I sighed. “What I really wanted to do was move into treaty law. I wanted to help our country by constructing and amending the documents that built bridges between us and our allies.”
Lucy was pensive, remarking, “That’s admirable, Preston.”
I didn’t want to think about a life that now could never be, so I stood from my chair, needing some air. When she looked at mein question, I explained, “I think I’ll go grab us some food since you’re working late.”
Lucy opened her mouth to say something more, but I left before she could. I didn’t need her pity or apologies. I’d made my choice, and now I had to live with it. Nothing she said would ease the gnawing feeling in my gut that I would always know something was missing from my life. Not everyone had the luxury of fulfilling their dreams.
Chapter 22
Lucy
“Would you like tosee a picture of my new nephew?” Preston called from the couch after we returned home from the studio.
This had become our thing for three weeks—him asking questions randomly and me answering honestly. Not every topic was easy to talk about, but I dug deep within myself, knowing that our life together would be easier if we figured out a way to get along.
I was still angry with him, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to trust him fully, but with each passing day—each question—the anger I felt ebbed a tiny bit.
Today’s question wasn’t exactly about me, but I was happy to focus on someone else. Preston held his phone out silently, inviting me to take it. Stepping forward, I grasped the offered phone, glancing at the picture of a pink-faced bundled-up baby in a hospital bassinet.
A smile crept across my face as I quietly gushed, “Oh, Preston. He’s precious.”
He chuckled in response. “He is quite the handsome little fella. Must take after his uncle.”
Ever so slowly, we were crawling out of our protective shells and becoming more comfortable with each other. As my perception of him changed, I saw his comment as less arrogant and more playful. The urge to roll my eyes at him lessened daily.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
Patting the seat next to him on the couch, beckoning me to join him, he replied, “Henry. The future Duke of Ashbridge.”
Sitting down, I sighed as I handed him back his phone. “Poor thing.” Here was this brand-new baby boy, and his future was already decided for him. I hated that for him.
Preston shrugged. “He’ll be all right, I’m sure. Well, that is if he doesn’t end up betrothed to one of Belleston’s future princesses.”
He was joking about our predicament, so I shoved his shoulder, retorting, “Yes, that would be a fate worse than death.”
Reclining against the back of the couch, he put his hands behind his head. “It’s not all bad. He could do worse than a pretty Remington.”
Did Preston Scott just call me pretty?
I blushed like a teenager whose first crush said hi in passing in the school hallways. I told myself not to read too much into it. Redirecting the conversation, I asked, “When was Henry born?”
“Earlier this morning. Perhaps a visit from his Aunt Lucy would be in order when we return home?”
Slightly uncomfortable, I protested, “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not really his aunt. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
Sitting up, he slid closer to me on the couch, taking my hand, and I let him—only God knows why. “Are you saying he’s not worthy of the famous Aunt Lucy treatment?”
His voice had a teasing tone, and I found myself loosening up. “Famous, huh?”
Nodding, he kept his face serious. “It’s well known throughout Belleston that Lucy Remington is hands down the best aunt around.”
“Is that so?” I arched a brow.
Placing his free hand over his chest, he swore, “On my honor.” Those three words had the power to open a can of worms regarding my feelings of trust toward him, and I dropped my eyes from his gaze. Realizing his mistake, he changed course quickly, asking, “Tell me about your nieces and nephews?”
I had to hand it to him—he was good. Mention of the children I loved was enough to steer my thoughts away from dangerous territory.
Teasing, I asked in return, “How much time do you have?”
