Broken Prince: A New Adult Romance Novel Read online

  "Tonight?" I forced the question out.

  He paused, his fingers caressing my face.

  "You're worried, Brynn. Is it because of this?"

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "I just—I'm not ready." I was scared that he would push the issue, but he waited a moment and then kissed my forehead.

  "Then let's go to sleep," Eliot said.

  That night I slept in his arms, my back against his chest, his arms cradling me. I did not see the moon, or any of the familiar constellations, for I made Eliot close the window shutters while we slept.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Eliot

  “The heart has its reasons whereof reason knows nothing.”

  Blaise Pascal

  Eliot could not find a proper time to tell Brynn about the riot, and he brushed it away by telling himself that she should not have to deal with yet another thing to worry about. She seemed in a better mood in the morning, and he drove them both to the Academy.

  "I've got to talk with the director about this paper," he said as they walked up the steps. "I'll come by afterward to see you in the library?"

  "Sure," Brynn said. He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek and she smiled at him before turning down the hall towards the mathematics library. She was so beautiful. He did not want to hurt her. No. Better to keep her safe. The protests should be over soon, in any case, and then they would have only the press to worry about.

  He knocked on the director's door.

  "One moment," the director said, opening the door with a phone pressed to his ear. "Dr. Herceg! I'll be finished with this shortly."

  Eliot nodded and sat outside of the office. He rifled through the magazines on the coffee table. The last one had his face plastered across the front page with a photo of Brynn inset. Convicted Sex Criminal Finds Another Victim, the headline screamed. Eliot dropped the magazine in the trash can and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. No more of this. It would die down soon, he hoped.

  "Dr. Herceg?" The director waved him in. "Let's hear about this paper you've got."

  Flustered, Eliot stumbled through his explanation of the algorithm they'd been working on. He could see the director frown in places that were incomplete, and he struggled to justify their process.

  "The initial results are very promising," Eliot finished lamely, his voice belying the content of his words.

  "Initial results." The director took his eyeglasses off and wiped them on his shirt. "How long have you been working on this?"

  "These results have all been finalized in the last year," Eliot said. "We've finally finished the basic framework for this algorithm."

  "My daughter Csilla showed me the paper you have her writing up with a few other students. It was impressive, no doubt."

  "Yes," Eliot said, sighing in relief. "They've all done a wonderful job."

  "But," the director continued, "I had hoped that your work would end up being a bit more...substantial."

  "We're set up very well with this work," Eliot insisted, although he knew that his findings were lackluster. They hadn't solved the major problem, he knew. "We have the framework set up to begin working on the general solution."

  "Coming from you, Dr. Herceg," the director said, "I have to say, this is disappointing."

  Eliot's right eye twitched, the one near the scar. "We have a strong foundation—"

  "I understand that you've been having some...personal trouble. With the media."

  "If the Academy can do anything to help with that," Eliot pleaded. "Perhaps issuing a statement—"

  "We can't," the director said flatly. The look on his face told Eliot that there was no chance in arguing.

  "This is unacceptable," the director continued. He rubbed his nose, pinching it between his long fingers. "I don't know what's happened in the past ten years, Eliot. You used to produce such fine mathematics. Paper after paper of brilliant theorems. This—" he waved at the paper in front of him—"this is work I would expect from any junior professor."

  Eliot flushed. "I can do more—"

  "We've been under a lot of scrutiny," the director said. "And if you can't deliver results, it's not worth the risk we take to keep you on."

  "Risk?"

  "The Herceg name is not known fondly anymore in Budapest. Your brother being in the Assembly makes your position here look like nothing more than nepotism. Like your brother has something to do with you staying on, especially if this is the work we get from you after a year."

  "Is that true?" Eliot asked. His throat was tight.

  "What?"

  "Is my brother the reason I'm still here?"

  The director sighed and leaned forward.

  "Eliot," he said. "I knew you before Clare died. Before you left Hungary. You were...you were a genius."

