The Designated Twin

4. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Finley

Dense man. You never told Lucy that she looked beautiful.

More accurately, she resembles a pastel pink angel, but that is perhaps too forward for a first date.

“Reservation for Andersson,” I say to the young, male host. I glance at Lucy who’s standing at my side, once again completely enthralled with her simplistic, refined beauty. The lady is sporting a constant blush. Coupled with the way she averts her eyes and clenches her hand into a fist—instead of resting it on my forearm like other women would do—reveals the blush is from a nervous innocence instead of other thoughts.

It’s the most adorable and endearing thing I’ve seen.

“This way, please,” the host says, leading us into the private room I reserved. One can never be too careful, even in a small town like Juniper Grove. Smells of warm bread and butter and stews and herbs infiltrate my senses as we walk through the small restaurant.

The circular table for two is elegant—a white table cloth with a candle centerpiece surrounded with rose petals. Two wine glasses, a bottle of Cotes du Rhone, and half a baguette with a ramekin of butter are immediately set onto the table before I have the chance to pull Lucy’s chair out for her.

Her hand rests on the back of her chair as if she’s about to get it herself, so I place mine over hers to make my intentions known, my long fingers swallowing her petite, clear-coated fingernails. I observe her reaction, gauging how she receives this minimal contact. Her hazel eyes widen as she stares at our hands, then she yanks hers out from under mine. The motion sends the solid, wooden chair rocking onto its back legs, the thick backrest slamming into my…

“Agh!” I groan, doubling over and instinctively sticking my hands between my legs, my stomach threatening to allow lunch to make a reappearance. My vision blurs for a brief moment as dizziness sweeps over me, and I grab the offending object to steady myself.

“Finley? Finley! Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” Lucy places a hand on my shoulder, but then the warmth of her touch disappears as quickly as it came.

I nod once and focus on taking deep breaths, trying to collect my composure as pain radiates through my nerves and my stomach rolls. After a minute or so, I’m able to stand straight, the pain still present but slowly dulling. Lucy stands off to the side, clutching her black purse with a death grip, her face contorted with concern as if she feels my pain. I release a long, slow, stabilizing breath and smile reassuringly at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, but she remains as still as the King Erik statue of my great-great-great grandfather in the entryway of Stjarna Palace. “Are you okay?”

I nod curtly. “Yep. I’m okay. That was…”

“Painful?” She tilts her head, the grip on her purse relaxing.

“Yes. And embarrassing.” I manage a snuffed laugh as the pain and nausea continuously subside.

Lucy, however, doesn’t laugh. She takes two cautious steps in my direction, evaluating me through narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, and says, “It’s a normal male reaction to that sort of incident. Are you sure you’re okay?” The compassion and understanding in her voice surprise me. I’ve seen women laugh at men in similar situations before. I dare to believe it’s a coping mechanism, but I’m glad to see Lucy doesn’t respond that way. She genuinely cares about my well-being, not the awkwardness of the situation.

“Thank you for your concern, Lucy. Yes, I’m in pain, but it’s easing up and I will be okay in a few minutes. Why don’t we take our seats?”

She reaches for the back of her chair once more, but I take hold of her wrist, freezing her mid-movement. I stare into her wide, hazel eyes. “Please, allow me to be a gentleman and get your seat for you tonight.”

“O-okay,” she stutters. I release her wrist and slide her chair out. After gawking at the chair for a few seconds, she finally sits down.

I’m left wondering if Lucy has never experienced chivalry before. What is with these American men?

I take my seat opposite Lucy. “Would you like wine?”

She nods, and I pour her glass then mine.

“Cheers,” she says, holding out her stemmed glass. I smile at the sound ofher deeper but innately feminine voice, and we clink our glasses. “Did you know that in medieval times, people clinked their glasses together to ward off bad spirits? And we say cheers as a whispered prayer for gladness. It’s funny how we willingly consume a product known for inebriation, which in turn breeds bad behavior, yet we feel the need to toast and clink first. It’s like we know, deep down, that we probably shouldn’t drink it.”

The rim rests against my lips as I process her words. The longer I wait to speak, the pinker her cheeks grow, and it tempts me to stay silent forever to keep that butterfly blush painted across her cheeks and nose.

