telling her it was negative. I’ve been living in denial for months, and it’s making me do stupid things like sleep with a Prince that I don’t really care about, and be needy with Ivy when I know she needs space.
It’s time for me to face my fears.
I need to know.
Slipping out from under the covers, I tiptoe to the closet and reach up behind the stack of sweaters, feeling around until my fingers brush the sharp corner of the envelope. I pull it out, hands trembling, glancing up at the door of the walk-in closet.
Beckett’s still snoring.
If I hesitate, I won’t be able to do this, so I just bite down on my hesitations, take a deep breath, and tear the test results open.
The envelope drops to the floor as I take the single sheet of paper out, unfolding it as my heart races.
This is it.
My future.
My life.
My eyes are filling with tears, and I can’t make out the blurred words on the piece of paper. I suck a breath in through my teeth, blinking a few times to clear my vision.
It’ll be negative. It has to be. This has all been blown out of proportion. I’ve been silly. Everything will be okay. It’ll be negative. Negative. Negative.
Blink.
Wrong.
Positive.
I frown, shaking my head. Then, I read the letter over from the beginning, hoping the word will have changed by the time I get to it.
It doesn’t.
Positive. Positive. Positive.
Every letter of the word is like a bullet piercing my chest. Standing in my walk-in closet, I grow roots. I can’t move.
I’m going to die.
The first tear falls from my eye and lands on the test results. The sound of my tear hitting the paper is as loud as a gunshot to my ears, forcing me to crumple the sheet and stuff it into a boot in the corner of the closet.
I suck in a breath, but I can’t get enough air.
I can’t breathe.
Stumbling out of the closet, I claw at my throat as my vision starts to cloud. My body is clammy and my hair is stuck to my head, and Prince Beckett snores louder.
I’m unsteady. I bump into my bedside table as I try to walk past, knocking a glass of water to the floor. It crashes down and Beckett jumps awake.
I stumble, trying to make my way to the bathroom.
“Margot?”
I turn to him, mouth open, but I can’t breathe.
“Are you okay?”
My hands go to my throat. I manage to swallow, sucking in a labored breath. “Help,” I croak.
“What’s wrong?”
“Panic.” I inhale. “Panic.”
“Panic? What does that mean? Panic attack?”
Falling to my knees, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to regain control over my body. What was it my therapist said? What do I do in this situation?
I can’t remember. I can’t think. My thoughts are fragmented.
“Hold on,” Prince Beckett says, scrambling to get up and head to the bathroom. “Do you have medication? What do you need? What do I do?”
I crawl on the floor, propping myself up against the wall. My hands find the windowsill and I pull myself up, glancing outside.
I frown when I see Ivy, naked, leading a man into the pool house. He’s also naked. My nose touches the window as I squint at them, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. He has his back to me, and then disappears into the building.
“Oh, fuck, no,” Prince Beckett says behind me.
Turning to look at the Prince, I see his eyes blazing and his lips turned down at the corners. His face is dark. Black. Angry.
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
I’m seeing things.
Ivy doesn’t have a boyfriend—never has. She’s the pure one of the two of us. The one who stayed back to take care of Mama. The one who takes care of me.
She’s the one who deserves this big house and all this money. She’s the one who holds me together every time I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.
Why would Prince Beckett care if Ivy’s seeing someone?
Breathe.
I suck in some air.
I’m positive for Huntington’s disease. I’m going to die.
My thoughts swirl. My fingers dig into the window ledge and vaguely, I sense Prince Beckett moving away from me. I stare out the window, trying to focus on something other than the constriction of my lungs and the racing of my heart.
There’s no evidence of Ivy and the man. Shadows on the pool deck make it look like there are wet footsteps leading from the pool to the small