2. Chapter 2
Albrecht
I ’m running out of time.
My entire existence feels like a gilded cage that keeps shrinking. And I know I have no right to complain, none at all. I’ve lived a life beyond privilege, being a descendant of Austrian royalty and all. But, I swear, I’d give it all up to have a chance at a normal, quiet life. Instead, I’m bound to duties and loyalty to a crown that no longer actually exists.
The truth is, I didn’t always feel this way. For the last decade, I’ve poured myself into heading up the assets and acquisitions side of our family’s business. I had been managing our vast portfolio of real estate and my other social responsibilities as Grand Prince of Tuscany just fine until six months ago when my father dropped a bombshell on me.
“ Albrecht, it’s time for you to secure your place as second in line to the crown.”
I couldn’t help but groan out loud. “Father, we aren’t even a real royal family anymore. We were exiled generations ago from Austria, and they don’t recognize us anymore. Why must you carry on these ridiculous notions?”
“You are a Habsburg. We may not reign like our ancestors did for centuries, but our people still look to us and need us to carry out our duties and represent our countries.”
We’ve had this same conversation over and over, and he refuses to see that his views are antiquated. Although the Habsburg family technically is royalty, we are fractured and spread throughout Europe. My father’s line, the Habsburg-Lorraine family, was hiding out in Portugal for almost a century after the Austrian Empire was dismantled, but now that we’ve been allowed back into Italy, he’s overestimated our importance.
“You know I will never agree with you on your views, but I think I’ve proved my loyalty to this family by how well I’ve been managing our portfolio.”
“Yes, but the people still view you as just another royal playboy. Don’t pretend you don’t see the tabloids.”
I grunt out a response, because unfortunately he has a point. I’ll admit I was a bit more wild and reckless in my time at university, but those days are long gone. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to avoid the public eye now; as one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, they take any opportunity to photograph me with women. The ridiculous thing is that most of the time it’s during real estate viewings or business meetings. I’ve had to be highly selective, as I have learned the hard way dating women who were more obsessed with my title then me. If I do date, I’m secretive with where we go—usually bringing her back to my place where I can control security. Unfortunately, the mysterious aspect of who I’m dating has only made the paparazzi more obsessed with figuring out who I’m with and made me stop trying over the last year.
“There’s nothing I can do about that. They are ruthless.”
“Ahh, but there is something you can do, and I’ve made the proper arrangements.”
Dread pools in my stomach. “What arrangements?” I grit out.
“After Easter Mass, an announcement of your betrothal to Archduchess Bathilde will be made.” I stare at my father, mouth gaping, praying that I heard him wrong.
“Please tell me you're joking.”
“You know I’m not. It must be done. We both know you’ve struggled to find someone to be in a long-term relationship with that you trust, and Bathilde is a lovely woman from a wonderful family. I know you two have always gotten along well, and her father was more than happy to bless this union.”
“Father, this is not the 1900s. People don’t get betrothed anymore. You can’t just ruin two peoples’ lives like this. Even Prince William was allowed to date and find his own wife, for God’s sake.”
“You’re a fool if you think they weren’t an arranged relationship. All of us royals still ensure our lines are strong, and marriages with others of royal blood are imperative. Look at how well your mother and I turned out. I want the same for you. Besides, you’ve technically been betrothed since you were a small boy.” I stare at my father as my jaw hits the floor. My parents have spoken of betrothals for me and my siblings, but I never thought it was real.
“I thought any talk of betrothals was a joke. You do realize how outdated this concept is, right? You truly think that forcing me to marry someone I barely know and don’t love will result in my ultimate happiness?”
“I do.”
“Then you’re more delusional than I thought. I refuse.” I walk past him and open the door to my office, gesturing for him to leave.
“Shut the door. We’re not done here.” Frustration courses through my veins as I clench my jaw, trying not to unleash on my dad.
“Dad, please. Let’s not do this. You can’t control my life.”
“I’m sorry, Albrecht. But this is important. You're twenty-eight with no other prospect in sight. We’ve given you plenty of time to find someone on your own before now.”
Since that day, I’ve been struggling to find any joy in my work. When the betrothal was announced, a part of me died. My freedom, along with any romantic notions I ever had about falling in love, vanished. The only solace is that Bathilde and I have found common ground in both being angry at our families for carrying through with this. Over the past couple of months, we’ve spent time together trying to figure out how to convince our families that this isn’t right. As I’ve gotten to know her better, she’s lovely, kind, and smart—any man would be lucky to marry her. I consider her a true friend, but there’s no spark between us and I know we’ll never be more than that.
Our families have given us an ultimatum of getting officially engaged and married before I turn thirty, which gives us less than two years. We both agree to drag it out for as long as possible to find a way out of this. I think we’re both hoping our families come to their senses about this archaic tradition. Unfortunately, the Italian paparazzi was tipped off about the betrothal and is now having a field day trying to capture any outings of ours.
I need to get away from here to clear my mind before I lose it completely. I’ve been trying to diversify our investments, and I think I’ve found something that could be mutually beneficial to both our family assets and my need to get away from this madness.
Looking over the financial report for this winery in California, I can’t help but feel like this is the right move. They are a family-run business with some Italian roots, so my father will love that. And they need money, something we have lots of. Not to mention, Napa couldn’t be any farther away from Tuscany.
Time to book a ticket.