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Got it?
Finally I get,
yes.
I don’t feel very confident in that yes.
I’m also now too tipsy to come up with a better plan than to just lock them all in their rooms. Separately, of course.
But then I’d have to change my phone number because God, thewhiningwould be intolerable.
Chapter27
Linnea
* * *
"Diarmuid?" I say, peeking around the edge of his door.
He looks up from what he’s working on at his desk. "Linnea," he says, a smile breaking across his face. "Come in, come in." He pushes back from his desk and rises, coming around the end of the enormous piece of furniture to meet me partway across the room.
He enfolds me in a hug, and I draw in the familiar scent of the cologne he’s worn my entire life. It reminds me of leatherbound books and cedar. It’s comforting and makes my stomach dip at the same time.
I don’t want to disappoint him.
I know what he expects from me. I’ve always known. It’s never been the slightest bit vague.
And now I’m completely rejecting it.
When Jonah found out the king had asked to see me, he’d been nervous.
"We can’t tell him about us yet."
"I know." But I’d said it with hesitation.
Jonah had taken my face in his hands. "Duchess. He can’t know yet. It will panic him. He might believe separating us is the best way to fix the problem. This isn’t the plan and we don’t have a better alternative to offer. We need more time."
I know this. I’d agreed in D.C., I’d agreed after we spoke to Torin, I agreed an hour ago, and I agree now.
But being face to face with the man who is as much a grandfather to me as my own was, and the wave of missing my grandfather in that moment, makes it hard.
I havealwaysdone what was expected of me. Always. I’m the one people can count on. It’s who I am. I’m not a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher or a soldier. I’m the someday queen. The reliable one. The one who knows what must be done and will do it. I’ve taken pride in that. Even when everyone else—i.e., the O’Grady princes—were running around and worrying everyone, the king and my grandfather knewIwould be here, doing my duty.
I swallow against the tears that suddenly tighten my throat and manage a wobbly smile for Diarmuid.
"Here. Sit." He gestures toward the sitting area in front of his desk.
I’ve spent hours of my life in this space. I’ve drunk gallons of tea while sitting on that cozy sofa, drawn pages of maps and pictures and "decrees" with my colored pencils while listening to my grandfather and Diarmuid talk business.
I didn’t understand it all, of course, but I understood their tones. I knew sometimes it was serious and solemn, and sometimes it was celebratory.
They both loved this country and loved leading it. It was a source of joy and pride and sadness and pain. And they shared it all together.
I know that the weight of everything has felt heavier for Diarmuid since my grandfather’s death. Actually, even before that, as my grandfather’s memory and mental acuity faded.
I’ve been able to step in and help, and it always made me feel good to do so. But I am no replacement for my grandfather. Their friendship was decades old. Their affection for one another was always obvious. My grandfather was the one person who could truly argue with the king.
Diarmuid has always felt that he needs to protect Cara and its people. He wants it to be a haven. My grandfather, on the other hand, wanted Cara’s influence felt beyond its shores. He wanted Cara to be recognized, and to be proof that even a small country can be a big leader.