“But you must miss him!”
“Technology is a wonderful thing. We check in often. He’s thriving and Trella is recovering. That’s the most important thing.” He flicked a glance at one of his handlers, silently conveying that if they didn’t swerve back to topic, this interview was over.
The newscaster took the hint. “We wish them well. About your meeting with the state representative today...”
Did he miss his son, Xavier wondered later? If such an emotion had never been acknowledged, internally or externally, did it register with anyone if it somehow manifested today?
How could he miss the boy? Tyrol was an infant who wanted to suckle and sleep. Trella was adept at keeping Xavier apprised of their son’s progress, such as it was. She texted often, telling him about a gain of an ounce or other small milestones. She sent him photos—probably half a dozen a day. A more pragmatic man would say one was plenty, but Xavier found himself studying each one, fascinated by tiny eyelashes and miniature fingernails. The boy’s eyes looked like his own, but his mouth was definitely Trella’s.
One grim night, Xavier let himself recall that for a few moments, this boy’s resemblance to his mother had been all that might have been left of her. The despondency that had engulfed him at the thought had had him placing a video call to her.
She had been surprised since she usually initiated the calls if she happened to be nursing and the time was right on his end. She had asked him about his day, which he didn’t care to talk about, and he had listened to whatever she volunteered, silently mocking himself for being riveted by small talk about her family and a few shower gifts.
There shouldn’t have been any holes of curiosity or unmet sense of obligation within him. His wife and child were well. He was getting on with his life exactly as he should.
So why did he nearly go through the roof when he woke to a fresh message from her?
Ramon and Izzy are getting married! The wedding is at the end of the month, in Madrid. We decamp to the family mansion the day before I’m due to return to Elazar. I’ll extend our stay until after the ceremony since it’s only an extra weekend.
On the surface, it was a perfectly reasonable assumption. Moving her and Tyrol with the rest of the staff to Elazar for a few days so she could turn around and go back was a needless expense. Royal detractors would have a field day. She was nursing, so she couldn’t leave Tyrol in Elazar while she attended the wedding. Xavier had no reasonable basis to refuse her request.
Nevertheless, the only word that came to mind was, No. He didn’t analyze it, he only knew he would not go back to the palace and wait for her.
* * *
As the youngest, Trella sometimes thought she had received all the leftover DNA after her siblings had taken the best of it. Henri had their father’s sense and logic. He was stubborn, yes, but she was outright obstinate. Ramon had their mother’s passion and determination, but Trella was an opinionated hothead. Gili scooped up all the sensitivity and generosity while Trella selfishly stole all the attention with her nervous breakdowns.
None of them were small-minded or jealous, but Trella—the baby who was spoiled and deferred to all the time—was drowning in envy of all of them.
Why couldn’t she have a partner in parenting like Henri had with Cinnia? Why couldn’t she have a big wedding that had everyone buzzing with excitement, like Ramon was planning with Isidora? Why couldn’t she have a husband who not only couldn’t keep his hands off her, like Kasim with Gili, but refused to have any other woman by his side as he took the throne of his country?
Why did she have so much negative self-talk eating away at her self-esteem? They didn’t. They were all better and smarter than that.
She was the broken one.
With her arms braced on the side of the pool, she gave desultory kicks behind her while watching Cinnia hand off a freshly fed Rosalina to Henri.
“I’ll put her down and work through siesta. You’ll finish your lunch then rest before we travel?”
“I will,” Cinnia promised, smirking at Henri’s overprotectiveness before he erased it with a tender kiss. “Thank you, darling.” She gave her wrap dress a final straighten and turned back to the salad she’d been picking at while nursing.
Henri glanced at Tyrol, asleep in the cot in the shade. “Do you want me to take him up? You should sleep before we leave, too.”
The flight was an hour and Trella was five weeks postpartum, but her scare during delivery had set them all back to watching her like she was made of spun glass.
“I’ll take him when Cinnia goes up. The weather won’t be as warm in Elazar. I want to enjoy the pool while I can.”