“Interesting.” I sip the wine, trying to remember this informative side of Lucy from the wedding. We flitted through various conversations that afternoon while we danced and ate, but it was mostly Lucy agreeing with what I said, not adding in her own thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” She covers her mouth with her hand for a moment before moving it to speak again. “I tend to ramble when I’m in an uncomfortable situation that I can’t escape from.”

I choke on the liquid and feel a dribble down my chin. I set the glass down gently and dab the wetness on my face with a black cloth. “You, uh, want to escape from me? You’re uncomfortable?” I’ve been accused of many things, but never of making a woman uncomfortable.

“No, no, no,” she protests. Her shoulders rise with a deep breath and fall as she slowly releases it. She leans across the table and lowers her voice like she’s going to let me in on a secret. “I just mean that this is my first date ever, and I don’t know—”

“This is your first date ever?” I stare agape. How could Lucy Spence go twenty-five years without dating a man? This woman is—a weird American term, but I’m going to use it—a bombshell. At Hadley’s wedding, I couldn’t get enough of her flirty banter, slight touches, and focused attention. She seemed experienced to say the least. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. That truly took me by surprise. You’re,” I gesture to her with an open palm, “absolutely gorgeous.”

She frowns. “There’s more to a woman than her looks, you know.”

Way to go, Fins. Stick that big foot of yours in your mouth, why don’t you?

“I do know, Lucy. And you are correct. Yes, you’re gorgeous, but I can already tell you’re intelligent, and I anticipate discovering so much more. Which begs the question: how has no man taken you out before?”

She cocks her head to the side as if contemplating the validity of my words, then her eyes widen as if she remembered something important. She lightly shakes her head, sitting back in her chair with a slump before whispering to herself, though not quietly enough that I can’t hear it.

“You are not doing this wrong, Lucy. It’s your first date. That’s okay. It means I shoulder the responsibility of making sure it is the best date the world has ever seen.”

She laughs forcefully and a little too loudly. Then she straightens in her chair and begins twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, except instead of looking cute like I think she intends, it looks awkward. Especially when the strands get tangled in the simple silver ring on her index finger and she tugs it hard enough that her hand knocks into the table after it breaks free from the now-frizzed strand.

Lucy clears her throat, the permanent rose color across her cheeks intensifying. “Thanks, Finley. No, I have been on dates before. Plenty. My sister, Lorelei, has not. I was thinking of her, apparently, when I said that.”

That’s right. She has an identical twin. I met her at the wedding, too, except she was not as tolerable as Lucy was. I did spill a drink down the front of her dress, though, so I can be lenient when dissecting her personality and behavior. I’m sure she is just as peppy and joyful as Lucy is when her dress isn’t soaked through.

“Whew, pressure’s off, then.” I wink and take another sip of wine. It’s rich and sweet with hints of plum, cherry, and chocolate. It reminds me of the French imports we receive in Korsa. The silence stretches painfully for a few minutes.

I need to find a way to save this date. I trusted Hadley when she said that Lucy and I would be a great fit, and frankly, I liked what little I learned about Lucy at the wedding, though most of the conversation was flirty banter. Let’s see… She said she was a writer!

“How is that book of yours coming along that you told me about at the wedding? Did you break through the block you were having?”

She freezes, her fingers pinching a piece of bread to the edge of her lips.

Stupid man, you should have asked her after she’d bitten and chewed the bread.

“I, uh…” She drops the bread on the appetizer plate. “I need to use the facilities.” Lucy scurries out of the room, purse in tow.

Odd.

While she’s gone, I think of ways to salvage this night. At the wedding, she told me she was a writer, she enjoyed swing dancing, she loved to read, though mainly romance, and…

There had to be more, right? Or was I simply into her because of the warm affection and attention she gave me? Did I enjoy her flirty banter and touches a little too much and it clouded my perception? My life three months ago is completely different from the life I’m attempting to build now. Three months ago, I wasn’t in a rush to…

“So sorry,” she says, sliding back into her chair with renowned ease and grace. That was quick. “Now, where were we? Oh, right. My book. Yes, it’s going well. I broke through my writer’s block and am currently drafting an urban romantasy about a merman prince and a female pirate. It’s enemies to lovers.”

“That sounds…” Weird. “Exciting.”

“Mhmm,” is her only reply.

