Page 48 of Broken Desires
Now it’s time to concentrate on who is still here, on all the things that bring joy—on Eva’s wedding, on my studies. Now is the time to move on, embracing the present and the future with open arms, ready to write the next chapter of my life on my own terms.
Chapter 16
Alexander
“You need to be ready by eight tonight. There’s a gathering of all the heads of state invited for King Frederik’s funeral,” Hank informs me, handing over a clipboard as we navigate the corridors toward the main room. Despite our complicated past, Hank has become my adviser, and his guidance has been invaluable during this time.
His voice continues in the background, but the flood of responsibilities quickly becomes too much. “I need a minute,” I interrupt, veering right to escape into what was once my father’s office—no, it’s mine now. The king’s office.
As I close the door behind me, the atmosphere shifts. The air seems to thicken, suffocating me with a sudden grip of anxiety. My fingers fumble with the tie, pulling it loose, and I unbutton my shirt collar, craving the slightest breath of relief.
“King Frederik died of a heart incident,” they had told me upon my return. He had been struggling for some time with plans for surgery that summer. I was oblivious, kept in the dark, but a nagging thought haunts me—could his death be partly my fault? If I had been here fulfilling my duties, would he have prioritized his health over waiting for me to take up my role?
The weight of unanswered questions, all the things I need to set right, forces me down until I’m sitting on the floor. Head leaning back against the door, I close my eyes, just for a moment, lost in the sea of obligations and regrets. And then there’s Nessa.
The thought of her floods in, and with it, a pang of longing. Just having her here, to hold her close, would ease the burden. Her presence, the look of fierce confidence, would make everything more bearable.
The realization is scary, especially based on the distance between us, and I’m not only talking about the physical distance; that’s actually an easy one to fix. No, I’m talking about the way I left things and the impossibility of returning, at least for a while, causing this betrayal to fester.
People always let her down—they’ve betrayed her and put her last on the priority list, and I know that as far as she’s concerned, I probably did the exact same thing.
I reach into my jacket to look at the phone I used back in the US.
Nessa: No problem. Please accept my condolences on your recent loss. Wishing you and your family strength in this challenging period.
This message is polite but cold. Emotionless. Everything Nessa is not, and I would much rather get a flow of insults despite being in pain from my loss than such generic, empty, well-wishing.
I scroll down.
Me: Are you free? I’ll call you.
*missed call*
*missed call*
Me: Nessa, talk to me. I’m sorry.
Me: I can’t come back for a while, but I need to talk to you. Please just pick up.
*missed call*
*missed call*
*missed call*
Me: I’ll be here when you’re ready. Call me.
That was two days ago, and I still have not heard anything.
The guys are angry with me, but at least they talk to me. And though they assure me Nessa is okay, I know better. She’s a master at concealing her true feelings, and I’m left worrying, caught between my duties here and the unresolved matters of the heart.
My fingers linger over her name on the screen, toying with the idea that maybe, just maybe, if I call in the dead of night, she might pick up. Even the thought of her immediately hanging up seems better than this silence; just hearing her voice would be a balm to the restlessness gnawing at me.
A soft knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts, halting the half-formed plan. “Alex?” The voice on the other side is unmistakable.
My mother. The one person whose intrusion I could never resent.
With a resigned sigh, I tuck the phone away and push myself off the floor. “Come in,” I call out, more weary than welcoming.