The Designated Twin

9. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Finley

“This is hopeless.” I groan as I place the book I’m reading over my face to create the ambience I’m feeling: utter darkness. Mason isn’t too impressed based on the way he throws an aztec-patterned pillow at me from across the room.

I confided in him about my situation, and he had a heyday making a mockery of my turmoil, much like I did when he confessed his situation with Karoline before they kissed and made up from years of hurt. You get what you dish out, he had said.

“What did you tell me back in January when I came to you for advice on how to get Karoline to talk to me?” Mason’s tone is chastising like he’s a condoning parent.

I sit up, the book falling from my face. “I’ve lived an entire life in the couple of months I was away. All I can remember these days is that I need to get married and I desperately only want to for love. Not because the crown demands it.”

Mason makes a show of swooning, flinging his hand to his forehead and leaning back in the reclining chair. It tilts too far, and Mason reaches for the ground with one arm and foot to prevent a crashing fall, pushing himself and the chair back upright. “Close one.” He laughs through heavy breaths. Anders scoffs. I roll my eyes but grin. Thankfully, Gabriel is in the shower for this show of idiocrasy. Mason’s great and has swiftly become a close friend, which I honestly don’t have outside of my brother and sister, PPOs, and a few titled friends that I haven’t been super close with since I became a globetrotter. I’m one of those people who gets along with everyone but only keep a few people close.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat and settles back into the chair. “You told me to establish a friendship, back up my words with actions, and be patient. I know Karoline and I had history and you and Lor—sorry, I mean Lucy—don’t.” He glances away for a second before looking at me again and continuing. “But the rules still apply. Be patient with her. You just dumped a five-course meal onto her table. Let her pick and nibble and taste test until she’s ready to commit to something.”

I arch a brow. “Good. Yes, I should take my own advice. But Mason, should we eat dinner now?” As if right on cue, his stomach growls.

“Nah, sorry, man. I’m grabbing dinner with Karoline.” He gets up and eyes Anders. “But you and Anders here can cozy up and make Gabriel whip up some French dish or something when he’s fresh and clean from the shower.”

“They’re my PPOs, not my chefs.”

“He’s right, Your Highness. Gabriel can cook,” Anders says.

“Your Highness.” Mason laughs as he walks to his room. “Don’t ever expect me to call you that. I’m too American.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, redneck,” I say just loud enough so he can hear me down the hall.

“I’ll send you back to Korsa as a redneck. You can be their redneck king,” Mason hollers.

“Am I stuck between a royal and a redneck?” I look at Anders for an answer, but he only shrugs. A hint of a smile glosses his lips, and there’s my answer. I’ve been in the South too long. “Fancy that.”

Mason leaves not long after, and Anders and I convince Gabriel to cook. After an admittedly delicious dinner (chicken alfredo for the win), I text Lucy.

Thank you for lunch today. I had a wonderful time discussing philosophy with you. I’m honored to know a woman who can challenge me intellectually like you can.

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then reappear again.

But a message never comes through.

Johan, however, calls.

“Hey, Fins. How is everything going?” he asks in Korsan. I switch back to my native tongue.

“I told her who I was and she threw up.”

“Attaans! How was your delivery? Did you use your royal tone or were you just Finley?”

Recalling that moment in the car, I definitely slipped into using my state official tone. “I was nervous! I’m into this woman, Jojo.”

“You’ve dated so many women. How is she different? What makes her special?”

I lie in bed, images of Lucy’s beautiful face, intelligent eyes, and kind gestures filling my vision. “She’s smart, Jojo. Really smart. She may know more than I do. And she’s intentional and kind to and with those around her. You should have seen how she treated the wait staff on our first date. At church, she flitted around the room, making everyone feel seen and heard. Well, except me. It took her a minute to notice I was there. She’s beautiful, of course. Put together, clean, professional. Jojo… I can already tell she’d make an amazing queen.”

Johan breathes heavily through the phone. “Ah, Fins. You sound like you are in love.”

My heart quickens though rational thought rebukes his statement. “Pft. I can’t be in love. I’ve only known her for two days. The wedding back in December doesn’t count. Whoever that version of her was, she’s long gone. People don’t fall in love over a weekend.”

“Don’t they?” Johan asks, and I can hear the wonder in his tone. Because that’s exactly what happened when he met his wife, Marie. It was instant love and connection between the two of them, and it’s only grown more fortified over their seven years together.

Could that be Lucy and me seven years down the road…?

No. She obviously isn’t smitten like I am. Most women would be excited for an impromptu date if they liked a man.

“No, they don’t. You and Marie are a rare story.”

There is a crash on the other end of the line. “Johan! Is everything okay?”

A second passes before he answers. “Yes, sorry. A tremor got the best of me and I dropped the phone.”

My heart sinks. “Is it becoming more frequent?”

“No. Just at random. It’s the fatigue getting to me most days.” He laughs mirthlessly. “Who would have thought a man could be diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease at thirty-two?”

“Not me. But it’s okay. You will have the best care in the world. I will make sure of it.”

Johan sighs. “I’m so sorry you’re being thrust into my role, Finley. I know you didn’t want it. And I want to reiterate what I said when you were home last week: I am with you every step of the way. We will share duties for as long as I can.”

As long as he can… Because there will come a day when he can no longer function without assistance. I try hard to believe that God has a reason for everything, but sometimes it’s hard to remember that when life-altering news knocks on your door and uproots your known, thriving life. My brother has Parkinson’s, and I will be King of Korsa in a year.

We chat for a little longer about the brief stalker encounter before Marie calls him off for lunch. (I momentarily forgot about the time difference.) Once I’m off the phone, my thoughts instantly drift back to Lucy. She still hasn’t messaged back.

To distract myself, I grab my laptop and respond to correspondences with different ministries within our Riiksdaag. I pour over financial reports. Around midnight, Mason comes home, but I stay tucked in my room and continue analyzing different laws up for vote.

That’s also the time my phone lights up with a message from Lucy. Grabbing the phone at warp speed, I also end up hoisting the forest green blanket on the bed to my face. When I drop the blanket, I accidentally drop the phone. I scramble again, finally securing just the phone in my hand, huffing a breath through my nose over my unreasonable reaction to a little text.

Sorry it took me so long to respond. I was writing. I look forward to the Gardens with you on Thursday. And just so you’re aware… I cut my bangs. I hope you’ll like them even though you said I shouldn’t.

I can hear the sadness in her text. At least, I perceive and read it in a crestfallen tone in my head, and that’s when I realize a huge error on my end.

Never tell a woman what she should do with her hair.

I wanted to flirt. To touch her. To run my hands through her hair. She looks more sophisticated without bangs, and I wanted her to be confident in her smart appearance.

Talk about a backfire…

I do the only thing I can and quickly fire off a message saying that she’s pretty regardless of her hairstyle and that I’m sure I’ll love it. She doesn’t respond, and I eventually drift off to sleep thinking about how big of a bugger I am.