To take care of a dog she didn’t remember.
“We were about to go on a walk, if you want to come?” Teddy added hopefully. “We can take the wheelchair.”
“No.”
Franklin whined and nudged her leg as if he understood her rejection. Something in Beatrice melted a little, and she sighed. “I mean, no wheelchair. I need to build up my strength.”
She was already second-guessing that decision when they reached the steps down to the gardens. Teddy held out a hand, but Beatrice ignored it, clutching the iron handrail so tight that it left a red mark on her palm. She made it to the bottom of the steps and started gratefully onto the path, her shoes crunching over the gravel.
Franklin’s tail twitched eagerly back and forth, until Teddy bent down to let him off his leash. The dog yelped in excitement and took off running.
Beatrice kept waiting for Teddy to say something, but he didn’t. He let her stroll along in contemplative silence—which should have been relaxing, since silence was what she wanted. But it unnerved her a little that he seemed to sense that. When had Teddy become so attuned to her moods?
They passed a marble plinth where a statue of King Edward I used to stand, and Beatrice paused. In its place was a statue of a woman with long hair, her skirts twisting around her legs as she stared into the distance. She wasn’t smiling, yet there was something unmistakably playful about the arch of her eyebrows.
Beatrice stepped forward, wincing a little at the unsteadiness in her legs. The plaque beneath the statue read Queen Emily I, 1830–?, r. 1855–1855.
Emily, the one other woman who could claim to have been Queen of America, though she ruled for only a single day before she mysteriously vanished.
Beatrice had always accepted the general historical opinion that Emily was assassinated in a political coup, despite the romantics who claimed she’d run away from it all to live with a commoner. It had always sounded like fantasy to Beatrice.
Though she had to admit, it didn’t sound as outlandish as it used to, now that Samantha had done something similar.
“When did they replace the statue of Edward I?” she wondered aloud.
“You did that,” Teddy said softly. “You said there were more than enough statues of Edward I around this city, and it was time we recognized some other people for a change. Especially the women and people from marginalized backgrounds who had been erased from history.”
The statue of Emily seemed to be staring at her with a bold confidence that Beatrice didn’t share. She sighed. “It’s nice to know I did some good things while I was queen.”
“Don’t use the past tense. You’re still queen,” Teddy protested.
“Except I don’t feel like much of a queen.”
Beatrice turned aside, and as she did, her knees gave way beneath her. She started to collapse—
Teddy swept forward and caught her, bracing his hands beneath her elbows, pulling her ever so slightly closer to his chest.
For a split second they stood suspended like that, as immobile as the statue behind them. Despite their stillness, Beatrice’s heart was pounding, every nerve ending in her skin flaring to life. She saw the rise and fall of Teddy’s chest beneath his jacket, his breath as unsteady as her own.
Panic laced through her, and she stumbled back as if scorched.
“I’m sorry,” Teddy stammered. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”
“It’s fine,” Beatrice said tersely.
She saw a stone bench a few yards away and started toward it with ponderous steps. Teddy stayed close, but didn’t make another move to touch her.
When she lowered herself onto the bench, Beatrice drew in a ragged breath. The air burned in her lungs. “Look, Teddy, I just can’t do this.”
He was silent in the long, drawn-out way that meant something. When she finally looked up, his expression was pained. “What do you mean?”
She tore her gaze away. She stared everywhere else—at Franklin, running in circles farther down the path; at the wintry skies overhead; anywhere but at the piercing blue of Teddy’s eyes.
“You and me. I don’t…,” she fumbled, unable to finish the sentence.
“I know you don’t remember, Bee. It’s okay.” There was something so soothing in Teddy’s voice, something about the way he said It’s okay that made her want to believe it really was okay, despite all evidence to the contrary. “You’ll get your memories back,” he added.
“What if I don’t?”
Teddy was undaunted. “I want to help. We can look at photos of things we did together, visit the places we went. I know it might take a while, but if we jog your memory, it’ll come back—”
“Stop!”
The word had burst out of her, just one short syllable, but it might as well have been a gunshot. Teddy broke off abruptly, and she winced.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember, okay? The things that happened between us…it’s like they didn’t happen for me. Right now I just need to focus on getting better.”
She couldn’t handle any of it right now—the expectant, hopeful way Teddy was looking at her; the weight of a one-sided history. There was too much to process without adding another person’s emotional burden to the mix.
“Are you saying you want to break up?” Teddy’s question came out hoarse.
Yes, she should have replied. An unthinking, automatic yes. Yet the word didn’t come.
“I’m asking you to stop trying to repair a relationship I can’t remember.” She shook her head. “With everything that’s happened, with Jeff and Daphne’s wedding coming up, we can’t afford any more upheavals. Can you please just act like my fiancé for a while longer? We can figure everything out after Jeff’s wedding. But I can’t do this,” she added helplessly. “Not right now.” Not while Congress is threatening to have me deposed.
Teddy was deadly still. The echo of her words seemed to ring between them, hollow and cruel, and Beatrice felt a sudden pang in her stomach.
Somehow, inexplicably, she felt protective of Teddy’s feelings. Which was especially confusing since she was the one who had hurt him.
“Of course,” Teddy said at last. His voice was different, as if all the joy had been vacuumed out of it, and his eyes were flat and emotionless too. “I won’t say anything romantic again.”
A bleak silence stretched between them. Beatrice told herself it was better this way. They needed to establish a clear boundary before Teddy got his hopes up.
If she didn’t remember their past, how could Teddy possibly expect to share her future?