Forty-Six:
Prince Henry
Vivian was dead.
Victor was dead.
I was numb. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. They’d had Vivian’s funeral, which I’d attended. Then, I’d gotten black out drunk. In between watching that damn video of Vivian and Victor on repeat. What I should have been doing was trying to connect with Cecelia.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Everything hurt too much.
At this particular moment, I was sitting on the bed with a wine bottle in my hand. There was a knock on the door.
“Henry,” Marlowe’s voice said.
“Go away,” I shouted.
“Henry, come on. You’ve been in there for days. You can’t stay in there forever.”
“There’s nothing for me out there,” I
