Page 56 of Broken Desires
I cut him off, attempting to assert my authority. “Are you forgetting I’m the king of this country?”
Cole pauses, only to burst into laughter. “Ah, good one! Dude, I couldn’t care less. Once you share a shower with someone?—”
“We absolutely didn’t!” I interject hastily. “We shared showers—plural—in the locker room, nothing more.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” Cole dismisses with a nonchalant shrug.
Frustration mounting and patience wearing thin, I’m about to press further when Ethan, perhaps sensing my growing irritation, decides to intervene.
“Your sister took them to the panoramic view about ten minutes ago,” Ethan reveals, offering me a lifeline.
“Ah, come on, traitor! You said you were in to torture the kingling,” Cole complains, his plot foiled.
Ethan waves off the accusation. “We have four days for that. Cut the man a break.”
I shoot Ethan a grateful look before casting a stern glance at the two instigators. Without another word, I head toward the south stairs, my steps quickening as I make my way to the palace roof, hopeful yet anxious about what—or whom—I’ll find there.
Reaching the rooftop, the presence of two royal guards by the door is the first thing I notice, but my attention quickly shifts to the group of women, their backs to me, engaged in observing something toward the north. My sister is animatedly pointing out a feature in the landscape.
“Please leave us,” I direct the guards, not taking my eyes off the women. They comply, exiting discreetly, leaving me with a moment of anticipation.
As the group turns to face me, my heart momentarily leaps. My gaze locks with Nessa’s, and for a second, everything else blurs. But then, confusion sets in. She looks different—her hair, normally a vibrant mix of silver and purple, is now a natural brown, and her usual goth attire is replaced with blue jeans and a red long-sleeved shirt. It’s Nessa, but it feels like I’m seeing her through a new lens.
“Did you have a nice trip?” I address them, though my question is really for Nessa.
She nods, a simple gesture that sends a flurry of emotions through me.
Thankfully, Eva intervenes. “Astrid, could you show us our room?” Her timing couldn’t be more perfect, and I’m silently sending her a thousand thanks.
“I’d like a moment with Vanessa, if that’s okay,” I say, my words hanging in the air with hope and apprehension.
Astrid, sensing the gravity of the moment, doesn’t argue. She ushers the other girls back inside, leaving Nessa and me alone under the vast sky.
I take a moment, then step closer to her, every fiber of my being wanting to bridge the gap with an embrace. Yet, I hold back, unsure of the welcome my touch might receive.
“What’s up with the hair?” I find myself blurting out, curiosity getting the better of me.
She reflexively touches the wig, a slight frown forming. “Oh! It’s a wig. I didn’t want to stand out too much.”
I gently catch a lock of the wig between my fingers, feeling its unfamiliar texture. “I want you to stand out, Nessa. I need you to be the real you here,” I express, hoping she understands the depth of my words.
Her gaze drifts to the designer suit I’m wearing. “Is that the real you?” she challenges, her voice filled with curiosity and skepticism.
I respond by taking her hand and guiding us both to sit down. “This suit? It’s just one part of me,” I admit. “Living in the US for three years, away from my royal duties, I discovered a sense of peace in being seen for who I am, not for my title or the expectations that come with it. It was freeing, being appreciated for me and not my status.”
She squeezes my hand, and I lift it to kiss the back gently, an acknowledgment of the connection we share.
“I knew I’d have to return to this life, but then I met you, and everything changed,” I continue, a smile breaking through. “You showed me a side of life I’d forgotten and made me embrace chaos and genuine living. I lied about who I was because I was afraid of losing that recognition from you, the real me, not the king or the facade I present. I never meant to hurt you. I would never do that because you matter far too much to me. Far more than I could have anticipated, and this is why I needed you here because no matter what you believe, you know me, probably better than anyone else.”
She seems to ponder my words, then challenges softly, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Are you, though? This isn’t you,” I press, gesturing to her attire. “Tomorrow, when I step into my role officially, I want the Nessa I know in the room—the wild rose who sees me for who I truly am.”
In response, she removes the wig, revealing her natural self. “I’m right here.”
Content, I whisper, “Perfect,” and kiss her hand once more. “I have to show you to your room now. With all the dignitaries around, I can’t stay with you tonight. But before you leave, we need to talk.”
She observes me, always trying to read the unspoken truths in my expressions. “Yes, we should.”