Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I sit down beside the helm, taking stock of the sleet fittings and the view of Stefanos clambering around, getting ready. Before too long, he settles in beside me at the helm, and we’re underway, slowly maneuvering out of the marina and out to sea.
“Like a seasoned pro,” I say with admiration. “I thought yachts always needed big crews to operate.”
“Not this little one. I can operate, and if needed, you can help me.” Stefanos gives an easy grin. “Get your sea legs as a deckhand. You never know, it could come in useful.”
“God help us.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to do.”
“Mm.” A shiver ripples along my spine at the very idea, and I consider him with intrigue as a playful smile curves his lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t think my future plans involve a life at sea.”
“I suppose most creative consultants work on land.”
I laugh. “Yeah. That’s where most of my clients are.
I haven’t done a narrowboat yet. Or, incidentally, any yachts.
” Then my mouth twitches as I think of the detour Freja’s plans have given me.
There hasn’t been any news from Mamma that Freja’s come back to her senses. Or cancelled her marriage. “We’ll see.”
Stefanos unfortunately catches the momentary shift in my mood. He glances at me. “Everything alright? You’re not seasick already?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” I sigh and shake my head, wistful. “If only.”
His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “Then?”
“Then… fuck.” I struggle with how much I should tell him.
And the odds of him talking to anyone. If I’ve told James, Frankie, and Ethan, would there be any harm in telling Stefanos?
He seems more private than James and understands the importance of privacy as a royal. “Sometimes the future isn’t so clear.”
“Tell me about it,” Stefanos says wryly. “I’d give something for a little clarity.”
“Sometimes it’s not the clarity you want, believe me.”
“Oh?”
“My, er, creative consultancy days are probably numbered.” I rub my face with my hands.
The tell-all side fights with the need for secrecy.
Maybe a compromise is in order. “I may need to step up my royal duties a lot sooner than I thought. Which would mean leaving everything in London behind. Including my work.”
Stefanos frowns. “Do you have to? Or, at least, do these duties full-time? It seems like a lot to give up.”
“It is, as they say, a nonnegotiable.”
His expression softens. “Is this because of your father’s passing?”
“Yeah. In part, anyway. It’s… complicated. I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I should tell you more right now.”
Stefanos gives me another sidelong glance. “You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to. But please know that anything you say to me will be kept private.”
“Thanks. Same. I just… it’s all very recent, and I’m trying to come to terms with the idea. I’m not sure how well that’s going, to be honest.”
“It sounds like a big shock. That’ll take time to get used to.”
I nod. “You can say that again. I love my London life.”
The yacht skirts the beautiful eastern coastline of Kerkyra as raindrops begin to splatter against the windows.
We work on our picnic on our way to Paxos.
It’s so natural being in Stefanos’ company and talking with him.
Like he doesn’t expect me to act a certain way or always be on as if I’m giving a performance as it was with Aidan.
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know me I can feel more relaxed.
By the time we reach the small island of Paxos, a steady rain falls.
We dare to dock at Gaios and stretch our legs on land and explore in our waterproof jackets.
Gaios is a charming port town with Venetian buildings sitting at the base of green hills along the water.
Stefanos shows me around, and we don’t linger in any one place too long in case we’re recognized.
Some businesses are shuttered for the winter.
When we’re on board and underway again, Stefanos efficiently navigates the port toward open waters.
“Thanks for all this, by the way.” I give him a sidelong glance. Stefanos is at the helm. “I really appreciate it. The yacht trip, the hosting, all of it. I’m feeling kind of spoiled. I’d love to return the favor sometime.”
Stefanos sidelong glances right back at me and smiles. “My pleasure. Are you finding any inspiration so far?”
I’m quiet for a long moment and search his eyes. “I think so,” I say into the quiet.
His smile broadens. “Good.”
There’s another moment where something passes between us. Where it would be so easy to reach out and kiss him. Then he refocuses on navigating, and I’m left with goose bumps.
“I wasn’t completely honest with you earlier,” I admit sheepishly. “About my royal duties and the future being complicated. This has been a great escape from all of that. And—Aidan too.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me everything that’s going on.”
“The thing is, I want to. But—this is just between you and me.”
Stefanos looks over at me. “Of course.”
I draw in a deep breath. Now or never. “My sister’s supposed to be celebrated in a coronation-style event this summer.
I mean, she should be queening around right now.
Except… except she’s secretly married an American and is planning to move there with him.
Something about an animal rescue, I don’t know. ”
The words rush out of me.
Stefanos blinks, startled. “So what does that mean?”
“It means… it means Freja’s abdicating the throne. And… that would make me King.” My words are barely audible as my stomach knots into new shapes like it does every time I think about this. Recurring nightmares have started since I first heard about Freja’s plans to abdicate.
The dreams always start off reasonable enough.
I’m usually with Papa, on one of our last visits, riding horses down a Malaga beach together in the warm Andalucian spring before it gets too hot. The sun is low, and the horizon’s pink. Mamma and Freja have already gone back to the hotel to have a visit of their own.
