Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(125)

“Enough to flee your democratic paradise and run halfway around the world. I can only imagine. Did it ease your pain? Fleeing?”

I stare at my plate. I don’t feel especially hungry.

“No. It didn’t make it hurt any less, but I could forget about it. The missionary work is very demanding. Long hours, not a lot of down time, and there were always people around.”

“I will make you another deal.”

“What’s that?”

“If you tell me about yours, I will tell you about mine.”

He has that unreadable expression again, like a statue. I can’t meet his gaze, and my eyes fall away.

I sigh and stare down at my lap.

“We met in my junior year. Third year of schooling. We knew each other briefly in high school, flirted a bit, nothing came of it. We started dating in college. It was serious. Very serious.”

“Tell me about when he proposed to you.”

I blink a few times, trying to stop the burning in my eyes.

“We didn’t have a lot of money and our parents didn’t really support us getting together. My parents are hippies.”

“What?”

“Liberals?”

“I understand. Go on.”

I roll my shoulders and suddenly feel very exposed by this damn dress. Why did I pick this one?

“Anyway my mother didn’t think I should get married at all.”

“Why is that?”

I shrug again. “I’d have to give up my last name. Well, I mean, I wouldn’t, there’s no rule that says I have to, lots of people don’t. It’s just the principle of the thing, I guess. I thought it was really hypocritical since she’s married and she seems happy enough with my dad. I think.”

“You do not know?”

“They’re not super affectionate with each other. I don’t know. They’re weird. I’ve never seen them kiss. Sometimes I think I was an accident and my dad stays on to take care of me. Or did. They’re still together. I don’t know. It was just a loveless marriage, he doesn’t care.”

“He has a sense of honor, at least.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to be alone. Anyway, in America it’s kind of expected that the bride’s parents pay for the wedding.”

“A dowry?”

“Dude, it’s not a dowry. It’s just a dumb tradition.”

“Did you just call me ‘dude’?”

“Yes, dude. My prince.”

He laughs again, softly. “I can genuinely say I’ve never met anyone like you.”

I go quiet for a minute. Goddamn him to hell, I’m blushing.

“They wouldn’t pay for it and neither of us could afford it. We finally decided we’d elope. Sort of. We announced it. So it wasn’t really eloping. My brother liked my fiancé, though. He was my best friend, my brother.”

The prince tenses. “Was?”

“Let me finish. Please. He… He and my fiancé went out, they called it a bachelor party but it was just the two of them. It was December and it had been raining and the rain froze. Black ice on the road and they didn’t see it. The car…”

My hands are shaking like leaves. I clench them into fists and it makes it worse. Trying to finish my sentence is like trying to pull loose a fishhook that’s caught in my throat. I can’t do it. I can feel my throat closing.

“Persephone…”

“My name is Penny. I hate that stupid name. It’s my fault. They’re dead because of me. Don’t you understand? I ruined everyone’s lives. My parents, my brother’s. I’m cursed. Look what happened to Melissa, and she just shared a tent with me. That woman in the camp even got shot because I was there.”

“That is not true.”

“I don’t want to hear it. I’ve talked to therapists and priests, it doesn’t help. No amount of talking or counseling is going to bring them back.”

“You want them back.”

“Of course I do! Every miserable day of my miserable life. I just want to curl up into a ball and disappear.”

The prince stands up and walks to my end of the table. He offers me a handkerchief.

“Dry your tears.”

I didn’t even realize I was crying. I snatch it from him and wipe at my cheeks, trying to stifle my sobs.

“I told you mine. Now tell me yours.”

“No.”

I look up, scowling.

“You have enough pain of your own. You don’t need to keep mine, as well.”

“We had a deal. That’s not fair.”

“What is fair?”

I’m not sure if he’s asking me to explain the concept, or asking me if anything is really fair.

I can’t answer either question anyway.

“You didn’t eat much of your dinner.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ve been well fed, thank you. You’re a generous host, no matter what else you are.”

“That is a high compliment. I thank you.”

He offers me a hand.

“What do you want now?”

He frowns slightly.

“Always right to the quick with you. I want you to walk and talk with me. No more, no less. Then you have freedom of the castle again, but I’d ask you to return to your rooms before eleven.”