Page 29 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

ROYAL SECRETS

Alix

I waited until I was alone with Sebastian. It wasn’t easy, but I sure didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Ben.

I would’ve gone to “my” room, but Sebastian said, “In here,” and headed into his bedroom, and after a moment, I followed him.

Possibly because the office held a desk plus one twin bed and nothing else, and I didn’t much relish lying down in pain while Sebastian loomed over me.

Instead, I sat on his bed, took the ice pack from him, held it over my abdomen, and said, “What?”

He sighed. Patiently. It was annoying. “Could you lie down?”

“You played a football game,” I said. “Maybe you should lie down.”

“Fine.” He toed off his athletic shoes and lay on the bed with his head on the pillow. He looked so ridiculous there, I laughed, and he said, “It works better if you do it, too.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I did it, though, at which point he popped right up again, said, “Stay here,” and came back with a cozy throw that he settled over me.

Then he lay down again beside me, folded his arms over his chest, and said, “Either we’re posing for our tomb effigies, or we’re making it easy to tell the truth.

Always better when you don’t have to look at each other. ”

I said, “I just need to rest a while. I’m achy, that’s all.”

“You know why I’m not buying that?”

“I cannot imagine, because it’s true.”

He ignored that. “Because you wouldn’t have gone out feeling that bad, after not fulfilling what you see as your responsibility and taking Ben to the game, unless there were a reason, and you especially wouldn’t have got home after he did.

You clearly got an E in responsibility every time in school, and people don’t change much. ”

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “We didn’t get graded on that. Must be a Canadian thing.” I knew I was being obstinate, but he was putting my back up.

He was quiet a moment, and I was feeling guilty about treating him like this, but also feeling so tired. All I wanted to do was go to sleep. He said, “As far as I can tell, we’re in some kind of relationship, unusual as it may seem, but I could be wrong. Time for a status check.”

“Can you be in a relationship when you haven’t even slept together?” I asked.

“Of course you can. People get married without sleeping together. Crazy people, but still.” Which was funny, so I smiled, but he went on.

“I don’t understand the secrecy, and it is secrecy.

You don’t mind saying it’s your period, so what’s so secret about it?

Do you have some kind of issue? There are things women can have wrong with them, right?

Why can’t you say so, if that’s what it is?

Why would you want to come over for Ben and still have to keep it a secret? ”

“You mean like endometriosis. That’s not it.

Look.” I shoved myself up so I was half-sitting, so I could see him, and he instantly shoved up too, which meant I didn’t even have the upper hand.

“I don’t like admitting this,” I tried to explain.

“I hate fuss, and there’s always been fuss. I’d rather just pretend, OK?”

“Except when you can’t. Wait. It’s not cancer, is it?” Real worry in the amber eyes now. “Are you getting treatment? Is that it?”

I could have slapped myself in the forehead. “No. I’m sorry. I’ve been insensitive. Of course you’d think that. Of course you’d?—”

He said, “If I were sitting at a table, I’d be banging my head on it right now.

I’m not fragile, all right? You’re not fragile either.

We’re both strong, capable individuals, who also may need help from time to time.

Like, say, you coming over last night so Ben wasn’t alone.

Or me helping with whatever this is, even if that’s just getting you ice.

You don’t have to be some virgin queen!”

“A virgin queen?” Now, I was laughing.

“Aloof. Alone. Untouchable. Like that. You don’t have to be it. Does this have anything to do with the princess thing, though? That’s the only odd aspect of you I can come up with, but I can’t figure out how?—”

“Yes,” I said. “In a way. OK, I’m going to tell you. It’s not that exciting, but here you go. I’m a hemophilia carrier. It’s a clotting disorder.”

“I know what hemophilia is,” he said. “I thought that was only males.”

“It is. For hereditary Hemophilia A or B, at least. Look. Queen Victoria was a hemophilia carrier, OK?”

“I remember something about the Tsar of Russia,” he said. “Can’t remember what. ”

“Victoria and Albert had nine children. A carrier has a fifty/fifty chance of passing the gene to each child. In their case, two daughters were carriers, and a son had the disease. If a daughter gets the gene, she’s a carrier.

If a son gets it, he has the disease. Pretty simple.

Victoria’s daughters singlehandedly spread hemophilia throughout the royal houses of Europe.

Russia, Spain, England, Germany. Eventually, it mostly died out, because most of the men died before having kids, and people stopped marrying the women. ”

“Except in your case,” Sebastian said. “Because you have it.”

“Yes. We’re one of the unlucky lines. The British and Greek ruling families didn’t have it, which is why you haven’t heard about it with Queen Elizabeth and so forth.

But, yes, Alix of Hesse, who became Tsarina Alexandra of Russia, as I mentioned, was a carrier, and her son Alexei, the Tsarevich, the youngest child, had the disorder.

Historians say that was one cause of the Russian Revolution, in fact.

Alexandra was terrified for her son’s future and turned to this faith healer, Rasputin, for spiritual guidance, which turned out to be a bad idea, because Rasputin was majorly unpopular and so was she.

Conspiracy theories abounded, anger and resentment followed, and eventually something like ten million people died, including Rasputin and the entire royal family, partly because of one kid and his clotting disorder.

Of course, the hemophilia was a major state secret, because the kid was the heir to the throne and couldn’t be perceived as sick, but it didn’t turn out to be all that secret.