  "But I've lost it." He had lost everything—his wife, his country. And, yes, if he was being honest with himself, his mathematical genius. Or perhaps not the genius—he hadn't lost his mathematical ability, the perspective that made him see the path towards the right answer so clearly. He'd just lost the spark of motivation that he used to be able to call upon to push past the inevitable frustrations that cropped up during the course of any major proof.

  "I didn't say that," the director said, leaning back. "We just need more from you if we're going to have such an...unpopular name working in our department. The board wants to get rid of you."

  "I'll do what I can," Eliot said.

  "I'd like to keep you on," the director said. "And this paper is a good start. But it's insufficient if you want reinstatement in the department. I've asked the board to meet with you next week about your findings. They'll be the ones to decide whether you should stay or not."

  "Thank you," Eliot said blankly. His mind was already turning, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He stood and shook the director's hand limply before heading out the door.

  "Eliot?" the director said.

  "Hmm?" Eliot turned back to see the director leaning back in his chair. "Yes?"

  "Impress them."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brynn

  I kissed Eliot goodbye and walked to the academy library. Mark was there, sitting at one of the tables. And Csilla was there too, her hand stroking his shoulder absently as they both read over some book. I stopped in my tracks by the library shelf. My entire being revolted at the idea of going over to talk with them. I wanted to turn and flee. I'd felt like this so often recently, but I didn't want to let Eliot know. It was such a wonderful opportunity he was giving me, and I felt ungrateful for my hesitation.

  "Hey Brynn!" I snapped out of my reverie and saw Mark motioning for me to come over. Csilla had a fake smile plastered on her face, and as I walked over she pulled Mark closer to her to kiss him on the cheek.

  "What's up?" I asked, playing it as cool as I could. I sat down on the empty chair across from them.

  "Finishing up this paper," Mark said.

  "My dad says it'll be published this summer," Csilla said, blinking her long lashes at me.

  "How's your work coming along?" Mark asked.

  "Um, fine." I hadn't been getting anywhere at all on the problem. I just hoped that the work we'd already done would be enough.

  "Mark and I are going to Paris to celebrate after this is all done," Csilla said, resting her head on Mark's shoulder. He beamed, and I felt sick inside. She didn't deserve him, and he didn't deserve to have such a two-faced person as a girlfriend.

  "That's wonderful," I said.

  "Have you ever been?" she asked.

  "No," I said.

  "That's a shame. How about Rome?"

  "I've never traveled anywhere," I said, a bit more harshly than I intended to. I turned to Mark. "Did you find a solution to that problem?"

  "Uhh...no," he said, having the decency to look ashamed. "You were right. It's impossible."

  "I still think there's a way to do it," Csilla said. "You can't just give up. I mean, if you want to succeed, you have to keep trying. S
uccess doesn't just come to people who sit back and do nothing. Unless they're sitting back and letting someone else do something to them." She winked at me, and I stood up from the table.

  "I'll see you later," I said.

  "Wait, Brynn," Mark said. I ignored him and walked away. As I left I heard him arguing with Csilla, her cooed protests of innocence echoing in my ears. I ran outside and down the stairs, away from the Academy. I couldn't stay there. Not with her around.

  I stopped only when I came to the edge of the Danube. The riverbank sidewalks were crowded with casual tourists and businessmen in suits taking time off from work to stroll in the sunshine, their coats draped over their arms. The air was hot and the trees seemed to glow with reflected sunlight. I leaned over the side of the railing, looking at the river flowing past.

  The Danube in the summertime was blue-green and murky, the currents gently spinning small rifts of foam along the granite blocks of the riverbank in places. The first time I'd seen the river, it had been winter and the water was dark, glassed over with ice. It looked peaceful now, and I held my breath when I remembered what had happened somewhere along the bank, thirteen years ago. How could it have swallowed my mother whole?

