Chapter 25
Sophie
It’s the second day since Ashton left and I try not to count the hours until he’s back.
I shouldn’t think about his being gone and how I feel about that.
I feel kind of sad. Miserable, actually. And I shouldn’t.
I tell myself it’s only because I miss having company, but that’s not true because I’ve always been happy having time to myself to paint.
And that’s what I do while he’s away—I finish my painting of an ocean landscape, with a whale breaching in the distance, and moonlight making the waves sparkle.
I don’t miss having company. I miss Ashton’s company.
The next morning when Mrs. Theissen brings me my daily pot of tea, I invite her to join me.
“I’m sure you’re super busy,” I add. “But maybe just a cup?”
I’ve known Mrs. Theissen my entire life, but it wasn’t until I stayed at the castle that I understood just how much she does for the family.
Mrs. Theissen pauses, and indecision sweeps across her face, probably for the first time. “Maybe just a cup,” she finally agrees. “Two sugars, please,” she instructs.
And then we sit in silence for a moment, and I wonder what I’ve done. To invite her to share a cup of tea with me means conversation, small talk. Getting to know her.
It’s not that I’m opposed to this, but Mrs. Theissen is very reserved. Stoic and serious. Dressed all in grey, jacket and skirt, with a white silk blouse buttoned to the top. Black shoes with no-nonsense heels.
She is British, after all.
Today, Ed, the giant orange Maine coon, has deigned to visit, and takes up most of the couch.
As I fix her a cup of tea, Mrs. Theissen tries to push the cat off to the side, but he keeps butting his head against her knee.
She finally gives in and begins to stroke his back with a resigned expression.
I hand her a cup and lean back in the chair.
“How are your toes?” she asks politely after we’ve sipped.
When someone asks about my toes, the tiny digits flex instinctively like they’re a flower searching for the sun. It would be cute if it didn’t hurt so much. “Almost back to my normal colour.”
“And Mr. Carrington? He’s returning today?”
“Tonight, I think.” I wait for the lecture that usually comes after someone mentions Ashton. I wait for the well-meaning advice that suggests I not get too close.
“Why are you staring at me?” Mrs. Theissen demands. “I’m not about to tell you not to see him, if that’s what you think.”
I lean back at her outburst. “How did you know?”
She smiles, and it’s not her regular polite curve of the lips, but smug. Satisfied. “Five children, plus your brother. I may not have raised the royal family, but I’ve seen them through enough to be able to guess what they’re thinking.”
“I think you did kind of raise them,” I say slowly. “Especially after the queen…”
“They were devastated,” she says in her no-nonsense way. “I did all I could to help them through it, but it was never enough. But the one who truly broke my heart was your brother when he came to live here with your father. Both of them.”
I start when she mentions my brother. My father. Because to me, they’re not part of the royal family. They’re my family. But I might be the only one who thinks of them like that. “I don’t think it was an easy divorce,” I manage.
“It was leaving you and your sister,” she corrects. “I know it’s a challenge finding your place in Lord Laz’s life after so long, but you need to know how desperately he loves you. You and your sister. And how he wanted to keep you with him, but he thought it best you stay with your mother.”
“How do you know that?” I ask. “You can’t guess what he’s thinking.”
“He’s told me several times.”
“You’re close to him?”
Mrs. Theissen sips her tea, and I watch her, trying to guess what she’s thinking. “Yes,” she says. “I believe I am.”
I study the older woman. She’s close to my father, when I still feel like there’s a barrier between us. I feel like he wants to be a father, but doesn’t really know how.
And I’m not sure how to be the daughter he wants.
It was always like that with my mother—she’s demanding and exact and determined others will only see her at her best. Which means Stella and I must be at our best, because we are a reflection of her.
That’s how I’ve been raised and I’m not sure how to do anything different. But my father is light-years different from my mother, which should make it easier.
It really doesn’t, though.
“Do you think—?” A knock interrupts, and before I can say come in, my father pushes the door wide.
“Hi sweetheart,” he begins, a warm smile on his handsome face. “I thought—Lorelei.”
Who is he—? For a moment, I don’t know who he means and then—
“That’s your name?” I ask Mrs. Theissen. “I mean, I’ve never known your name. It’s so—”
“I know,” she says ruefully. “Gilmore Girls. But I was around long before the show.”
It’s a pretty name. It shouldn’t surprise me that Mrs. Theissen has a pretty name, but it does. For someone who seems so practical, I would expect something like Ruth or Agnes.
It also shouldn’t surprise me that Dad knows her first name, but again, it does. I’ve never heard him call her anything other than Mrs. Theissen. “What are—oh! You’re having tea.”
I’m not sure why Dad seems so excited at the idea. But he can’t stop smiling, and Mrs. Theissen’s cheeks are pink, and she’s smiling… everyone is smiling…
They’re smiling at each other.
Oh.
