Chapter 12
Is Love in the Heir?
Prince Rikard was spotted in Neandia with none other than Queen Alexandra. They held hands and got cosy in these exclusive photos taken of the Prince with the twenty-one-year-old monarch. Not much is known about the until-now reclusive young queen. She is an enigma. Love between two royals is a sweet surprise. While both palaces say the two were merely out for a ride at the Queen’s stables on the royal estate in the Neandian countryside, we call foul on that account. The Palace in Blavenberg says the Prince is in residence in Neandia in preparation for the Gold Cup polo tournament. Many foreign royals are expected to arrive from throughout Europe for the charity event.
Guilt befell me as I led Alexandra into a full-on fake arranged marriage. She lacked a complete picture of our circumstances, but she was down to play games with the tabloids that haunted our lives. Thankfully, our press were game. The agreement was that Exclusive, our big broadsheet in Lundhavn,would run all stories first.
And run they did! Without so much as a request, Alexandra and I were spotted outside her barn together with photographers staged in the bushes. Photos of us holding hands and looking oh-too-cosy were enough evidence. The press cover-up was a win-win for us both.
It worked. Alexandra was happier than I had seen her. She was freer, lighter. It was as if the floodgates were opening. After the night nursing poor Barney back to health, I struggled to lie to her. Something about her grew on me. The more she let me in, the more I liked her. And the more we successfully hoodwinked the press, the happier we both were. She came alive. I didn’t expect to feel anything, but I was happy to be part of this story. We did it together, but Alexandra was the one who had the most to gain—a real, free life was waiting.
Besides our barn spotting, the press caught us having a casual dinner alongside her sister Astrid in town. We briefly held hands. It was above board because we had a chaperone. We had plausible deniability but it all felt a bit naughty. It didn’t hurt that Alexandra was as happy as ever to be out, free, and eating a big dinner. Her enthusiasm made the mundane more interesting. And while holding hands wasn’t inappropriate, it was a choice way to anger one’s octogenarian oppressor.
Then, came the Gold Cup—one of the most important events of the season. While it changed hands every year, Neandia was hosting. My entire string appeared the week before the event. We were spotted arriving at the grounds the night before the event to check on my horses.
“I’m going to get flak for this,” Alexandra said as we walked into the barn, always under the eye of a waiting telephoto lens.
“What?” I asked.
“The dress.”
“The dress is fine.”
“We altered it to pull the hem up,” Alexandra said. “The minute she sees the papers and that I went out like this… she’ll take it out on me.”
“You look great. You’re young, Alexandra. Celeste can’t possibly think you should always dress like you’re fifty.”
Alexandra crossed her arms. I took her in—not seeing the issue. I came onto girls wearing far less. She looked saintly in the white floral number. It was perfectly serviceable for a Thursday evening out with friends. If anything, it was an improvement on her regular wardrobe. Apart from her gear for the barn, she often looked overdressed and buttoned up.
“You should be able to dress the way you want,” I said. “Live a little! She can bitch all she wants, but you hold the cards here. They are salivating over you. It would be to her detriment to actively sabotage you.”
I had the urge to put her at ease. It seemed appropriate to rub her back to comfort her. It might have been an overreach, but ignoring her felt wooden.
She looked at me, big blue eyes vulnerable. “You mean that? You don’t care if we catch flak?”
“I will defend your right to wear what you choose, Alexandra. That’s an essential part of being a person. You don’t seem the type to parade around in a club dress. That will get you in trouble. Of course, if you did, I’d still defend you.”
“Really?”
“It’s ridiculous. You’re a grown woman! People shouldn’t care what you wear. I know that’s easy for me to say, Alexandra, but I don’t believe in telling women what to wear. It’s contrary to how I was raised.”
She smiled. “That’s nice. We should visit Lundhavn soon. And then I shall buy all the clothes and be nothing but vindicated.”
“We should, yes,” I agreed.
She doted on my horses lovingly, satisfied somehow that I would stand up for her. It was heartbreaking in a way I didn’t anticipate. I began to worry the other shoe would drop when she found out who I was deep down. All the while, my protectiveness of her and her sisters won out. She didn’t deserve this. I may have been a prick, but I didn’t think of women as property. My parents raised me better than that. Women were people.