Quiet ensues around us again. I almost wish I had social media so that I could find her profile to get an idea of what to talk about. She doesn’t seem to want to tell me more about her book, but she was quite animated when talking about the history of “cheers” earlier.

I take another shot at conversation. “Did you know that the word ‘cheers’ itself derives from the French loanword chiere, which translates to ‘face.’ That’s how it came to mean ‘happiness’ in the eighteenth century.”

For the first time tonight, I watch Lucy Spence’s face light up like Christmas lights in the palace gardens. Her smile stretches wider than the length of the Mississippi River. “Technically it came to symbolize one’s spirit, so you could cheer to sadness.”

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” I shake my head, bewildered by this woman.

She shrugs then lifts her glass to her lips. “Wow, this wine is excellent,” Lucy comments, staring into the glass like she has x-ray vision to see each individual particle.

“It’s French. Of course it’s excellent. Though, you should try wine from my home country. We don’t export it since we are small, but it is a delicacy within Korsa.”

“The first wine is thought to have come from Iran. The Middle East is known as the breadbasket, so it makes sense. Bread and wine.” She chuckles at herself, holding a buttered slice of bread in one hand and her glass in the other. I can’t possibly stop the grin overtaking my face. This brainiac version of Lucy is plain sexy. The animation in her eyes, the nervousness laced in her voice, the way she tucks her hair behind her ears like she’s not used to wearing it down. I’m entranced.

“Are you still uncomfortable with me?” I tease, and she covers her mouth momentarily with her hand again before dropping it.

“No, that one just slipped.” She laughs, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Speaking of, are her eyes brown or green or blue? Obviously it’s hazel, but they have shifted colors multiple times tonight depending on the lighting. I do remember a stark green present at Hadley’s wedding, but now they seem to linger on the bluish-brown side.

Either way, Lucy’s eyes are the eighth wonder of the world.

“Hey, Lucy?”

“Yes?”

I place my hand on the table, palm out. She stares at my open hand as if it might bite her, but after a moment, she places her dainty hand in mine. I give it a squeeze and look into her lovely eyes. “I like this side of you. Don’t ever apologize or hide it. I’m always in the market to learn, and it’s easy to learn if you are the one educating me.”

Something akin to bewilderment flits across her face, but then she rips her hand from mine and proclaims that she needs to use the facilities again.

Since I feel better about the direction of the date, I sneak a glance at my phone while she’s away. Thankfully, it was on Do Not Disturb mode, or else I would have thrown it at a wall. Five missed calls from my little sister, Astrid, pepper my screen. I send her a quick text.

What do you need? I’m on a date.

That’s the problem, Prince of Hearts. Mamma’s livid.

Why did you tell her I was out with someone?

Astrid sends a picture of Lucy and me sitting at this table. Thankfully, Lucy’s back is to the camera.

The photo isn’t in the news yet. But it was sent directly to Mamma’s business phone.

Who sent the photo?

We don’t know, but be careful, Fins. Johan and I are trying to track down the source, but Mamma is too busy freaking out that you’re with a woman that’s not Karin.

Blood boils beneath my skin, and I stand abruptly and exit the private room, scanning the open floor for anyone suspicious looking. I eye my two PPOs, Gabriel and Anders, sitting in a booth across the restaurant. They begin to stand, but I toss my hand up to stop them, then I forward them the texts from Astrid. They text me back saying they will scan the perimeter, but then they also reminded me there isn’t anything they can do regarding paparazzi shots.

How many people are obsessed with me and my love life, anyway? Every time I move to a new place, all my dates are photographed and end up making waves and forcing me to move again. It’s won me various headlines labeling me the Prince of Hearts. Yes, I’ve dated plenty over the past two years, but I refuse to settle for a woman I don’t love. For now, my brain solemnly reminds me. Because now there is a deadline.

At least this one hasn’t made the news yet. I would like a little more time to see if I could fall in love with Lucy. I trust Hadley, and I trust her judgment to recommend Lucy to me. Though Hadley is clueless as to why I truly need Lucy. Some cards have to remain close to one’s chest.

I continue to sweep the room, but I see no one misplaced or anything out of the ordinary. I do, however, see Lucy walking my way, so I lean against the wall and wait for her.

“Waiting for me? How sweet,” she coos awkwardly.

