Eleanor is asleep in the middle of her bed buried deep under the duvet when her door creaks open. She's always been a light sleeper. Flinching awake, she fights her way out of her blankets and sits up as the light from the corridor streams in, and he's standing there, looking haggard in her doorway wearing a pair of jeans, black thermal shirt, and grey jacket. "What is this? A fucked up version of A Christmas Carol? How did you even get in here?"
"You wish," he mutters, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, and secures the lock.
The tungsten ring on his left hand glistens in the moonlight and doesn't go unnoticed.
Eleanor curls back into her bed and shuts her eyes. This isn't real. It's a nightmare.
The sounds of rustling fabric fills the air, signalling that he's removing his clothing. She cracks an eye open.
His trousers to the floor with a light thud and Eleanor makes no move to stop him.
Jasper slips into her bed beside her and his cool hands immediately seek her out, desperate to pull her to him. Somewhere inside her brain she knows this isn't right. He's married. They're not together. They're not anything.
She's always been selfish. She's missed him. She wants him. Badly.
Her mouth is on his in a flash. Her fingers rake through his unstyled blonde hair, pulling his mouth impossibly closer to her own. Their teeth mash together. Their kisses are sloppy. Neither of them seem to care.
He's here.
With her.
Jasper's already naked and gloriously hard against her thigh as he blindly paws at her silky sleep shorts, effortlessly ripping them away from her body.
There's no time for protests.
He pushes her onto her back, and then he's inside her with little preparation. It really fucking hurts because it's been so long, and because he's so big.
It doesn't take long for them to find their old tempo. Her fingers lace with his amongst the sheets over her head. His hips keep her pinned against the mattress as he continuously pounds into her, his breath coming out in hot, quick pants against her neck. He can't look at her.
She wants to mark him, but she knows that she can't.
She comes.
He comes.
He holds her in his arms until she falls back asleep.
Jasper's gone by daybreak, and he's left without saying goodbye.
If it weren't for the throbbing, dull ache between her thighs and the crumpled receipt from room service for a suite at The Blakemore on Hyde Park on the floor by the sofa, she would have thought it nothing but an cruel erotic dream.
Jasper's been less than forty-five minutes away from her the entire time, and hasn't said a damn word. She has no idea how long he's been in London, or how long he's staying.
It dawns on her then that he must have come through the tunnels, because security would have called and given her a heads up that she had a visitor at such an hour.
Eleanor Google's the name of his hotel room in the early hours of Christmas morning on her iPhone, naked on the floor with her back against the foot of her bed, the crumpled piece of paper clenched tightly in her small fist.
It's the Honeymoon Suite.
Eleanor creeps into her mother's bedroom shortly after eight in the morning, sobbing. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she's haphazardly dressed herself in her robe and little else.
The Dowager Queen doesn't ask why her only daughter is in tears on Christmas morning.
Helena's already known for weeks, and has been dreading this moment ever since James Hill passed on the news that a certain ex-bodyguard married some no-name Las Vegas journalist.
She knows that Frosts' are in London for the holidays, because Team Henstridge had to work extra hard to keep Eleanor away from any events in central London as a precaution.
There was sound reasoning behind why they decided to light the Christmas Tree in Oxford instead of London this year. It wasn't worth the risk, and both she and Liam knew it. One look at them, and they knew all the progress that Eleanor's made over the past two and a half years would be shot to hell.
Both mother and son know that she's the most fragile out of all of them.
Instead, she sits up and allows her twenty-four year old daughter climb into her bed and sob loudly into her chest. She sounds so broken.
Eleanor reeks of sex.
It's a vaguely familiar scent that she's smelled in her daughter's room years before.
There's only one person whom it could belong to.
Helena kisses the top of her daughter's head and holds her a little tighter as a result.
She never wanted her little girl to have her life. Not by a long shot.
Eleanor deserves to be loved out of all of them the most.
But not in this way.
Eleanor sits in the background of Liam's Christmas Day address next to her mother. Her hair is straightened, her makeup is done, and she's wearing a pretty black dress.
She looks like the morning's events never occurred, and Liam's completely oblivious to the fact that just four short hours ago, she was crying in her mother's bed because of Jasper Frost.
Eleanor's in mourning for a number of things, but nobody needs to know about them.
She bitterly hopes that they're watching. The King's Christmas Day address is broadcasted live on every major network in the United Kingdom.
Eleanor considers taking his name off of the Palace's access list, but decides against it because she's a glutton for punishment.
He doesn't come back.
A while later, Liam announces that Willow is pregnant, and the country rejoices at the prospect of a new royal baby and a new era.
Eleanor steps back and allows Willow to take over some of her charities that are more family focused. They don't need her.
The people want to see their new Queen.
Princess Eleanor isn't as relevant as she used to be.
When she realizes this, she breathes a sigh of relief.
Four months later, she takes a trip to New York City. Alone.
She has gotten wind of a summit that he was going to be working at. For security reasons, of course.
