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EVENTUALLY, LEAH LANDED a part-time job, working at a dollar store as a cashier. It didn’t help all that much with the finances, but she at least had some satisfaction that she was contributing.
With her spare time, she gave something else a try. She’d enjoyed Valeska’s Adventures so much, and found herself reading more often than not, so she decided to give writing a go. Not just the kids’ stories back in the Green Lands that she hoped to finish for their child someday, but stories for an older audience. Maybe if she’d gotten into books in middle and high school, she’d have avoided a lot of the drama and trauma. Plus, Valeska’s Adventures was pretty light on the romance, and Leah had a feeling she could do better.
With a notebook and pen, she started to write.
Things were genuinely going smoothly between Leah and Marcus. They were best friends. They took time on the weekends to go for walks. He endured her talking about books, and she always listened to his stories about what happened to coworkers she hadn’t met on his worksite.
Were things perfect? No. They were still very different people from shockingly different backgrounds. They were young, and trying to figure out how to make things work. They both forgot to pay a utility bill, and had to pay an extra charge. The minutiae of sorting out things like who was going to pay the bills and how to remember to do it on time were daunting.
And they both still had their tempers. Leah remembered the tips Kaylah had given her about dealing with frustrations.
One evening after Marcus came home and showered, he sat on the floor while Leah massaged his shoulders. She used her Ivy energy to put some extra pressure into his knots. He squirmed a little as she did so, but was grateful.
“You’re sure you don’t want to go alone?” he asked.
Leah sighed. To try to make things work, to find a better way to meet in the middle and deal with stress, they’d looked into counseling. There was a local program available that helped with low-income sessions. A limited number of sessions were covered, so they’d agreed to take them as a couple.
She leaned forward on the couch, wrapping her arms around his neck, and rested her chin on his head. “Yeah, I’d rather go with you.”
It was tempting to see a counselor for herself, because no one here would have preconceptions about who Leah was. They would have no background on her, would have no need to report to the queen or anyone else. But ... Leah’s heartache was deep and complex, and she’d have to walk on eggshells to discuss it with a human. ‘So, when my dad was king... Oh, um, I mean... a CEO of a company you’ve never heard of...’ ‘After I tried to assassinate my aunt, the queen... No, I mean... Um...’
She’d either slip on that kind of information and earn a grippy-socks vacation because they thought she’d lost it, or she’d have to lie so much that she doubted any sort of soul-baring would be effective.
No, she’d sort through her stuff—someday, somehow. And in a way, she already was. Just voicing it with Kaylah and Marcus had been immensely helpful. Just jotting it in a journal helped her release her anger and think things through.
Marcus kissed her hand. “Okay. I’ll make it work with my schedule.”
The first session was mostly a meet and greet to discuss what they wanted out of counseling. The second session was surprisingly productive. Though, Leah was mortified to find herself crying in front of a stranger about how she felt regarding always losing people. She was honest about her mom being sent to prison for life, about her dad dying before she was born, about having to move all the time growing up. She was perhaps a little hazy on the details.
She and Marcus had agreed ahead of time to go out for ice cream after sessions to decompress, and it was a fun reminder of their original dates as high schoolers.
“I’m really sorry,” Marcus said quietly, pushing his ice cream toppings around as they sat in the shop.
“It’s okay. It was my fault, too,” she reassured him. It was true. When they’d ‘taken a break’ in high school for an entire month, during Christmas Break, it had been because Marcus had wanted it. It had been torture for Leah, but she’d earned it by shoplifting. And him being gone for nearly half of her pregnancy? She could have reached out to him as easily as he could have to her.
“Still.” He frowned. “I think her advice will help.”
Leah nodded. They’d talked about how to pick their battles in their session that night, and also different fighting styles. It was weird to be told it was okay to fight, but that they needed to set boundaries. They needed to agree together on what was too far in an argument. Bringing up past mistakes and hurtful trauma was a no-go.
And Marcus was an avoider in arguments. In his heart, he was still that little boy who didn’t want to deal with contention, and ran off to a tree house. But if he needed space and time to work through a problem, to properly handle it, then Leah agreed to give it to him, but there had to be rules. He could halt an argument and go for a walk, but he’d have to promise to not be gone for more than a couple of hours. They both needed boundaries.
Not once was a rationale given that they needed to handle things a certain way because of how it would affect Leah’s public image, or Marcus’s reputation, or the royal family’s.
It was impartial. It was helpful. It was encouraging.
They didn’t check the ‘official’ cell phone often, but they kept it plugged in on a side table.
Around Leah’s five-month mark in her pregnancy, Marcus started to act antsy, staring at the phone.
What was going through his mind? Did she even want to know? Could she handle the truth?
