Page 47 of Royal Trouble
He snuck a glance at Everly. She was chewing her bottom lip as if she could already see where the story was headed. Hell, maybe she could. It wouldn’t take a great scientific leap to connect the dots.
And once she had, how would she see him? The same way the rest of the world did? Like a royal fuckup?
It didn’t matter. She’d be returning to New York soon anyway. He’d known from the beginning that whatever they had was temporary and entirely physical.
A woman like Everly could never be satisfied with a man like him.
He dropped his gaze to the grass and exhaled slowly. Surprise shot up his spine when she reached over and laced her fingers with his. He turned to face her fully, noticing for the first time the softness in her eyes. Gone was the woman who enjoyed busting his balls, and in her place was a woman who looked like she just might have the strength to bear the weight of his sins.
Not that he’d ever burden her with his shit, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to.
“You were there?” she asked quietly. There was no judgment in her tone, just compassion.
Xander nodded. “No one was ever supposed to know when or where my unit was deployed. Not only for my safety, but for the safety of the men and women serving by my side. We were only on the ground for two days when our position was compromised.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat, against the memories of gunfire and explosions and death. “News of my presence leaked, and the terrorist cell took advantage of the situation. They wanted to make a statement against my father’s foreign policies by targeting his family. They couldn’t get to Liam—he was too well protected—so they settled for the spare, and my unit paid the price.”
“I’m so sorry, Xander.” She squeezed his hand. “I had no idea.”
“You couldn’t have,” he said stonily. “No one does outside the unit.”
Their Majesties had made sure of it.
“But I still don’t understand why you resigned your commission,” she said carefully, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Elisabeth said you were a good leader and that your unit loved and respected you.”
Of course Elisabeth would say that. The woman had a heart of gold.
“Weren’t you listening? Those terrorists were gunning for me,” he snapped, pulling away and scrubbing a hand over his face. God, why was this so fucking hard? “If it weren’t for me, Smith, Bollinger, and Trexler would still be alive. It’s my fucking fault they’re all dead. My fault Trexler’s girls don’t have a mum to tuck them in at night. My fault Mr. Bollinger had to bury his only son. My fault Nelson will only ever know his father through pictures and stories. Supporting the Blue and Gold Foundation is the least I can do to make amends.”
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he sucked air through his teeth.
Everly’s face paled, and she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Xander. There was no way you could have known about the attack. You were doing your job, just like Smith, Bollinger, and Trexler. They knew the risks, same as you.” She paused, waiting for him to meet her eyes. “And I don’t think your friends would want you to spend the rest of your life mired in guilt over something that wasn’t your fault.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
But they weren’t here to voice their opinions, so what did it matter? Besides, he’d shouldered the guilt this long. He’d keep right on bearing it, just with less drinking and fucking. Instead, he’d honor their memories the best way he knew how, by caring for their families and ensuring the Blue and Gold Foundation stayed true to its mission.
He owed them that much, at least.
“Why the cover up?” she asked, brow wrinkled.
“The palace classified the mission and gave an official statement saying I wasn’t deployed with the rest of the unit. They thought it best if my name wasn’t attached to the casualties, and I agreed. Their Majesties didn’t want the country to know how close the terrorists had come to succeeding—lest it encourage another attempt—and the last thing I wanted to do was steal attention from the memories of the soldiers who sacrificed their lives so I could live.”
Bloody heroes, every last one of them. And he’d have given anything to trade places with them.
The wrinkle between Everly’s brows deepened as she studied him. “They were wrong to ask that of you. Can’t they see this secret is eating you alive?”
If they did, they’d chalked it up as another burden of royal life.
“It was my choice, Evie.” And it had been. Perhaps it had been the wrong one, but nothing to be done about it now. He certainly wasn’t the first Stanley with a skeleton in the closet, and he wouldn’t be the last. It was part of the royal experience. “No one made me do anything.”
“Jesus.” She frowned, and for an instant he was sure she was going to argue, but when she spoke, there was a hint of resignation in her voice. “Have you at least had counseling?”
He snorted. “Are you serious? My father would go berserk at the very prospect. Royals don’t engage in that sort of thing. The risk is too high and, as His Majesty likes to say, we’ve been bred to shoulder the burdens of the people.” He paused, a slow smile curving his lips. “Besides, I’m talking to you. What could be more therapeutic than that?”
Chapter Twelve
Everly stood directly under the showerhead, letting the hot spray rinse away the last of the cobwebs in her sleep-deprived brain. She’d been up half the night finishing the story forOn Point, and she’d slept late. She was desperate to get her hands on a cup of coffee, and since she’d run out, that meant a trip to the market.
It would be a good distraction. If she didn’t find something to do with herself, she’d spend the afternoon obsessively checking her email for a reply from Guy Larson.