She books a suite at The Four Seasons and leaves his name at the front desk, pointedly tells James where she is, and waits.
And waits.
Jasper shows up on the third night.
"I miss you," Eleanor admits as he approaches her. She's lying in the middle of the king size bed, reading a lengthy email from Liam on her phone. She's still wrapped up in the hotel's terrycloth robe.
"Not as much as I miss you, princess," he replies easily.
He reaches forward, boldly- and slowly undoes the sash around her waist as if he were unwrapping the most delicate gift. His eyes are on hers. He's waiting for her to tell him to stop. To tell him that this isn't right. Her glittering green
She likes how he can make her title sound like an endearment.
There's no apology offered for what happened at Christmas, and neither want to discuss it. They can't. Not yet.
His eyes scan over her slim figure- almost memorizing her- as she confidently lounges back on her elbows. Her flesh still tinged pink, fragrant and warm from the hot bath she just took.
"You don't deserve this, Len." He sighs as he moves to undo the button on his jeans. "You deserve someone who can love you all of the time."
Jasper's trying to give her an out, but she doesn't want it. Whatever is starting now- it's not going to stop. She doesn't want it to. He doesn't want it to.
There's no one else. There never will be.
"Jasper," she sighs, parting her legs as he climbs on top of her, and settles himself between them. "You already do."
She can feel him smile against her neck, and his gentle assault on her skin stops for a moment, and his hands still on her bare hips; thumbs stroking her protruding hipbones. "You're right. I do."
Eleanor isn't strong enough to ask him to leave his wife for her.
Jasper has a whole other life outside of this hotel that she knows nothing about, and he doesn't come forward with information about it because she doesn't ask.
It's better this way.
He wraps her up in her silk robe, and orders her room service. She tells him about what's been going on in the palace and her life, as if he doesn't already know. How she adores James' eleven year old daughter, Sarah, and that she helps her with her homework on Wednesdays, and then she takes her horseback riding.
It's her favourite day of the week. She doesn't tell anyone that but him.
Sarah actually likes her, and she's just tickled that the Princess wants to hang out. Sarah thinks that Eleanor is hilarious. She's bookish and doesn't have many friends at her private school, so she doesn't tell anyone that her best friend is the twenty-four year old emotionally detached and unavailable Princess.
Eleanor doesn't tell anyone that her best friend is a bright, overly optimistic eleven year old girl who sees the world as a half-full glass instead of an empty bottle.
Jasper doesn't voice it, but he likes the way her eyes light up when she talks about James Hill's young daughter. Her tone is brighter, and she's animated in a way he's never seen her be before. To him, she's never been more beautiful.
He spends the next four nights with her, and it's the same routine. Eat. Discuss everything but his life. A few rounds of sex, and then they sleep soundlessly, wrapped up in each other.
The cool metal of his wedding band on her bare skin makes her uncomfortable, but she doesn't ask him to take it off while he's with her.
Eleanor will atone for her sins one day.
Jasper tells her that he has to go back to Las Vegas the next morning, and that he will miss her. He leaves her a mobile number that he instructs her to text him on when she arrives back in the United Kingdom.
They don't know when they'll see each other next.
She stays in New York for two more days, and doesn't leave her room.
He's left one of his t-shirts behind, and she sleeps in it every night until his scent disappears.
She texts him when she lands in London, but Jasper doesn't reply.
A few months later, Liam and Willow find out that they're having a boy, and they're going to call him Simon.
Eleanor cries for a multitude of reasons.
She tries to phone Jasper, but the it goes to straight to voicemail and she doesn't leave a message because it's his work mobile.
He calls back when she's asleep, and apologizes for waking her up and asks what's wrong.
She tells him Liam's news, and he's silent for several minutes on the other end. Eleanor doesn't ask if he's still there, because she can hear him breathing.
"Eleanor?" he says finally, his tone sounds just as broken as she feels, because he knows.
"Yes?" she whispers into the mouthpiece, gripping her iPhone tightly in both hands as she lies in the fetal position in the middle of her bed.
"It'll be okay, Len. I'll see you soon. You know I lo-"
She can hear a door opening in the background, the sound of a barking dog, and then line goes dead.
Jasper's coming to Paris to assist with setting up security for the upcoming climate conference, and asks if she can meet him there.
It's extremely close to Willow's due date, and it's a risky move because there's going to be a ton of media in the city. Eleanor doesn't give two shits about climate change because she doesn't understand, and she doesn't want to. Science was never her thing and she likes having a mild winter.
She'll be locked up in a hotel, under a false name, for a whole two weeks. But at least she'll be with him.
Eleanor's mood has been brighter over the past few days since she found out he was coming to Europe, and only her mother knows why.
Helena doesn't judge her daughter. She has no right to. She just tells her to be careful and not be seen, and to have a good time.
They've reached a turning point in their relationship.
