“We’re the same person,” I argue.
She smiles sweetly, resting her hand on my bicep. “No, you’re not. You may think you are, but Anderson immediately turns into Crown Prince Gabriel when the cameras are rolling or there’s a crowd. You can deny it all you want, but in your heart, you know it’s true. The second you’re back in this country, you’re different. It’s not a bad different,” she adds quickly. “I adore you, and that includes all the different versions of you. Nora’s lucky to know the side of you most people don’t get to see. As am I.”
“How do I make her see that?” I ask in frustration, jumping to my feet and digging my hands through my hair.
Dizzy from the sudden movement, I place my hand on the armrest of the sofa as I attempt to maintain my balance. I take several deep breaths, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to clear my vision, but everything’s still slightly blurred.
Esme eyes me warily, her attention focused on my hand gripping the armrest. “Are you okay, Anders?”
I take a moment to steady myself before straightening. “I’m fine.” I grit out a smile, ignoring the ache in my hip, something else that’s become more prominent lately.
“So, how do I make her see that?” I repeat in an effort to shift the subject back to Nora and me.
She levels a stare on me, then sighs. “I don’t think your problem is showing Nora she’s lucky to know Anderson. She knows she is. She wouldn’t have agreed to marry you if she didn’t.” Her expression softens. “Maybe she needs to get to know Prince Gabriel.”
I grind my jaw in irritation. “But I am Prince Gabriel.”
“To her, you’re Anderson. This man you’ve become is a stranger to her.”
“But—”
She places her hand on my arm, cutting me off. “Do what all strangers do when they like a girl.”
I blink, shaking my head. “I don’t follow.”
“Jesus Christ, Anders.” She throws up her hands in frustration. “Are you that out of touch with reality?” she retorts playfully. “You see, in the real world, when a guy likes a girl, he asks her out on something called a date.”
“You want me to ask my fiancée out on a…date?”
“Not a regular date. A date with Prince Gabriel.”
“And you think that will fix this?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot. At the very least, it’ll show her you acknowledge her concerns. That you’re trying. That’s all people want out of a relationship. To know your worries don’t fall on deaf ears. To know the other person is listening. So show her that.”
A knock on the door cuts through, and Bridge peeks his head into the office. “We’re ready whenever you are.”
“Thanks, Nathan. We’ll be right out.”
He bows. “Sir.” Then he does the same to Esme. “Ma’am.”
She acknowledges him with a smile before he disappears.
“Shall we?” I look at my sister.
“Absolutely.”
I begin toward the door, the stiffness in my hip and leg causing me to lose my footing and nearly topple over. I grab onto the desk as Esme rushes toward me, helping me upright.
“Anders, you need to go to a doctor.”
“I have,” I argue.
“And not the bullshit neurologist on the royal household’s payroll. A real doctor.”
“I’m fine,” I grind out.
“You are not fine. Stop being such a stubborn ass. There’s something going on.”
“It’s just stress. I haven’t been sleeping well, either, so that doesn’t help. You know as well as I do that stress can exacerbate some of my symptoms. Muscle strain. Dizziness. That’s all this is. I promise. I’m fine. Once things settle down and this vote on the damn referendum is over, I’ll be as good as new.”
I straighten, pushing through the pain in my hip as I step away from her, demonstrating that I’m fully capable of walking unassisted.
“See? I’m as good as gold. Now, let’s go. Don’t want to keep the kids waiting.” I hold out my elbow for her to take.
She studies me for a beat, then exhales, walking toward me. “If you say so.” She lifts her eyes to mine. “But you’d tell me if it wasn’t stress. You wouldn’t keep me in the dark about your prognosis. Right?”
My smile cracks as I peer into her vibrant, blue orbs that mirror mine. The one piece of our mother we both have. Her concern is well-founded. After all, our mother suffered from a more severe form of MS, but kept most of her symptoms from us — physical and psychological — until it was too late.
I hate the idea of lying to my sister.
More than that, I hate the idea of her worrying about something she has no control over.
That I’m quickly learning I have no control over, either.
“Of course I will, Esme.”
“Good. Because I can’t lose you, too.”
I lean down, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “You won’t. Promise. I’m not going anywhere.”
She wraps her arms around my waist, clinging tightly to me, resting her head against my chest. “You’d better not.” She pulls back, pointing a finger in my face. “Because if you do, I swear to God, I’ll strike a deal with the devil to make sure you’re tortured for all eternity.”
“That’s assuming I’m going to hell when I die. A pretty lofty assumption, if you ask me.”
She places a hand on her hip. “Trust me, my darling brother. I know all your secrets. And if you go to heaven, provided such a place does exist, mankind is worse off than I originally believed.”
I bark out a laugh, the sound filling the room.
At my lowest moments, I can always count on Esme to lift me up, to remind me what it’s like to feel normal. She grounds me when I feel as if my world is spinning out of control. And it’s this bond that helps me finally understand Nora’s concerns.
She hasn’t had anyone to count on as her world spun out of control, threatening to throw her off. It used to be me, but as Anderson. Now, while we’re here, it needs to be Prince Gabriel.
“Hey, Esme?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“Can you do me a favor?”
Her smile turns conniving, as if able to read my thoughts. “Anything for you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Nora
“What are your plans now?” Esme approaches as I make my way out of the palace conference room where I just sat through yet another morning full of etiquette classes.
I come to an abrupt stop, momentarily surprised to see her. Then I glance at my private secretary, almost positive I have a meeting with my publicists to go over a few events leading up to the big day, all staged to paint me as a woman worthy of marrying Prince Gabriel.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that everything planned is to make me appear worthy, to give off this image of perfection. I’m held up to impossible standards, whereas Anderson is revered and adored, regardless of what he does. It’s such a double standard that no one can live up to, but I’m expected to do just that.