Beside me, the wind ruffles Papa’s dark hair.
He has a heavier build than I do, though we’re about the same height.
He’s kept the muscle from his military service days before becoming King.
Every day, he runs. On holidays, I often join him.
But today, we thought it would be fun to instead take horses out together.
Security is once again up and down the beach, but as far as the eye can see, we have it to ourselves.
Papa’s providing assurances. He gives me an irrepressible grin. His eyes sparkle, and he’s nonchalant. “It’ll be fine, Theo. You’ll make an excellent king, trust me. You’re excellent with people.”
“I’m a disaster with people. Have you seen the tabloids?”
“As we all know, the tabloids are far from credible,” he chides me, smiling. “According to them, I have eight illegitimate children across Europe, a secret life of selling antiquities on the black market, and, my personal favorite, plans to build my own rocket ship. Out of cheese.”
We both laugh. He’s always had a knack for helping me feel better. And it’s no secret that he’s been entirely devoted to Mamma since they got engaged at twenty-five. Young, he said, but they were in love, and they waited two more years before they married.
I smile over at him, cheered, as we ride side by side down the endless sandy beach.
The waves roll in and out around our horses’ hooves.
Sea birds reel and dip over the water. Many years earlier, we had been on a family holiday at a cabin when our car broke down, and the memory lingers.
Papa’s hands were covered in grease as he chased me and Freja when we were still children.
He pretended to catch us as we screamed.
He looks amused. “Theo, I promise, you have everything you need to rule, believe me.”
Before I can ask him how he can be so certain, he urges his horse into a canter, and he starts to fade from view when I can’t catch up.
The beach vanishes. I always wake up feeling shaken, alone with my grief.
Pappa died so suddenly, in the prime of his life, fit and healthy, and no one expected him to have a heart attack.
Or to pass away the next day despite all the best medical interventions.
I haven’t told anyone about the nightmares.
Meanwhile, Stefanos’ eyes widen. He digests my words about Freja. About becoming the Danish King.
And then any fleeting fantasy I had of kissing Stefanos vanishes. So much for escapism.
“Wow,” Stefanos says at last. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” I beg, searching his eyes. “Not a breath of this can become public yet.”
“I promise, Theo. Please. Don’t worry.” He touches my arm.
The way he says my name gives me goose bumps, and I shiver at his touch. My shoulders ease slightly. I unclench my jaw. “I’m hoping Freja comes back to her senses. Or someone will tell me it’s a really bad prank they’re pulling on me. Or some kind of bad dream.”
Stefanos gives a wry smile.
I gulp air, my face hot, slightly light-headed.
“So… I don’t know much longer I can be a consultant.
Mamma may tell me that I need to return to Copenhagen as soon as I’m back in London.
And I have projects lined up for months.
But as soon as Freja abdicates, it’s showtime for me.
Very soon. Mamma is trying to get her to delay, at least.”
My eyes sting for a moment until I push that aside.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, still holding my gaze.
“It’s not the life I imagined for myself.
I mean, I should be thrilled, right? Lots of people would love to be King.
But I love my freedom and independence that I have right now.
I knew I’d have more royal responsibilities one day.
And I was okay with that idea and mentally prepared for it.
This… is beyond overwhelming. And meanwhile, I’m a mockery in the press, which is no kind of way to represent the monarchy. My reputation’s trash.”
His gaze eases. “It’s not.”
“I’m the playboy prince. Not king material. Not to be taken seriously.”
“You can be, if you want. Or… you could abdicate too.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know if I could do that. I mean, yes, technically, I could, but I don’t have any other brothers or sisters, which means my cousins are next in line, and some of them have their own scandals and lives and… it feels like I would be letting my father down too.”
Stefanos nods slowly. “I understand.”
“…and that feels worst of all.” I fidget with the cuffs of my sweater. My shoulders slump as I try to imagine life in Copenhagen as the King. It’s too hard to envision. Every time I try, it’s blank, and I can’t breathe. “And there goes my plans. And chances at a normal life.”
Stefanos shifts closer, turning in his seat. He tilts his head slightly, entirely focused on me. His expression softens.
I force myself to look away, down at my hands.
“And, let’s be honest, the ruined reputation is mostly my own doing.
I haven’t done myself favors. So… my friends have just come up with this scheme where I can go on some fake dates with respectable men and I guess eventually find one to marry.
I don’t know. Which would make it real enough dating in the end.
But I mean, who would willingly date me, even fake date me, after the tabloids? ”
“Theo,” Stef murmurs. He reaches out and touches my arm.
My head snaps up. I search expression, stricken. Then, there’s something in his face that’s open and hopeful. “Yeah?” I whisper.
“I’d happily go out with you on your first fake date.” His eyes dance.
“Don’t mess with me, ’cause I really can’t take it.”
My face warms, and we both lean in towards each other, ever so slowly. The rain patters against the glass. The wind makes a sound as it blows. I’m fixated on his lips, how tempting they are and how good they will taste pressed against mine—
Then, there’s a terrible sound as the yacht hits something—and we lurch hard back against our seats.