“Checking to make sure you did not get lost.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I hear it. Literally anything else would have been more appropriate to say…

And she lets me know.

“I’m perfectly capable of remembering the path from this room to the facilities, thank you very much.” She huffs and stalks past me into the room.

Way to go, again, Fins.

I follow after her. Moments later, Lucy is back in her seat across from me. I smile as if nothing happened while she pegs me with a rightfully-earned scowl.

But deep down, I’m planning the phone call I will have with Mamma later. One, I have been perfectly clear that I will not marry Her Royal Highness Karin Nilsson of Vespen, our neighboring country. Two, Father, and Mamma by proxy, allowed me these three extra months to search for a love match. I need to remind her of that. Three, we have someone to track down, and it must be someone that we all know for the picture to have been sent directly to Mamma’s business phone.

An insider stalker. Fantastic.

I take a sip of wine and apologize to Lucy for implying she couldn’t find our table on her own, hoping my smile conveys my sincerity. She’s independent, and that would serve her well in the palace.

She nods with acceptance but frowns. “Is everything okay? You seem distressed.”

How is she seeing right through me? I have a poker-face, and I manage it well. “Yeah, everything is fine. My sister texted with news from home, that’s all.”

Lucy begins to speak, but then clamps her mouth shut before taking a deep breath and beginning again. “Oh, you have a sister? What’s her name?”

I hesitate. If I give her too much information regarding my personal life, she’ll easily be able to identify me as the Prince of Korsa, and if I can have it my way, I’d like her to stay far away from that search. I need the opportunity to tell her who I am instead of her finding out on the internet. She’d run far, far away if she learned of my dating past.

Lucy stares expectantly at me, waiting for an answer. I guess I can tell her my sister’s name. Plenty of girls have that name in Korsa. And if she ends up searching me online, I pray she’ll give me the chance to explain myself.

“Astrid,” I finally reply. “Mamma is worried about me. I haven’t called her since I arrived back in town a week ago.” Half-truths for the win.

Lucy’s eyebrows pinch. “You should call your mama. Treat her well.”

I snort a laugh, thinking about how my conversation with my mamma will go later tonight…

“What’s so funny?” she asks, but the waitress appears with our food and her attention shifts fully to the young woman. I’m stunned at the way Lucy makes the waitress feel seen, like she isn’t a backdrop in a scene. The entire time Lucy is focused on her, I am making heart eyes at Lucy. She’s intentional, another quality that would bode well in Korsa.

Even with the mishaps that have happened, I’m intrigued by this woman. I’ve been trained to read people well, and I’ve already gathered that Lucy is intelligent, straight-forward, logical, and kind, if only a tad bit awkward and weird when she tries to act like, well… clueless. Would that be the right word?

Then it dawns on me. Is she trying to diminish her intelligence because she thinks that would be more attractive to me…?

“What was so funny about me telling you to call your mama?” Lucy’s voice is stern, interrupting my thoughts. Before I answer, she takes a bite of her Blanquette de veau, a veal stew, and sighs, her voice lightening. “Oh, this is delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I stuff my face with a bite from my plate, Tartiflette, a potato and cheese-based dish. Heaven in my mouth. But I better answer her question. “I laughed earlier because I found it cute that you told me to call my mamma. Is family important to you?”

After another large bite, which is refreshing seeing as women often eat the slimmest of pickings on a date, she says, “Family is the glue of society. You’ve got to love and cherish who God has given you through blood.”

“Are you close with your parents? I know you have your sister. What was her name again? Oh, yes. Lorelei.”

I pause because at that moment, Lucy coughs like she’s choking on her food. I quickly pour a glass of water for her, and she chugs it between coughs.

“So sorry.” Lucy stands and turns, her hip knocking against the table as her hand flies over her mouth. “I need to run to the facilities again.” And with that, she’s gone.

Goodness. I hope she’s okay. I use the time she’s away to check my phone again, and there are no more missed calls or texts. I also peek to scan the room again—still nothing. Gabriel and Anders are back in the building, and both shake their heads when I question them with the tilt of my head. I return to the table and wonder if the paparazzi will tire of me once I’m—

“Again, I’m sorry.” Lucy sits down, smoothing her dress. Another record-breaking restroom run for a female.