At some point, she couldn’t ignore it. One Sunday afternoon, Leah lay with her feet propped up on the armrest of the couch, her hands resting on her rapidly growing bump, her head in Marcus’s lap as he gave her a relaxing scalp massage.
“Why do you keep looking at the phone?” she asked.
He pressed his lips together, hesitant. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Aunt Catrina, is all.”
Leah’s stomach tightened. “What about her?”
“That she’s due any day. I’ve just been thinking it would be cool to know what she ends up having.”
The vast majority of green folk still didn’t come to the human world for health care, for obvious reasons. They didn’t know the gender of Queen Catrina’s baby, or if there would be multiples. Twins and triplets weren’t uncommon for standard Ivies.
Leah closed her eyes, processing. She wanted nothing to do with Catrina, with official palace news, with any of it. They’d agreed upon a full cutoff. But ... Catrina was his aunt, and they had always been close. And it would be a major cause for celebration in the Ivy Kingdom, so perhaps they should be aware of that sort of thing?
Drawing a cleansing breath, Leah opened her eyes. “I’d be okay with us texting Kaylah for an update once she’s given birth...”
He instantly beamed. “Thanks!”
They texted the number they had for Kaylah, and a few days later got a reply. Catrina had given birth to another set of twin girls.
“Poor Leon,” Marcus said. “Outnumbered four-to-one.”
“Right? And four daughters, four downline heirs of her own. One more, and she’s single-handedly taken care of the Elonta line!”
Ivy royalty had complex rules about names and titles, mostly based on the way the Mother Vines assigned their allegiance. The first five female Ivies after the queen in the Elonta bloodline held the power.
Leah’s mom had never truly held the power of the Mother Vines, had never truly been a queen. She wasn’t an Elonta. Leah was grateful to not be an Elonta or Elanna either. While these births were celebrated, it would no doubt stir up unwanted feelings and resentment in some of those further down the bloodline who were now taken a notch down because new heirs above them had not only claimed an exclusive title, but access to a power that only six people at a time could hold to any discernable degree.
Leah was fine being an entire realm away from those considerations. The enormous celebrations welcoming the new little princesses, and the subtle passive-aggressive greetings from Elontas or Elannas down the bloodline. But it brought her peace to see how much joy a little news from family back home brought Marcus.
Not much later, Leah’s peace turned to guilt. How could she not feel guilty? Marcus’s family was so close. He would never be living over here if it weren’t to be with Leah. He’d said he would be willing to move to the human world permanently if that was what it took to make Leah happy, to make things work between them.
But part of her knew, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, that this was a temporary situation. Even if they did set up a permanent home here, would they never visit the Green Lands again? She couldn’t do that to Marcus. Rachel wasn’t capable—as a fully-rooted Seeder matriarch—of entering the human world anymore. They couldn’t expect family to come to them. Marcus could go there. And what? Take the baby with him? Leave Leah behind because she couldn’t stomach facing the public again? She’d always be the bad guy.
But every single time she imagined going anywhere near a rifting cave, she panicked.
Marcus had picked up some extra hours one Sunday, and Leah hadn’t been put on the schedule that day at the dollar store. She lounged at home, cross-legged on their bed, writing in her journal.
If people only knew her—the real her. If they understood what she’d been through, how she’d misunderstood everything when she’d tried to kill Kaylah...
Leah had gone on tours with Catrina, had been formally presented and acquitted of any crimes. But people still judged.
Tapping her pen on the notebook, Leah recalled something that Saff of all people had said. Leah had asked Kaylah and Rachel’s Seeder friend about current Seeder feelings regarding Leah.
As she’d suspected, Seeders had never grown that fond of her.
I can understand how some people struggle to accept you, Saff had said. They either have rumors to go off of, or official royal tours with carefully crafted speeches.
Yeah... Those ‘carefully crafted’ speeches had been dry and official and everything Leah wasn’t. No matter how the palace’s PR team packaged Leah, it had never felt authentic, and people probably saw that. Catrina had asked her more than once if she’d wanted to say anything for herself, but public speaking was not her thing. Even if she’d worked up the guts to try, she’d be a sweaty mess, likely stumbling over another preapproved message.
Leah lamented her position, until something clicked.
Marcus returned home a few hours later, coated in sawdust. Leah didn’t wait for him to shower. She grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss. He didn’t hesitate to reciprocate. Holding her waist, he eventually pulled back. “If you want a little something more, I can take a quick shower...”
“No. Well, maybe a little later, but I couldn’t wait. I think I know what I want to do...”
“Okay...”
“I want to write another book.”
He set down his lunch bag and took a spot on the floor. “Another one for the baby, or like that older one you won’t let me see?”
She wrinkled her nose. “You’ll think it’s crap.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it’s not half as bad as you think.”
