Page 39 of His Prince

I swallow, feeling my stomach churn as George nods at me and walks away. For some reason, George worries me the most. Perhaps it’s his aloof, cold nature. At least Bane is fun, at least he makes me smile in his own, weird way while he’s taking out eyeballs.

I stare down at the bags of shorn clothes and let out a shaky exhale.

Well, Mikhail may send me to George—and he might after what I just did—but I was so angry when he left this morning.

I bite back a manic laugh before squaring my shoulders and breathing deeply. I just need to clear my mind and get back to the garden. It’s starting to take shape. More plants are arriving today—roses and hydrangeas, azaleas and bleeding hearts.

So much color, so utterly alive.

So unlike me.

I inhale deeply once more, centering myself, and get to work. Ilose myself in the plants, my fingers brown from dirt, my skin pink from the sun. I need to call the applicants for the gardener position, one standing out in my mind. But I won’t know who would work best in this environment until I meet them, until I feel their vibes.

I make a note to do that before the day ends when suddenly Felix is at my side.

“You okay, little husband?” he asks, and I sigh, realizing what time it is.

“Shoot, I missed lunch, huh?”

He nods and I stand up quickly, swiping at my eyes and smearing dirt across my cheeks. “Give me like ten minutes and I’ll whip something up.”

“We can?—”

“No, Iwantto.”

I march toward the house and see everyone lingering and chain-smoking, almost unsure what to do.

“I’m so sorry. I have a lot on my mind,” I say as I move past them into the kitchen. I pull open the fridge and stare at the ingredients inside.

“What is it? Can we help?” Titus asks, and Casey frowns as I shake my head.

“No, I’m okay. Just distracted. I’m fine, really.”

They whisper to one another in Russian as I assemble their sandwiches, none of them believing that I’m truly okay.

Maybe I’m getting worse at lying.

“You getting sick?” Casey presses the back of his hand to my forehead, but it falls to his side when he realizes that I’m, in fact, not burning up and delusional from a fever.

I’m just…I’m tired.

It’s only been a week and a half, and I’m exhausted.

Not from cooking and working in the garden, but from the emotions rolling through me. I’m tired of lying to myself, of pretending everything is okay.

It takes a lot of energy to be angry all the time.

I don’t understand people who can hold onto it for years.

I’d wither and die.

When everyone grabs their food, I move outside to sit with them, leaning my head against Gael’s shoulder and closing my eyes.

He pats my head and threads his fingers through my hair as I doze off.

I’m jostled awake and startle slightly as Casey helps me up.

“You want to lie down for a bit? I can take care of dinner,” he says, and I sigh, tucking myself into his side.