Did you ever wonder why all those sisters were there to die in the basement, when the oldest two were in their twenties?

The other European royal families were afraid of them bringing in hemophilia, that’s why, and didn’t want their sons to marry them, even as intermarried as all those royal houses already were.

People didn’t know the science of it, but they’d more or less figured out that it was hereditary. ”

Sebastian said, “Wow.”

“The funny thing is,” I said, “or not so funny, turns out Anastasia was the only daughter who was a carrier. DNA analysis on the bones. Yet another reason why ‘Anastasia Alix’ seems like a bit of a cursed name. Two carriers. Not the family legacy you burn to carry on.”

“All right,” he said, “but most people with hemophilia aren’t royal, and you’re not a Russian princess, so again—why the secrecy? Also, if women are only carriers, how does it affect you?”

I sighed and adjusted the ice pack on my belly.

It did help. “Carriers can be sick too. Internal bleeding, mostly, which hurts. It depends how much clotting factor you have. Best case, you have fifty to sixty percent of a normal person’s factor, because you have one gene for the disease and one normal one, right? ”

“Right. So that makes you sick. Just not as sick.”

“No. You’re pretty much fine with fifty percent.

If you have less than that, you have some issues.

Mostly manageable. You can’t play contact sports—the disappointment of my life—for obvious reasons.

You bleed more during menstruation. You bruise more easily.

Childbirth is riskier, and so is surgery, even dental surgery.

And if you’re having issues, you may need more clotting factor, which you get via a slow-drip IV.

I’m on birth-control pills to lessen my bleeding, but I can still have pain.

I toughed it out until today, but I knew I couldn’t go to work tomorrow unless I got some help.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t set things up ahead of time with the clinic up here, which was stupid.

Wishful thinking. Which meant I had to do paperwork and be assessed, and I had to wait, and then I had to get that IV.

Which means that now I’m tired and still hurting some, but I’ll be fine tomorrow.

Also, that’s one reason I’m in Portland, because they have a clinic.

And plenty of work for a commercial electrician, of course. ”

“Doesn’t everyplace have a clinic?” He was frowning now, his face focused, intent.

“A hemostasis and thrombosis clinic? Not so much. Eight regional treatment centers in the U.S., and it’s helpful but not necessary to be close to one. So there you go. Do you feel leveled with now? Honesty. Openness. Possible relationship. Done.”

Sebastian

I’d wanted to hold her hand since about thirty seconds into that recitation. Now, I did hold it and say, “Thank you.”

“Ha,” she said. “I told you, it’s not important, and it’s not edifying, but now you know.”

I looked at her white, exhausted face, at the shadows under her eyes, and felt … something. Not pity, but something newer that I was becoming uncomfortably familiar with. I was very much afraid it was tenderness. I asked, “Want a cup of tea?” It was the only thing I could think of.

“Oh, man,” she said with a sigh. “I do. But you don’t have any.”

“Hang on.” I climbed off the bed.

When I came back ten minutes later with a mug, she was asleep, but woke when I sat on the edge of the bed. “Sorry,” she said, pushing herself up to sit again. “What?”

“Tea,” I said.

She blinked at it. “How?”

“Borrowed a few tea bags from next door. Women generally have tea, I’ve noticed. I’ve added it to my shopping list.”

“Thanks. But this is what I don’t want. Fussing.”

“How is that fussing? Isn’t it just normal? How can you come over and help out Ben, but it’s unacceptable for me to bring you a simple cup of tea and an ice pack?” My voice was rising, I noticed, but who could blame me? This was maddening.

“It’s fussing when it’s fussing. Why do you think I lived at my grandparents’?”

“Wait. Your mother would have it too.”

“Yes. And my grandmother. Mine’s worse than theirs, because I have less clotting factor—the luck of the draw—and my mother’s always felt guilty about it.

Hence the Olympic levels of fussing. Also why it’s princesses all the way down.

Nobody could risk having a son. There was an abortion or three in there, I suspect, though nobody’s ever said. ”

“Oh,” I said. “No genetic testing.”

“Exactly. You couldn’t do it then. You can now, but being sure of having an unaffected child means IVF. So there you go. I’m a too-precious child, I’m slightly defective, partner-wise, and I’m more defective life-partner-wise.”

“And you do a physical job,” I said slowly, “to prove you can. Even though you might get hurt.”

“Wow. You should be a psychologist. Yeah, I’m stubborn.” She was drinking her tea, but still looking exhausted.

“Right,” I said. “I am now replacing this ice pack and letting you rest. I’m assuming you’ll text me if you want another cup of tea, I’m figuring you may want soup for dinner, and I’m arranging for that to happen. Acceptable level of care?”

“I would kill,” she said, “for good tortilla soup. But I want to—” Her hand was wavering some with the mug, and I took it from her and set it down. “I want to watch your game later.”

“You can watch my game, and I’ll find you tortilla soup, too.” This had to be tenderness, this squeezing of my heart. “For right now, though? Don’t worry about me, or about Ben. Stay here and go to sleep.” I thought about it and added, “Please.”

Maybe it was the “please” that did it, because she turned on her side, curled her hand up beside her head, and closed her eyes. And I covered her better with the blanket and felt like I’d just won the game.

Even though we hadn’t. It had been against San Francisco, too. Bummer.