  I saw something bob in the river, and it shocked me back into awareness. I shook my head and blinked—it was just an empty soda bottle floating down with the current. It ran aground and was caught in the branches of a bush growing out of a crack in the rocks. That could be my mom's body, I thought. I wondered how somebody had found her. I wondered how she had been killed.

  Tomorrow. I would have all of the answers tomorrow when I went to the police station. I wiped the small beads of sweat from my forehead and took a breath. Eliot would be looking for me. I found myself walking back with newfound determination. I would be strong not just for myself, but for him. He had been working so hard on the problem, and I had done nothing to support him. I had been blindly focused on my own problems. Selfish, I thought to myself.

  Eliot found me outside of the Academy, sitting on the steps.

  "I just got a call from Marta," he said. "She wants us to come over for dinner. What do you think about that?"

  "Sure," I said. Hadn't he just told me that Otto and Marta had been the ones responsible for ruining his reputation? I pressed my lips together.

  "I thought you'd be excited," Eliot said. He touched my elbow. "You've been wanting to go out more."

  "Sorry," I said. "Just thinking about something else."

  "Okay," Eliot said. "Maybe you can wear one of your new dresses."

  "What?" I looked up in confusion.

  "Marta told me you two went shopping," Eliot said.

  "Oh, right. Yeah," I said. Those were the dresses I had returned for cash so I could send my grandmother the money. I would have to wear something else and hope that nobody would notice.

  Eliot put his arm around me, and I leaned into his chest. He kissed my temple.

  "I am looking forward to seeing you at the dinner tonight," he whispered.

  "Because I'll be wearing a dress?" I asked, trying to joke.

  "Because you shine brilliantly around other people," Eliot said.

  "Don't I shine brilliantly around you?"

  Eliot laughed, and I thought that I might be able to patch up the sore spots between us. He was so kind, so ready to love me. I didn't understand what I had done to deserve him. I felt like the worst kind of liar.

  "It's a different kind of shine," he said. "Like a diamond with light shining on it from different angles. I see all of the little facets of you that I don't get to see when it's just us."

  "I'll do my best to sparkle," I said.

  A secret is a dark thing. It worms its way into your heart and burrows deep, eating you from the inside out. The only way to stop it from eating you alive is to expose it to the light. Like vampires, secrets crumble in the daylight.

  My dad had kept a dark secret from me for years. The truth of my mother's death had never been uncovered, at least to me, and I trembled to think about what lay hidden underneath the layers of lies and untruths that my dad had piled atop of reality in order to protect me.

  Why did I keep the money a secret from Eliot? It was the same reason that Cinderella ran away from the prince at the ball when the clock struck midnight. Proud as she was, she did not want him to see her in rags.

  I knew Eliot loved me, but I still had my pride, and I clasped onto the lie of my independence as surely as if I was telling the truth. I did not want to acknowledge the fact of the situation: that I needed Eliot badly. I needed his help in the form of money, and I could not fix all of my problems on my own. That was the secret I kept from myself.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Eliot

  “Problems cannot be solved at the same level of awareness that created them.”

  Albert Einstein

  Eliot tried to put a happy face on, but his mind was troubled. Would he ever solve the damned problem? Brynn didn't deserve to worry about that. With her mother's death and the finalization of her paper for the Academy, she had enough to worry about without worrying about him too.

  Brynn came down the stairs dressed in a green-gray shimmering dress, a sheath with beaded fringe at the bottom.

  "You look stunning," Eliot said. Any thoughts of trouble disappeared when he looked at Brynn's face. Her gentle, full lips that curved into a smile. Her beautiful green eyes, tinged with specks of gold, that lit up at understanding a new mathematical idea. And when she dressed her curves up in an outfit to show them off to full measure, he could not help but feel that it was harder to stand up than normal.

  "Thank you," Brynn said, tilting her head so that he could kiss her cheek. A hint of vanilla perfume wafted up from her neck.

