, too.

“I really, really appreciate you bringing me here, Freya,” I tell her sincerely. “I don’t know how I could have done this without you.”

She waves away my gratitude. “You would have figured it out.”

“I’m not so sure.”

She gives me a reassuring smile. “You’re a capable woman. And you’ll get through this. You just need to put Anton behind you.”

“That’s a big ask,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

“Because you’re in love with him?”

I glance towards her, wondering why she makes me repeat it so often. I hate addressing the truth of my feelings because it only reminds me that I can never lean into them.

“I’m trying not to think about him, actually.”

She fidgets uncomfortably. “Listen, Jessa, you’re my friend and I feel like you deserve my honesty, so I’m giving it to you: trying to ignore his memory won’t work. All you’re doing is suppressing your feelings for him.”

“What do you suggest I do then?”

“Stay here with me for a while,” she says. “And we’ll figure it out. Together.”

“No,” I insist. “I need to get back on my feet. I need to figure out what my next move is going to be.”

“Who needs a move? Do an anti-move. Do nothing. Sit and meditate in my garden for a month, eat until you explode, learn how to, like, juggle or play piano or something. Whatever you feel like doing.”

“It’s not that,” I say, frustrated that I can’t seem to put my feelings into words. “I just want something real, something reliable. My life sure as hell wasn’t perfect, but there were things I could count on. I could count on my job, my friends, my apartment. I had roots. I was comfortable. I was happy.”

“You can do all that here, you know,” she points out.

“In England?”

“Why not?” she asks. “I’d be here to help.”

I frown. “You’re not going back to the States?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she admits. “It was fun for a minute, and then I got homesick. I guess I’m just hoping that my favorite part of the States will decide to stay here with me.”

I laugh. “If you’re referring to me, then I’m flattered, but you really didn’t get around much.”

“I saw enough to know.” She smiles, but her expression grows serious after a moment. “As you can see, my family has money, Jessa. I can make sure that he won’t find you.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want you getting involved.”

“I’ve got news for you: I’m already involved.”

She’s right. I can try and pretend like I’ve kept my friends out of everything, but it’s far from the truth. I dragged Chris and Freya into this mess right along with me. The guilt makes me lightheaded.

“Is there a place we can sit?” I ask feebly.

“There’s a bench right here,” Freya says, pointing behind us. “Jessa, are you okay? You look pale all of the sudden.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say quickly. “This pregnancy is just really taking it out of me.”

I turn and sit down on the bench. Only when I look up do I realize that Freya is staring at me with wide eyes and a jaw hanging to the floor.

She closes her mouth and then opens it again. “Pregnancy?”