Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(88)

"Only three people knew. You grandfather, myself, and the guard who discovered this. Not Thorlief."

"Did you ever know he had feelings for you?"

"I… suspected," she sighs. "I told myself it was an idle fantasy. He was always so kind to me, even after. To my father, I was soiled, damaged goods. I went to my arranged marriage having known a man. In the biblical sense. That's not done."

I swallow, hard. "You were afraid this would happen to me."

"When I saw that newspaper, I wanted to send someone to kill the boy. The prime minister talked me out of it. Apparently killing an American would start a war. If they killed more of their adulterers, they might not have so many divorces."

"That was very dark, Mother."

She glances at me and shrugs. "Life is hard. You can be harder, or you can let it break you."

"That's not true. Sometimes you have to be soft. Like water."

She blinks. "What?"

"You pour water into a cup, it takes the shape of a cup. You pour water into a bowl, it takes the shape of a bowl. Water can flow, or it can crash. Be like water."

She looks at me in utter confusion. "I see."

"I don't think you do."

"I only wanted to protect you," she confesses, taking my hands in hers. "Don't you see that? I wanted you to never know the pain I felt."

I yank them away. "You never wanted me to feel anything at all. I'm done being an ice princess, Mother. I like the warmth."

"Do you hate me?"

"Yes. In a way. I also love you. I could only hate the way you treat me because I love you. You're still my mother. I ache for a kind word from you, a smile, a kiss on the cheek, a hug. All my life I saw other girls with their mothers. When I started college I saw the Americans with their parents, the way they hugged and cried when they said good-bye, and I always wondered, 'Why them and not me?' I would see other girls with their boyfriends and wonder, 'Why them and not me? Why do I have to be so alone?' I was so bitter."

"I do love you. You are the child of my body. Nothing matters to me more than…."

"Than our country. That's what you told me."

She looks down. "I'm sorry for that too. I only wanted you to be prepared."

"For what?"

She rubs her hands together and brushes at her eyes, swiping away more tears. "One of my youngest memories of my father is when he told me that one day he would die, and I would have to take his place."

I stay silent.

"I was nine, and I was terrified. I would be queen… if he died. You don't remember him, but he was kind to me. That was the worst. We were close, and this hung over my head my entire life. I was born to wait for him to die. I couldn't stand it. I never wanted…."

"You did the same thing to me."

"I know," she whimpers. "I thought if that was all there was between us, if we were not so close, it would ease the burden on you, it would…." She shakes her head. "When you were born and they placed you in my arms, all I could think about was the day I'd have to tell you that when I die, you become queen."

"So you took yourself away from me first."

Her breath catches, and she hitches in a sob. "I'm so sorry, Ana. Please."

"Why should I believe that?"

"When I saw him kiss you, I knew. I remembered how I felt before it was all ruined, how magical it was for me. I've never felt anything like that since. I realized what I'd taken away from you, what I'd tried to keep from you."

"We love each other. He never betrayed me. We're true to each other, and we always will be."

"I hope so. I wouldn't wish this"—she touches her chest—"on anyone, least of all my daughter. So many years wasted." Her voice softens yet again. "If only he'd told me."

"Who? Oh."

"He was my first crush. It was silly. I was sixteen and he protected me and he was a man, big and strong, not a boy. Of course. I wonder how he felt, knowing I was sneaking out with Brandon. As he watched me grow into a woman. How he must think of me now, after all I've done to you."

"I think he loves you. He kissed you like he did."

My mother blushes.

Now, there is a sight.

Her expression slackens. "I've ruined my life, and yours."

For a moment, I hesitate. Then I gently reach out and rest my hand on her back. The warmth of her skin surprises me, somehow. I expected her to be cold, like touching a marble statue, but she is warm.

I take in the sight of her. Hunched forward, she is not the austere, beautiful queen, the way I always saw her. She's skinny; if she lost any weight, I could see her ribs. She has crow’s feet around her eyes, and her lips twitch from perpetually frowning. Her hands seem too small, and stripped of her royal regalia she just looks sad, pitiable.

Gingerly, I wrap my arms around her. She sits still for a moment, tension hard in her muscles until she relaxes against me.

It feels strange. I should be the one finding comfort in my mother's arms. I rest my cheek against the top of her head.

"I don't hate you."

When she hears me, it's like the strings are cut. She goes limp, then throws her arms around my waist and begins to weep. It was all there, all this time, I realize. She took all her feelings and desires and impulses and stuffed them away somewhere deep down, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until they turned into a hard stone ball somewhere deep within her, and now it's cracking open and all pouring out. She whimpers half-coherent apologies into my shoulder as she weeps, stroking my back with a tenderness I never imagined she had.