  "And you smell delicious," Eliot said, moving to kiss her on the collar. Her skin was so soft under his mouth. He let his tongue dart out between his teeth, tasting her in slow spirals.

  "Mmm," Brynn said. "Eliot..."

  "We should go before I decide to eat you all up," Eliot said. He held the door open for her and cocked his head as she passed by him. "Is that a new dress? I thought that was one of the first ones you bought."

  Brynn shrugged as she walked by him.

  "I like this one," she said.

  "It likes you," Eliot said, but he could sense that there was a nervousness during the ride to Marta's that hadn't been there before. They barely talked, Brynn looking out of the car window the entire time at the night sky.

  "Where is that necklace I gave you?" Eliot said. "The one with the heart and the little diamond?"

  "I lost it. Don't you remember?" A flutter of shame passed over Brynn's eyes.

  "Oh yes," Eliot said, although he did not remember. "Yes."

  Eliot focused on the road. Outside of Marta's house, Eliot helped Brynn up the stairs.

  "I'm glad you're finally going to meet Otto," Eliot said.

  "I'm not," Brynn said, her head lowered.

  Eliot was shocked. Brynn had never been so bluntly negative before. He wondered what had gone wrong.

  "Marta will be glad to see you, anyway," he said, confused. "And I'm sure Otto will as well."

  Brynn raised her head, and in her eyes Eliot saw tears brimming.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm trying. But I don't know if I can forgive them for what they did to you."

  "Brynn," Eliot said, sweeping her up into his arms. "I did this to myself. It was my choice."

  "But it was his fault," Brynn said. "I don't understand why you would let yourself get caught up in your brother's mess."

  "Marta—"

  The door opened in front of them. It was Marta. She beamed at them with a smile that was more forced than usual.

  "Eliot, Brynn. How wonderful to see you both!" She kissed them on the cheeks and ushered them in with a tittering laugh. "Such a beautiful dress, Brynn. Come, come! Otto is out smoking on the balcony. You've never been here before, have you, Brynn?"

  Brynn shook her head.


  "Well, then, let me give you the grand tour!"

  Eliot followed behind as Marta showed Brynn up the steps to the music room and led her through the kitchen, where their private chef was preparing the dinner. Brynn nodded and murmured compliments in all the right places, and Marta showed off the new furniture they had just bought for their dining room.

  "The sofa is a replica of one of Louis IV's," Marta boasted. "From Versailles. And the grandfather clock here is actually an antique that Otto's father just gave to him."

  Brynn stopped in front of the clock and watched the regular motion of the silver and gold cogs. The golden pendulum swung slowly back and forth, and the gilded numbering was set into a marble clock face that gleamed. Eliot put his hand on the small of her back. Her eyes were reflected in the glass and he met them just as the hour hand ticked over to nine o'clock. Eliot felt Brynn tense under his hand as the chimes rang out loudly, the sonorous tones vibrating through his chest. She closed her eyes as the last chime sounded, listening to the echo through the large rooms of the apartment.

  "It's lovely," Brynn said, turning back to Marta and avoiding Eliot's gaze. Marta smiled widely. Eliot could tell that she was determined to act as though nothing was wrong at all. The world could be falling apart outside, and Marta would still hold dinner parties and smile and show off. She had been pretending for so long now that Eliot thought it might have frozen her permanently in a state of false happiness. He did not know what lay underneath her surface; he had only a glimpse of her pain every now and then, but it would quickly close over.

  They opened the door onto Otto stubbing out a cigar on the balcony railing. Brynn stepped forward to kiss him on both cheeks in the traditional greeting, and he swept her into his arms in a familial hug.

  "Brynn, this is Otto," Eliot said. "Otto, Brynn."

  "I've heard so much about you, my dear," Otto said, pressing her hand with his.

  Brynn swallowed, and Eliot knew that she was restraining herself from responding negatively in kind. She smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

  "Good to see you again, Otto," Eliot said.