Lone Prince (Royally Unexpected #7) - Lilian Monroe Page 0,2
the first time since I left Farcliff, I want to cry.
Gerry and I were supposed to get married—but then he told me he wanted me to stay at home once we were husband and wife. He told me he expected me to leave my career behind to care for our future children. He expected me to be a housewife.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being a housewife. My mother was a single mother who worked hard and also happened to be a damn good homemaker. She was an angel, and she died with no one but me by her side.
She took care of me like it was her sole purpose in life, and sometimes I wonder if she would’ve been better off without me. After all, I wasn’t anything but a burden to her, from the time I was born to the time she died. She could have moved on if not for me. Maybe even lived longer instead of working herself to death for my sake.
When she died, I vowed I’d never again be a burden to anyone. I promised myself I’d be able to stand on my own two feet and support myself.
My work is my life. I started my architecture firm when I was twenty-seven years old, and I’ve spent the last six years working my ass off to make a name for myself. I’m supposed to give that up for Gerry, or some other guy who wants to be the hero who supports me?
Please.
I don’t want to do laundry for four hours a day while I wait for my husband to come home. I don’t want to feel like he needs to take care of me—that I’m relying on him for my survival.
No, I want to sit behind a desk and make my designs come to life. I want to win every architecture award there is to win and leave a legacy when I go.
Independence, in every sense of the word. That’s what I want. Not that I want to die alone or anything—but I don’t want to feel like I’m dead weight being dragged around by my future partner.
So when Grandma told me about the redesign of the Summer Palace in Nord, I applied. I didn’t tell Gerry, but why would I? It’s my company. My name on the wall. My initials on the company letterhead.
It wasn’t until I got the official contract of employment that I told him about the offer.
Gerry didn’t take it well. He gave me an ultimatum—told me it was the job, or him.
Didn’t think I’d choose the job. Did he ever really know me?
That was a year ago, and we struggled along for another six months before calling it quits. I still get the occasional drunk dial, just to remind me that I’m a terrible excuse for a woman.
As I glance around the deserted train station and hug my jacket closer to my body, I’m starting to miss the warmth of his arms. It was comfortable, at least. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe Gerry was right, and it’s better to stay home and have a gaggle of children.
Steeling myself against the weather, I head for the lobby doors. Against a gust of wind, I push open the heavy, metal door and step outside.
It’s worse than I expected.
Cold air slaps me across the face. My eyes water. It hurts to breathe, like a million icy daggers stabbing my lungs. I duck my head against the wind, sucking in a breath as I flip my collar up to try to protect my face from the cold.
It doesn’t help. The wind is vicious.
My heart hammers. I take another step, dragging my suitcase out of the train station and finally lifting my eyes to look at the scene in front of me.
If it weren’t so cold, it would be beautiful.
A thick blanket of snow covers everything, from individual tree branches to tall, gothic-inspired streetlights. The roads have been cleared, but the harsh wind carries gusts of snow and ice across the black asphalt. They look like thin sheets of white crystals whipping across the pavement.
Straight ahead, at the end of a long, black road, is the Summer Palace.
Against the white backdrop, it looks huge, dark, and imposing. I’ve seen pictures of it, of course. I’ve studied the two tall towers that frame the castle on either side and seen details of the arched doors that lead to the entrance hall.
But even from this distance, I can tell the palace is bigger