Stealing Cinderella(46)

“Calder says you let her touch you.”

Heat creeps up my neck as I glance at him. “She was high.”

“But you weren’t.” He arches a brow at me. “You don’t normally let women touch you like that. Not unless you’re in control.”

“I was still in control,” I lie.

There was nothing controlled about my thoughts or feelings when Ella crawled into my lap and touched me that way. Like she couldn’t breathe without me. Like she would die right there if I didn’t let her feel me. I’ve never allowed a woman to touch me so freely. But it felt... good. And for a second, I could pretend that it was real. That it was the most authentic experience I’d ever had. Until Calder touched her too. Until she came for him too.

“Can you tell me about Ella?” Dr. Blom asks.

I glare at him. I don’t want to tell him about Ella. Ella is mine and no one else’s. But I can’t say that because it doesn’t make any sense, even to me. She isn’t a part of my plan. I only have limited time with her. Two months of peace, and then I’ll let her go. Pressure throbs in my temples, and I start talking because I don’t want to focus on that.

“She likes animals. She takes care of them.”

“So, she’s kind,” he remarks.

“She’s fucked up.” I meet his gaze. “Like me. That’s why she’s here. That’s why she’s with me.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Do you think someone couldn’t care about you unless they are broken too?”

“She is broken,” I insist. “She cares too much about other things. About other people. She shouldn’t.”

“Do you mean she shouldn’t care about you?”

“She doesn’t,” I growl, tossing the piece of plastic in my hand aside. “We’re just using each other.”

“Yet your father has you dating another woman back at the palace.” He frowns as if this is problematic. “Someone he wants you to marry.”

“She doesn’t matter.”

“Do you think it would do any good to have an earnest conversation with your father then?”

I stare at him, blank.

“Right.” He shrugs. “Then perhaps you should consider your options. Would you care to revisit the topic of renouncing your right to the throne?”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Why?” He studies me with a cautious intensity.

Because I’ll never make it to the throne. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell anyone what my plans are.

“It’s my duty,” I answer coldly. “And nothing can get in the way of that.”





“You look beautiful, Mor.”

“Thank you, Thorsen.” She smiles up at me from her wheelchair. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you for cocktails this evening. I just felt so good today, and I thought I should seize the moment.”

“I never mind anything you do.” I sit down beside her. “You know that.”

Lavinia offers us a forced smile. “You two are so sweet together.”

“He’s very special.” My mother nods. “He’s always been so different. When he was a boy, he used to bring me flowers from the garden. It would drive the gardener’s mad. And he had the cutest stutter. It took him years of speech therapy to overcome that.”

My lungs burn, and I can feel the color draining from my face as I reach over and touch my mother’s arm. She’s staring off into the distance, her eyes glazed, and when she returns her attention to me, her expression falls.

“Oh, dear, I forgot. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that, was I?”

“It’s okay.” My voice is tight. “Let’s just talk about something else.”

She thinks she’s embarrassed me, and when her eyes fill with shame, I feel like even more of an asshole.

“It’s all right, Mor.”

“I’m afraid I’ve spoiled the evening, haven’t I?” Her body sags into the wheelchair. “You two should go on your date now. I’m getting very tired.”

“Yes, we really should get going,” Lavinia chimes in.

“Let me walk you back to your room.” I stand, and Lavinia moves to follow before I narrow my eyes at her. “I’ll return shortly.”

Her lips flatten as I leave her standing there, spinning my mother’s chair around and pointing her in the direction of her room. She’s pensive as I wheel her down the hallway, and I don’t know how to fix this awfulness between us either.

In her room, I help her into her bed, and she glances up at me with more love than I’ve ever deserved. “I’m sorry I mentioned your stutter. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I take a seat beside her. “You didn’t upset me.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she scolds. “My brain might be rotting away, but don’t you dare lie to me.”

“It isn’t about the stutter.” I sigh.

“Then what?” Concern colors her eyes.

For a second, I consider what it would feel like to confess the truth I’ve been carrying for all these years. The truth I should have gone to her with in the first place. But even as a grown man, there is still that question. Would she believe me?