We departed in the car.
“Can you not ever drive yourself as monarch?” I asked.
“I cannot drive at all,” Alexandra answered.
“You do not know how to drive?”
“It sounds like a dream,” Alexandra said. “But I never got the opportunity.”
It was so sad. She couldn’t drive. Independent people drove cars!
“I cannot drive a car. I cannot dance. I cannot do a lot of things normal people my age do. They let you drive?”
Celeste and her courtiers saw Alexandra and her sisters as pawns to control. They reduced them to silly girls over which to exert themselves. It was deplorable. I dug in. Three weeks in, I wasn’t the man they wanted, but I was probably the man they needed.
“Of course. I normally drive at home,” I said. “You really cannot dance?”
She shook her head. Something about that was even sadder. The girl was neglected. I suspected if her parents were alive, things would be different. I wish they had been there for her. I realised what I read as boring wasn’t that at all. Alexandra never had the benefit of growing into someone with the opportunity to have hobbies and love things. She wasn’t boring. She was clever but deprived. The more we spoke, the more I read her as quick and eager to learn. She was a sponge, wanting to feel everything and do everything. Alexandra deserved the chance to spread her wings.
“We’ll remedy both,” I promised.
“I will need to learn to dance. But drive?”
“Do you want to drive?”
She nodded. “And I would drive if only I were able to even get a moment to myself. I am not stupid, Rick. I graduated top of my class—early. I am clever and could easily drive a car.”
“Of course,” I agreed.
“Everyone thinks I am stupid. They underestimate me. I… I hate it. I know you don’t know me that well, but… I don’t want you thinking I’m daft.”
“God, no! I don’t think that, Alexandra. You engineered a plan to free yourself and the girls and ran in front of a train—all with a massive weight around your neck in the form of a complicated prince.”
She snickered. “Well, as long as we’re clear. I would like to learn to drive, though. All joking and whinging aside.”
I squeezed her hand, instinctively. It was an urge that hit me suddenly. It was sincere. “I will teach you as soon as I can. If you want to learn, you should.”
She grinned like the Cheshire Cat. It was infectious. I beamed back.
“Thank you! I want to do that. I cannot believe you’d… offer? Can you do that?”
“You tell me, Your Majesty.” I chuckled. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want to learn to drive. I want to dance. I cannot think of much else now, Rick.”
“Well, tell me when you find out,” he said.
“I want to take up tennis again,” she spitballed. “And go out to dinner regularly. I want to taste the best, most avant-garde food. I want to go shopping and have fun. I want to make friends. I want to do all those things.”
It broke my heart.
“I am sorry I didn’t believe you at the start. I couldn’t imagine growing up like you did. You were locked up at a time when everyone else gets to spend exploring, making terrible choices, and learning from their mistakes. You didn’t even get that chance to find yourself. It makes me sad, Alexandra.”
She took my hand in both hers. They were tiny, soft, and warm. She was earnest.
“I appreciate that so much. Thank you for seeing me. But don’t pity me, Rick. Just give me space to be myself and we’ll call it even. That’s the best you could do for me.”
“I will,” I promised.
“Why do you care? You don’t have to.”
“Because I like you,” I said. “And your sisters. I want to see you all happy. I might be a dickhead. And yes, I’m getting something out of this, too, but I care about you, Alexandra.”
She smiled. “I appreciate that.”
I felt a pang of guilt. I was getting more than she knew. She was saving my ass. She was sparing my family an abundance of pain. And she also may still be in the crosshairs someday if it ever came out. I cared enough about her that I could worry, but not enough to spare her. She didn’t know a thing and I was sure I’d take that to my grave.
“Don’t worry about me, okay? Just enjoy the next few months of being the belle of the ball.”
“Hard to believe I could be.”
“You will be,” I assured.
“And tomorrow?”
“We will put on a hell of a show this weekend,” I said. “I promise you. The press will be eating out of our hands.”