“Don’t apologize. It happens to us all. One time, I—” I trail off, realizing I was on the verge of telling her an embarrassing story from a state dinner a few years back that involved an emergency dash to the bathroom with barely enough time to get my pants down. “Well, it’s happened to me before.”

She grins softly, and I notice her lipstick is smeared in the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, I lean across the table and wipe it away with my thumb. My heart stutters and the tips of my ears burn hot. I quickly retract my hand. “Um, sorry. You had a little lipstick there.” I gesture to the corner of her lip.

A blush coats her cheeks, and she glances away shyly. “Oh, thank you. Is it still there?” She turns her face to me with wide, innocent eyes. In this particular moment, they look like sparkling gold with a touch of blue.

“No,” I whisper, not trusting myself to say anything more because of the overwhelming desire to kiss her.

“Lipstick usage dates back to over five thousand years ago with the ancient Sumerians…”

Lucy continues to indulge me with the history of lipstick, and it’s the most fascinating story I’ve ever heard—because it’s told by her. The way her eyes light up with hues of blue and brown when she talks about history is enchanting. We continue to eat and talk, and every now and then, between talks of history and philosophy and law, it’s like her eyes dull to a muddied color and she grows quiet. After a few seconds, she snaps back into an awkward flirty person, but then I mention a random topic, and she’s animated and brainy again, which I find way more attractive than her bad attempts at flirting and acting girly. Growing up enriched in history, I find it arousing that Lucy can match me fact for fact, and I can already imagine her face as she steps foot in Stjarna Palace for the first time.

Beyond that, I learn that she’s passionate about reading (particularly law reviews and the occasional murder mystery), cats, holistic living, and her family (her mother and father are busy traveling the country in a van, and by the way her voice softened when speaking about them, I can tell she misses them). I like her determination and her optimism. I like her careful and intentional approaches to conversation. Countless times I’ve almost slipped and told her something that would give away who I am. Talking with her, at least the version of her I’ve gotten to know during the second half of this date, is like breathing—the most natural thing in the world.

As I walk Lucy to her car three hours later, I’ve forgotten about the photo, about my mother wanting to choose my wife, and about how this was only the first date.

When I lean down in an attempt to kiss her goodnight, she turns her head, and I plant my lips on her soft cheek. Initially, a shocked expression covers her face, but then she throws the first realistic flirty smile of the night my way and says, “You’ll have to work harder to earn that from someone like me.” My head spins like the oxygen flow has been cut off. Women are always trying to kiss me first. Once again, Lucy Spence is shorting my circuit.

I smirk and repeat a phrase I once heard my roommate, Mason, tell his fiance, Karoline, while she was toying with him. “I’ll work like a dog to earn a kiss from you.” And man, I mean every word.

Though it began awkward and rocky, Lucy loosened up over the date and showed me who she truly is. And I want more…

Lucy slips into a 1970s powder blue Mercedes Benz that looks like it's seen better days, and I close the door for her while contemplating if I could give this car a facelift one day. I stand outside on the driver's side while she cranks the vehicle and turns on the lights. She waves at me and blows a kiss as she begins to leave, and in one small glance back at me after her car inches by, Lucy frowns.

My heart feels as if it has been ripped from my chest because that frown can only mean that everything I’ve felt tonight was completely one-sided. The night already begins to play like a record on repeat, and I’m stuck wondering where I went wrong other than the two instances I know I put my foot in my mouth. I still plan to ask for another date, but will she say yes? Or has this been just another failed date to potentially flood the headlines and diminish my chances and time to find love before returning to Korsa?

Once I slip into my midnight blue car, I check my phone, a missed call from Mamma on my screen. Remembering Lucy’s words to call my mamma, and the fact that I need to set her straight about Karin once again, I take a deep breath and hit the call button. I crank my 1960s Mustang and head out, the familiar black sedan with my PPOs tailing me. I’m lucky they let me drive myself.

The drive back to the cabin is long, and I know my roommate, Mason Kane, is going to pester me like a girl about every detail of this date. Mamma droned on about how I was living up to my Prince of Hearts reputation by going on a date with a woman who was not Karin. We have people looking into where the picture came from.

The most prominent thought on my way home: Lucy Spence did not have a good time with me tonight.

And that is a shame because I’m smitten with the intellectually stimulating woman.