Page 57 of Broken Desires
Reluctantly, I release her hand, conscious of the rumors our closeness might spark. Not for my sake—I’m indifferent to the gossip about my feelings—but for hers, to shield her from the harsh scrutiny of the press before she’s ready.
Descending to the royal quarter in silence, the weight of the moment rests heavily between us. I had toyed with the idea of having her stay closer, in the royal wing itself, but the potential for gossip held me back. Instead, I arranged for all my friends, including her, to be housed here, a compromise that still keeps her close.
We pause at the door to her assigned room, and I point down the hall. “My room is at the end of the corridor,” I inform her, hinting at the proximity, at the thin barrier of space and duty that separates us. “I’ll see you later,” I add, hoping the words carry more promise than a simple farewell.
As I start to walk away, I can feel her gaze fixed on me, a tangible connection that halts my retreat. Turning back, our eyes lock, and a flood of emotions held back by dams of duty and fear breaks free. Without a second thought, my hands move, almost of their own accord, conveying the words my voice cannot carry. I love you. It’s a silent confession, but in this quiet space between us, it rings louder than any spoken declaration.
Then, with a heart both heavy and light, I turn and walk away, the echo of my confession lingering in the air, a bridge across the distance I’ve just placed between us.
Chapter 19
Nessa
“Ilove you…” Those words, signed as if they were just another part of our conversation, not the monumental admission they truly are, keep echoing in my mind. Watching him tonight, effortlessly mingling with guests, he seems even more unreachable. Dressed in his royal attire, he moves with a grace and authority that only highlights the distance between our worlds.
He loves you. The thought repeats itself as our eyes meet briefly, his attention quickly shifting to engage with a dignitary in a general’s uniform. Then, I see his mother approaching him—her elegance and the striking resemblance between them are undeniable. What would she think of me? How would we even be introduced in a setting like this? Self-consciously, I smooth down my hair, toned down from its usual vibrancy but still distinctly me, aware of how different I am from the other women here.
Poppy, sensing my discomfort, gives me a nudge as Cole engages Ethan in conversation nearby. I glance at her for the translation.
“He’s asking if we’re going to keep standing here like wallflowers or actually mingle,” she interprets.
A grimace crosses my face. Under normal circumstances, I’d jump at the chance to stir things up a bit, but tonight, I fear it will create more problems for Liam.
“What would you suggest we do?” I shoot back at Cole, unable to resist a jab. “No offense, but I doubt anyone here is as fascinated by your… peen as Eva is.”
Eva laughs and leans into Cole, her arms finding a familiar place around his waist.
“That’s not true; my wife loves my peen. Don’t you, sweetheart?” Cole turns to Eva, his devotion to her evident in his playful face.
His unabashed enthusiasm for including “my wife” in nearly every conversation could easily become a perilous drinking game for anyone attempting to keep pace. It’s a mix of crazy about her and endearingly sweet, the kind of love that makes you shake your head and smile at the same time.
Eva’s face turns a shade of pink, a silent plea in her eyes. “We agreed—no peen talk tonight.”
“She’s the one who brought it up,” Cole quickly points to me, trying to deflect the blame.
“Super mature,” I can’t help but snort, although their silly argument does cut through some of the evening’s tension, lightening the mood just a bit.
Ethan, looking to change the subject, suggests, “Let’s mingle for a bit. I’m starving, and the buffet’s calling my name.”
Grateful for the diversion, I stick close to Poppy and Eva as we navigate the crowd, eventually joined by Henrick and Astrid. Their company keeps the evening enjoyable, filled with laughter and good food. Yet, despite their best efforts to keep the mood light, I can’t shake the feeling that something—or rather, someone—important is missing. The guest of honor, the king of Denmark himself, remains far from me, his presence lingering but never close enough.
The next day feels almost like stepping into a dream as we’re led into the grand hall, a room charged with an air of solemnity that feels overwhelming, almost too heavy for one person to bear. Here I am, Vanessa Caldwell, standing among royals and heads of state, a surreal moment that underscores the distance between my world and the one I’ve stepped into, all because of him.
Once the room is full, the solemn atmosphere of the grand hall is suddenly pierced by the measured steps of the royal guard that cause the wooden bench to vibrate. Their entrance, precise and dignified, heralds the arrival of the main event. All eyes turn toward the grand doorway, anticipating the appearance of the man of the hour.
Then he steps in. Liam, or rather Alexander, commands the room’s attention not just by his title but by his presence. Clad in the traditional blue and red of the monarchy, he embodies the very essence of the royal lineage he was born into. Despite the grandeur of his attire, it’s the man beneath the crown that draws my focus.
As he walks up the aisle, there’s a grace to his steps, but from my vantage point, I can see the subtle tension in his shoulders—a silent testament to the weight he carries. To the world, he presents a facade of unwavering calm, a monarch ready to lead his nation into the future. But to me, he’s still Liam, the man I’ve come to know and understand on a level deeper than anyone else.
His words echo in my mind, You know the real me. And it’s true; I do. Better than most. His admission from before, now fully realized, resonates with newfound clarity. I see beyond the crown, beyond Alexander, to the Liam underneath—the genuine, vulnerable, and resilient soul who has faced challenges with quiet strength.
Standing here amid the pomp and circumstance of the royal ceremony, I recognize the significance of my presence. It’s not just as a spectator but as someone who has glimpsed the heart behind the title. I’m here not only to witness his ascent to the throne but to offer my support, silent and steadfast. In this moment of his greatest triumph, I understand the depth of our connection and the role I play in his life, not just as Vanessa Caldwell but as someone who truly knows him, ready to be there for him through the challenges and celebrations that lie ahead.
As Alexander settles into his throne, he looks my way, and without thinking, I sign back the answer I’ve been holding in my heart, I love you too. It’s a bold move, right here, right now, but it feels right.
I’m not totally sure he catches it, but there’s this moment where it looks like he stands a bit taller, a hint of triumph in his expression. It’s like my silent words just added something more to this whole royal scenario for him, something beyond the crown and the ceremony.
Then it happens. They place the crown on his head. Watching this, my emotions are all over the place—proud, a bit overwhelmed, and kind of amazed. Here he is, becoming the king of Denmark right before my eyes, and all I can think about is the quiet, real moments we’ve shared. Through all this royal spectacle, it’s our thing, whatever it is, that feels the most significant.