“And if my writing is crap, you’re going to lie and tell me it’s good so I don’t feel bad.”
He clasped his hands, resting them in his lap. “I can be impartial. And my grammar is better than yours. I can proofread...”
It was true. He’d had a better education and had been a better student. “Maybe... But I’m not talking about fiction. I want to write a nonfiction book. An...” She cringed. “Autobiography of sorts? Or memoir? Something that tells my story. Something that gives me the opportunity to change the narrative. More personal?”
He furrowed his brow; she might die on the spot if he thought it was a stupid idea. ‘Autobiography’ sounded so dry. She wasn’t even twenty yet. Presidents and other famous people had books like that published about them, not the villain’s daughter, right?
“If you want to, you could give it a go?” Marcus said.
Not exactly a pat on the back.
“But how much are you willing to include?” he asked.
She sat on the couch, blowing out a puff of air. “I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring that out.” How much of her life did she want to share? How much did she need to for people to give her a chance? Would she divulge that she’d shoplifted? That she’d suffered sexual assault? And if she did, to what end? To what extent?
Leah picked at her nails. “I think the only way people will really give me a chance is if they learn more about me, directly from me. Not rumors. Not dry, carefully crafted speeches, you know?”
He nodded, still pensive. “But if you did that, you know it would have to be approved by Aunt Catrina. Royal family involvement and all...”
She frowned. “I know. But I’m willing to try.”
Folding his arms, he shrugged. “It’s your story. I support you however you want to go about it.”
“And the fact that you’re part of my story?” She glanced at her round protruding stomach. “A pretty big part of it?”
“I don’t expect you to lie,” he said softly. “But I would like to be able to read it. Have some say, perhaps?”
“Of course!”
“Then it’s settled. If it makes you happy, and you think it can make things better for you and that little guy.” He pointed at Leah’s stomach. “Then I’m on board.”
She smiled. “Good. How about you clean up, and I’ll see about dinner.” She stood, pulling down her shirt. “And then we’ll decide what kind of dessert we want.”
***
A few days later, Leah allowed Marcus to read her progress on the romantic adventure story she’d been working on. It made her cringe to share her work, so she sat on the bed outlining her life story while Marcus read her other book in the living room.
Leah had a lot of work to do. Her journal was helpful, but it wasn’t perfectly organized chronologically or by topic, so she still needed to decide how she wanted to approach this.
The blinds were drawn closed, and the overhead light illuminated the room. She dug around the comforter with her bare toes.
“Are you kidding me?” Marcus said from the living room.
“What?”
“No.” His voice was firm as he appeared at the bedroom doorway, holding her notebook. “No. Absolutely not.”
She hid a grin. “What? You told me you liked my writing.”
His eyes were wide. “Yeah. I do. You’re actually really good. But this? No.”
She feigned innocence. “It’s a rough draft. It’ll get better.”
“A sex scene?”
Releasing that grin, she kept a tone of confusion. “I thought that was some of my best writing yet.”
Marcus glanced at the page. “I’ll give you that. It’s ... not bad... But not exactly appropriate for the age range your books are supposed to be written for!”
Leah shrugged.
As he cocked his head to the side, it was more than evident he was willing to die on this hill. “People will assume you wrote this about us.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Psh. That’s the fiction one.”
“If you ever publish this, in either world, green folk will find it and still make assumptions.”
Drawing a deep breath, Leah stretched out her legs. Her tone was sweet and seductive. “Marcus... I didn’t write that scene for any of these books. I wrote that for you.”
He slowly straightened, considering. “You promise? It’s not for the books?”
“Yes.”
“Okay...” He relaxed, holding the notebook in front of him again. “It is actually really...” He swallowed. “I don’t think we’ve tried a couple of the things in here...”
With an absolute smirk, she replied, “No. We haven’t.”
He cleared his throat. “You know, I was thinking of going to the store. We’re kinda low on bread. And I could ... pick up some extra things...”
He understood the assignment.
“Only if you want to.” She winked.
He looked like he could pounce right then and there. “I’ll order a rideshare. Way faster than taking the bus at this time of night.”
She acted casually disinterested. “Up to you. We are low on bread.”
They shared a grin, and he left the doorway.
“Marcus?”
“What?”
“Can you pick me up some pickles, too?”
“Sure.”
His keys clinked from the other room, and he reappeared in the bedroom doorway, a finger extended. “When you say pickles... Is that a ... euphemism?”
She laughed. “Dill. The kind I’ve been eating a lot of.”
He chuckled. “Okay. Pickles.”
An hour later, he brought back two full grocery bags. Amongst the collection, he had remembered the pickles, but not the bread. That was fine. They had not, in fact, been low on bread.