“Is this about Tristan?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s about getting help, getting better. I need to be better. I hate being afraid all the time, of not knowing when something I fear is going to push me over the edge. I feel like a ticking bomb, and I have for the last twelve years. It’s bloody exhausting.”
“But why Chicago? You could do that here.”
“Millie.”
“I just …” Millie stood and placed her trusty tablet on the corner of the desk. “You’re asking me to send you out into the world. Alone.”
“Yes.”
Millie clearly thought Ele was crazy or perhaps still groggy from the sedative. Her face reflected both her worry and disbelief. Maybe Ele would wake up tomorrow and agree with Millie, but she didn’t think so.
“You really think we can pull this off?” Millie asked.
A tremulous smile formed on Ele’s face. “One more thing.”
Millie nodded.
“Find Robert for me.”
“So he can join you there?”
Ele looked away from her, toward the windows. “No. So he won’t worry.”
31
12 August
Hartesfield United Stadium
For the fourth time in as many days, Tristan pulled up Robert’s contact information and called him. When it immediately defaulted to voice mail, he didn’t attempt to smother his disgruntled curse.
But rather than hanging up, like he’d done all the days before, he waited for the beep and spoke, “Mate, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to talk to me. But I just need to know she’s okay. Just … let me know.”
He jabbed the End button on his cell phone, surprised he hadn’t cracked the fragile screen with his frustrated poking.
When he’d returned from America, he’d quickly learned Ele’s temporary cell phone had been disconnected the moment her flight took to the air. With Robert screening his calls, Tristan’s last connection to Ele seemed to be severed. He didn’t know where else to turn for information about her. For the hundredth time, he rued the day he had fallen in love with a motherfucking princess.
Yep, fallen in love with.
There was so little real information out there. The headlines were still maligning her and the spectacle of her meltdown. For a country claiming to love their monarchy, they took a perverse pleasure in seeing her falter. Those for succession were using the incident as a rationale for leaving the union. There were theories; of course, there were theories. And erroneous conclusions. The history of her family, the assassination of her parents, and the reign of Queen Lilian had filled columns and columns of virtual real estate this week. But there was not one mention of Ele’s presence when her parents had met their untimely end, nor of her kidnapping. They’d buried the whole thing. No one could sympathize with her. She was alone.
His inability to contact anyone who could tell him anything real highlighted the impossibility of having a relationship with her. The realist in him knew that. But he never really listened to that part of himself. He couldn’t help it. He wouldn’t be where he was now if he’d listened to doubts and reality checks from his consciousness.
His phone rang in his hand, and his hope blossomed, even as he tried to keep it in check. But when Sheena’s name flashed on the screen, he heaved a resigned sigh.
“Cheers,” he said in greeting.
“How are you?”
“Good,” he replied as he glanced up at the clock. “I’ve gotta leave.”
“You haven’t left yet? Normally, you are first in.”
He was. Not usually. Always. But he’d been completely distracted, his head not in the game. But it was opening day, and he needed to let all this go. Suddenly, he remembered Ele’s contention that she couldn’t just show up and apologize to him after their first meeting. While he would have loved to walk up to the massive front door of the palace, pound on it, and demand to see Princess Eleanor, he knew that scenario would only exist as a scene in his mind.
He tuned back in to what his sister was saying.