the United States, and the return address is New York City.
My breath comes fast. I’m practically hyperventilating as I tear the edge of the envelope, my hands trembling so hard I slice my finger open. A drop of blood beads on my finger as I swear under my breath, sticking the finger in my mouth for a second to lick the blood away.
When I pull the jagged, ripped pages of a notebook out and see Cara’s handwriting, I practically faint. Sitting down right there on the ground next to the P.O. box, I start reading.
My vision blurs when I read about how she cares about me. She feels the same way I do. My heart starts to stutter, and hope flames to life in my heart.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Maybe she would come back. Maybe we could be together. Maybe we could live happily-ever-after.
Then, I read something that makes the whole world fall away. In Cara’s loopy, slanted handwriting, two words stare back at me. As soon as I read them, I know my life is about to change forever.
I’m pregnant.
I blink, reading it again.
I’m pregnant. It was that first night at the villa when we didn’t use protection.
My breath quickens. My heart feels like it’s trying to burst out of my chest. My hands tremble as I reach for my phone, and I struggle to dial her number. My hands are too sweaty to get the screen to work, and a new smudge of blood swipes across the screen.
“Ahhh,” I whisper-scream at my phone before wiping my hand on my pants and trying again.
I can’t see straight as I put the phone to my ear, so I just squeeze my eyes shut. I lean my head on my knees as I sit on the dirt near the post office box, knowing that I make a very pitiful king right about now.
It doesn’t matter.
Cara is pregnant with my child. She left the country with our baby inside her belly. I pushed her away, thinking it was what’s best for her. I told her I didn’t want to marry her, when I should have been wrapping my arms around her and never letting go.
The phone beeps, and a robotic female voice speaks to me. The number has been disconnected.
I groan, dropping my head. Of course it’s been disconnected. Cara left the country.
As I pick myself up off the ground, I wipe my dirt- and bloodstained pants with equally dirt- and bloodstained hands. Lifting my head up, I stare at the distant walls of the palace and the blue skies beyond. Palm trees wave at me as a soft, warm breeze washes over my skin.
I know what I need to do.
I’m rewriting that old cliché. If you love someone, you don’t let her go. You tell her exactly how you feel and beg her to come back to you. You fall to your knees and tell her that you need her desperately, the way you need air, and food, and shelter. You tell her that you want to be a father, a husband, a lover. You tell her that she’s your Queen, in every sense of the word.
If you love someone, you beg. You plead. You hold on tight.
You get on a plane and bring her back, and then never let her go.
26
Cara
I have my outfit picked out and my bookbag packed. Tomorrow is the first day of school. The first day of training my voice, developing my instrument, and becoming the kind of singer I’ve always dreamed of being.
Tomorrow, I take a step toward my dreams.
But are they really my dreams?
These days, it feels more like running away. My real dreams—the ones that wake me up in the night with a smile on my face—take me back to Argyle, to a villa hidden away on a lush, sparsely populated island. Every night, I’m transported back to Theo’s arms. Singing doesn’t bring me joy anymore. At least, not the type of singing I’m doing here. The thought of exploring the world on my own makes me want to curl up into a little ball and crawl into a hole.
I’m off-balance. He knocked me clean off my feet, and now I’m adrift in the world on my own.
Isn’t this what I always wanted to do? To explore? To discover? To see the world?
It doesn’t feel right, though. It feels lonely and cold and stinky. Fear has crept into my heart over the past few weeks, tainting all my decisions.