Page 83 of American Royals

Beatrice gave a miserable nod, unsurprised that he’d figured it out. “He wants me to get married before he dies. I think it will give him peace of mind, to know that he’s leaving the country in safe hands.”

“He will be leaving the country in safe hands, with you. There’s no one smarter or more capable.”

“I think he wants to ensure the succession,” she clarified, her voice bleak. “Make sure things are set up for the next generation of Washingtons.”

At the mention of children, Connor halted his steps. For a moment Beatrice thought he was going to storm off, turn away from her and never look back.

Instead he fell to one knee before her.

Time went momentarily still. In some dazed part of her mind Beatrice remembered Teddy, kneeling stiffly at her feet as he swore to be her liege man. This felt utterly different.

Even kneeling, Connor looked like a warrior, every line of his body radiating a tensed power and strength.

“It kills me that I don’t have more to offer you,” he said roughly. “I have no lands, no fortune, no title. All I can give you is my honor, and my heart. Which already belongs to you.”

She would have fallen in love with him right then, if she didn’t already love him so fiercely that every cell of her body burned with it.

“I love you, Bee. I’ve loved you for so long I’ve forgotten what it felt like not to love you.”

“I love you, too.” Her eyes stung with tears.

“I get that you have to marry someone before your dad dies. But you can’t marry Teddy Eaton.”

She watched as he fumbled in his jacket for something—had he bought a ring? she thought wildly—but what he pulled out instead was a black Sharpie.

Still kneeling before her, he slid the diamond engagement ring off Beatrice’s finger and tucked it in the pocket of her jacket. Using the Sharpie, he traced a thin loop around the skin of Beatrice’s finger, where her ring had been.

“I’m sorry it isn’t a real ring, but I’m improvising here.” There was a nervous catch to Connor’s voice that Beatrice hadn’t heard before. But when he looked up and spoke his next words, his face glowed with a fierce, fervent hope.

“Marry me.”

In that instant, Beatrice forgot who she was—the name she had been born to, the mantle of responsibility she would soon wear. She forgot her titles and her history and the promises she had made. She thought only of the young man who knelt before her, and the fact that every last fiber of her being was screaming her answer at her—yes yes yes.

When it all came rushing back, it weighed a thousand times more than it had before.

“I’m sorry.”

Beatrice closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Connor’s face.

He was on his feet in a swift, fluid motion, the space between them aching.

“You’re really doing this,” he said heavily. “You’re really choosing him?”

“No!” she cried out, shaking her head. “That’s not it. Just because I’m marrying him doesn’t mean I’m choosing him. But Connor, you know that you and me—it’s impossible.”

“Is it,” he said dully.

Beatrice’s skin prickled with the cold. “I don’t want this any more than you do. But we can figure something out. We’ll find a way to keep seeing each other—”

“What are you saying?” Connor cut in.

“I’m saying that I love you and don’t want to lose you!”

“So you want me to … what? Just stay here as your Guard? Watch from the sidelines, alone, while you marry him, eventually have children with him? Stealing moments together when we can get away with it, whenever your husband is out of town? No,” he said bitterly. “I love you, but that doesn’t mean I want to live off the scraps of time you can spare from your real life.”

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice whispered through her tears. “But Connor—you’ve always known the constraints on my position. You know who I am.”

“I know what you are. But I’m not sure I know who you are at all. The Beatrice I know would never ask this of me.”