Oh, wow. Really?
Dad is smiling at Mrs. Theissen like she’s giving him a reason to look at her like that, and she’s smiling right back at him. Granted, because of Dad’s past as a rock star as well as a model, most women seem excited to be greeted by my father.
To make it even more surreal, there’s another knock on the door.
“Your Majesty?” I ask with disbelief at the sight of King Magnus at my door. Granted, it’s not the first time he’s visited me, but with Mrs. Theissen, and Dad, and now the king…
The king is also smiling. “A tea party,” he exclaims, his big voice overloud in the room. “I’m just in time.”
“I’m going to... I think I’ll excuse myself,” Mrs. Theissen says in a manner that suggests she’s flustered. But this is Mrs. Theissen, who no one has ever seen flustered, not even when the princes fell off the roof of the greenhouse, or when Gunnar got us lost in the secret passageways.
So why now? Is it the appearance of the king? Or my father?
What’s going on?
“Thank you for the kind offer of tea, Sophie,” Mrs. Theissen is saying. “I had a lovely chat.” With a smile, she’s on her feet and heading for the door.
“Don’t… I need… Lorelei.” Dad turns to me, looking torn. “Sweetheart, do you mind… I’ll stop by later….” And my father hurries after Mrs. Theissen.
Leaving me with the king.
King Magnus is not like other monarchs. Laandia is a young country compared to the kingdoms in Europe, and Magnus only the third king.
His grandfather led the small group of Canadians that defended the country against the Germans during the Second World War.
The Prime Minister was so grateful, he allowed Leif Erickson to pick his reward, and Leif asked for his own country.
Laandia was born.
If I remember the story correctly, Magnus did not plan to be king. He was busy living his life as a Olympian (gold medal for shotput) and as part of the band, Kr?ftig, and had no desire to return to Laandia to take over when his father passed.
But thanks to some gentle persuasion from my father, Magnus did come home, and I think the country is better off for it. My father, however, became the king’s chief advisor, and that didn’t make things easy for him and my mother.
Magus is more like the world’s favourite uncle, or maybe a cousin of Santa, especially with the beard that’s more white than red these days, and the way his belly strains his sweater.
Although the belly is a bit less after his health scare and Prince Kalle—a former athlete himself—took over the king’s workout regime.
He always tops the list of most popular monarchs, and keeps up his other interests, publishing a cookbook as well as setting up a micro brewery for mead.
King Magnus is one of my favourite people, and I know I’m not alone in thinking that.
“That’s where the big beastie got to,” King Magnus exclaims, running his hands along Ed’s back. The cat immediately starts to purr.
“It’s his first time visiting me,” I tell. “It’s usually Freddy and Bono keeping me company.”
“Seems to me you’ve had lots of company.” He sits on the couch, his height and the largeness of his personality out of place in the quiet room.
It’s like he’s waiting for me to say something. Does he mean Ashton? “I guess,” I finally say.
“Hmm.” The king leans forward and looks for another cup. Since there were only two on the tray, he snags Mrs. Theissen’s half-empty teacup and drains it. “So what’s the thoughts of Mr. Carrington taking me up on my offer of a job?”
“You were serious?”
“You bet I am. I can tell he’s a smart lad, who’s never had the opportunity to realize his full potential, same as his sister. And look what she’s been able to do. They both need a push, and if their own father won’t, I won’t be one to let the opportunity pass by.”
“That’s really generous of you,” I say.
“It is. I’m a generous guy.” Another glance at the tea tray has the king reaching for a cookie. “Even after he took out my favourite painter with my favourite car. What are you working on these days? Lots of time on your hands.”
With an embarrassed smile, I point to the finished canvas, and the king offers to hang it in the hallway for me, among the other art.
“You don’t have to do that,” I protest.
“I want to do that. It’s good enough to go up with the rest of them. I want you making the most of your potential as well, young lady.”
“Thank you.”
King Magnus takes another cookie, and gestures to the door. “So what do you think of that?” he asks.
I understand he’s referring to my father and Mrs. Theissen’s quick exits, but that’s the only thing I do understand. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to think,” I admit.
“They both know I approve, but they think—”
“Approve?” I cry. “Of them? There’s a them?”
The king demolishes the cookie in two bites, leaving crumbs spraying his beard. “I’d say so, wouldn’t you?”
I don’t know what to say. My father… and Mrs. Theissen?
“I’m glad you finally know,” King Magnus says. “I’m tired of keeping your old man’s secrets. Although he keeps mine, too.”
“How can a king have secrets?” I wonder aloud. The press is aware of his every move and social media documents every word.
The delivery of the cats shows how much.
“A king should always have secrets, especially one who’s lived as many lives as I have.” King Magnus winks at me. “Everyone should.”
Maybe that’s why I have no secrets. I haven’t lived much of a life.
“Now, tell me who you’re going to take to the Sea Queen Ball.”