Eleanor sits on the balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the Seine smoking a cigarette and nursing a glass of red wine when the door to the suite bangs open. She's on her feet in a flash, hastily stubbing out her smoke in the ashtray and pulling open the glass patio door.
Jasper stands before her in a pair of ripped jeans, and a tight white t-shirt. His hair is freshly cut and he's got a few days worth of stubble on his face.
Just the ways she likes him.
His lips turn up into a familiar handsome smile that makes her heart skip a beat as he takes in the sight before him; she's dressed down in a pair of black skinny jeans a silky black tank.
Nothing about her screams royalty. Not that he'd ever care, anyway.
"Hey baby," he greets her as she throws her arms around his neck, and his hands come to rest on her slim waist. "I missed you so much." He nuzzles his nose in her hair, and inhales deeply and pulls her closer to him. She can already feel his erection growing in his pants against her thigh.
Eleanor likes that she's the one that has this control- this effect- on him.
"I'm glad you asked me to come," Eleanor whispers, holding his face in her hands and peppers his neck with hot, wet kisses. She wants him so much it hurts.
"Mm, not yet," he says saucily in her ear as his hands slide down her back and he brazenly cups her ass, and lifts her off of the floor and into his arms. He carries her over to the large bed in the centre of the room, and sets her down. "God, Len… I missed you. You have no idea."
"I have an idea," she answers as he pushes her top up, and presses his lips to her taut stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. Her hands knot into his hair. "Come back home. With me."
Jasper stills against her. It's the first time she's asked him to stay since this affair began. He slowly pulls back, his expression is tortured by what she's asking him to do, and hers falters when she realizes that he isn't going to say yes.
"I can't," he admits, averting his gaze. "She's my wife, Eleanor. I can't-"
"Right," she gripes with a scoff. She needs to get away. "Now you're worried about your wife, Jasper? You're fucking unbelievable!"
Eleanor's heard the exact words from Beck, too. When did she develop an affliction for married men, anyway?
"I'm just your side piece; your dirty little secret. That's all, right? You keep so many fucking secrets, Jasper!" She hollers, her tone scathing, and borderline hysteric as she pushes him away from her. "Do you have a good laugh with your mates about it back home? About how you're fucking the Princess on-"
"You know that's not how it is Len," he pleads, reaching for her arm. His voice is rising too. "You know it." She moves out his reach, because she knows the second he touches her, all will be forgiven.
"How the fuck is it then, Jasper? Why won't you leave her? What does she have that I don't?!"
"Lindsay was there. She doesn't tell me to go because she's scared," he answers, his tone just as harsh; purposefully striking her exactly where he knows it's going to hurt her the most. "She doesn't tell me to get out of her fucking life when I try to make up for my mistakes. Does that sound familiar to you? Or do I need to refresh your goddamn memory, Princess Eleanor? Is it just eating you up inside that you're not getting your way, for once in your goddamn shit excuse of a life, Your Highness? You can't just tell me to give everything up for you. It doesn't work like that. Not for us."
Everything comes crashing down around her and she sits on the edge of the nearby chaise, and hides her face in the palm of her hand. Her shoulders shake as she gulps in mouthfuls of air, in a vain attempt to keep herself from losing her shit at him. The last thing they need is hotel security being called.
If Jasper wants to fight her with words, Eleanor's been ready for battle for a long time.
This is a blowout that's been nearly three years in the making.
Neither will emerge victorious.
"You don't know a fucking thing about me, Jasper. Not one fucking thing. You don't fucking know what it's like to be paraded around in front of suitors by your family because you're nearing your mid-twenties, and haven't had a legitimate love interest in years. Knowing that the one person you want is halfway across the bloody planet, married, and fucking someone else and there isn't a goddamn thing you can do about it," she says quietly, her voice deathly calm, even for her. She refuses to look at him.
For the first time since this whole thing's started, she's having doubts. Eleanor knows that she can't carry on with him- like this- forever. Something is going to have to give eventually or they're going to rip each other to shreds. Emotionally. "I know I've messed up- but don't you fucking dare throw my titles in my face like they're something I care about- that I need- because you know better than anyone else on this fucking planet that I hate them the most. More than I hate HER."
It's all her fault that they're in this mess. She's the one that kicked him out of the palace, and forced him back to Vegas.
It didn't occur to her until much later that he was just as emotionally fucked up as she was.
Someone had to be there and pick up the pieces of the hurt and pain that she had caused him.
And that was Lindsay Rhodes. So it's only right she gets to be Lindsay Frost.
Eleanor had completely tossed his feelings out the window as if they hadn't existed.
As if they weren't genuine.
As if they didn't matter.
When she looked at him, all she saw was everything wrong that he had done to her. It did hurt her to see him.
She doesn't see him like that anymore. She doesn't feel that hurt anymore.
Of course he wouldn't have waited for her.
Jasper thought he was dead to her.
She was selfish to think otherwise. All the others waited- why would he be any different?
Jasper doesn't approach her, but he doesn't go away, either.
Their reunion is ruined.
Once again, it's her fault.