Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(87)

When I see my mother, I feel like a pile of pickled fish that's been left out too long in the sun. She looks like a drowned rat. She's stripped out of her elaborate gown and sits on the edge of her bed in a shift, hugging herself. Her weeping has made her makeup run, black streaks like claw marks on her cheeks.

A tremble tightens in my throat. Sitting next to her, massive arm cradling her shoulders, is Thorlief.

I can see the stains on his shirt where she wept against him. When we arrive, Jason falls back, shifting nervously. He squeezes my hand.

"I need to speak with my daughter alone."

Thorlief stands and his hand lingers on her shoulder a moment. It's like the shock of cold water. I've never seen another human being lay a hand on my mother. No one has ever touched her in my presence. Someone must have, since I'm here to prove it, but even in my dim memories of my father, I can remember no touch, no hint of intimacy between them.

Jason and Thorlief leave. The door closes behind me with a resounding boom, and I spoil my cold, calm demeanor by flinching at the sound. Mother doesn't even notice. I shuffle my feet, not sure what to do.

"Sit next to me."

I smooth my skirts and sit beside her, folding my hands on my lap. How close do I sit? This is all so foreign to me. My only early memories of my mother are of her sitting on a throne. She never brushed my hair or kissed my cuts or did anything motherly with me at all. I can barely recall ever having the touch of her hand on mine.

"You can relax yourself. I'm not going to bite you."

I try to relax, I truly do, but my back stays rigid and my shoulders set. I don't know where to look, what I should do or say. It's like I'm meeting a stranger for the first time. A weeping stranger, in her bedroom.

This room is full of vague memories too. I spent little time here. As an infant I would have been kept in the nursery while Mother resumed her work leading the country. I visited her a handful of times as a child, usually for a scolding.

I never tried on her clothes or stole her makeup or whatever it is daughters and mothers do. I never sat on this bed and cried over a boy or a bad grade. It has about as much meaning to me as a hotel room.

Her voice is so soft I almost miss it.

"I'm sorry."

I sit there for a moment and stare into the empty hearth, thinking that over.

"That's all you have to say to me? You're sorry."

"I don't know what else to say."

"You've made your apology. I should go."

"Wait. Please."

I shift only slightly before I sit back down. Mother continues to stare at the floor.

"For the first few months, I missed him so much. It made me hate him for feeling that way. The hate helped me. It hardened me. I wasn't soft anymore. It didn't hurt as much."

"What was his name?"

"Brandon. He would have been your father if things were different."

"How did you meet?"

She snorts. "I was a student. Like you. I… I needed a tutor. I was faring poorly with English and I needed help with my literature courses."

Something changes in her voice. It becomes soft, light, like a summer breeze. "He was intimidated by me at first, and with good reason. Thorlief was always there staring over my shoulder, just like he was with you. He seemed afraid I would bite."

"You have quite a bite."

"I did, though not the kind you mean."

I shudder a little. "Mother, please."

"I'll spare you the details. I wish I could say he swept me off my feet, but I was the one making the advances. He just fascinated me so much. He knew so many things, had been to so many places, had seen so much. I was the princess, but he made me feel like a country bumpkin. All the things he told me about. It was magical. His voice would just carry me away."

"I know how that feels."

"I can see that you do. I told you, I initiated everything. Including our first night. It was special. I made sure of it. Was yours special?"

I wring my hands, trying to squeeze the discomfort out of my head.

"Yes. It was very sweet. He was…."

"Don't tell me. There are some things I don't need to know. He was good to you, yes? That is what matters."

"Yes. He was."

"Brandon was good to me. He was sweet and kind, and we lasted all night and into the next morning. I felt like a cat lying on a windowsill the next day. I spent all day in bed, and he brought me sweets and made me all three meals." She laughs, and it has the bitter edge of a slice of orange with too much rind. "He was a terrible cook."

"They made you leave him. Thorlief told me."

She sighs, hard, and scrubs the runny makeup from her cheek with the back of her hand, then stares at her wrist.

"No."

The word sends a cold trickle down my back, and I feel it spread through my body.

"I never understood," she says, her voice like steel scraping over sandpaper. "He was with another woman the entire time. His real girlfriend. She was from New Jersey. She was plain. Ordinary. The princess was only good for a lay. I was a trophy to him. He bragged to his friends that he'd plowed the princess."

I grasp her hand before I even realize what I'm doing. "That's horrible."

To my utter surprise, she doesn't pull her hand away. Not only that, but she squeezes mine.