Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
No well-timed disasters befall me ahead of this evening’s fake blind date.
Well, the blind part is real enough. What could be worse?
I guess maybe sinking someone’s yacht, for starters.
I stare at my morose reflection in my phone one last time as I adjust the collar of my Gucci shirt.
In an effort to distract myself, I saw my stylist earlier, who brought my hair color back to its original brown in an effort to help me make over my image as positively demure.
I flip through my messages, seeing Aidan’s latest text. I sigh.
I can’t believe you didn’t say anything to me after the press poor form theo
What am I supposed to say, exactly? Lay off the smear campaign? Aidan dumped me, after all. And his behavior’s increasingly unhinged. The latest snippet from an online interview has Aidan looking all sultry and sad.
“Yes,” Aidan lamented, the camera zooming in like he’s been waiting for his close-up, “it’s so tragic what’s happened to Prince Theodor with his father last year. But it’s no excuse to treat me in such a heartless way. As if I didn’t even matter to him. He’s ghosted me.”
Quite the twist on reality. I ought to do a tell-all interview of my own, but I don’t want to give Aidan anything else. He’s already taken enough of my energy. And I have some self-respect.
Meanwhile, there’s the present reality. With a sigh, I step out of the back seat of the car into the blustery, crisp London night onto the pavement in front of Soul restaurant, with Miles my usual shadow. Rain splatters down, and it’s more than a lifetime away from Kerkyra and Stefanos.
Forget him. You’ve made enough problems for Stefanos. Let him go, Theo. You’ve got to let go of this spark. It’s lust, nothing else.
Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll start to believe it.
And the present is very much before me.
James failed to fill me in on whether tonight’s date, Martin, is also in on the fake part of the date.
And I wonder what Martin’s motivation might be for participating in such a scheme if he knows about it.
With James, the odds are fifty–fifty that he told Martin it’s a fake date only.
Though that would probably raise too many questions about why I need a fake date—presumably, Martin might think it’s revenge for Aidan or, as the truth has it, a much-needed reputation makeover.
Standing to my full height, I stride into the restaurant, acting as if I’ve left all of my worries out in the cold. The heat of the restaurant hits me in a rush. In short order, I’m led to my table in a semi-private area, enough to be seen but not overheard.
The ambient light is low in the restaurant, full of chic tables and leather-backed booths.
Tea lights glow in glass holders on tabletops.
A giant canopy of leaves stretches over the dining area, rising from a tree in the center of the room.
Judging by a couple of head turns, I’ve been clocked, and we’ll see how long it takes before the paparazzi show up. Miles is at a nearby table.
Martin rises from his seat as I join him. We shake hands like we’ve completed some manner of business transaction.
“Hi,” Martin offers with a disarming smile. Not what I expected from a banker. I’m sure I have all the wrong ideas about bankers, to be fair. “I’m Martin.”
“Hi. Good to meet you. Please, call me Theo.”
We sit and consider each other across the table.
My mouth takes the opportunity to dry up while I try to think of some sort of way to take charge of the conversation.
Classic icebreakers like hey, what’s it like not being on the cover of the gossip mags and any pointers on lying low and making your life over?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Theo. I’ve heard a little about you through Frankie.”
Right, he’s Frankie’s friend, so he can’t be a terrible human.
And honestly, between us, in consideration for worst human, that would undoubtedly be me.
God, I’ll be an even worse human if he thinks this is a real date, and I’m leading him on.
There’s no way to surreptitiously text James at the table to ask, and it’ll be too weird to beeline immediately for the WC as cover.
I’ll just have to wing it. Who knows what the etiquette is for a fake blind date.
“Hopefully good things.” That, at least, is honest. I give my best smile back. “And Frankie’s great.”
Thankfully, so far, Martin hasn’t said anything about my recent media coverage.
“He tells me you’re into design work?”
I blink, then smile. My regularly scheduled life at this point feels lost amid travel and disasters. It’s a grounding reminder. Nobody other than my family and Stefanos knows about my future Danish King destiny. “Yes, actually. I’m a creative consultant.”
“Please tell me about it.”
Which leads into the usual explanation of what creative consulting work is and how I came into it.
“So,” I finish after we order, “I have various clients from private to corporate that I consult for, and I provide some artistic direction too.” I tilt my head, considering him.
I’ve had time to take in the fact that Martin has a built physique under his suit and the poise of an athlete or someone who works with his body more than numbers.
It’s definitely unexpected. “How about you?”
“No design clients,” Martin chuckles. “I’m in finance.”
I’m listening, but somehow, it feels dishonest, like I’m betraying Stefanos, because thoughts creep in about him despite my best efforts.
Like wondering how he’s doing with the whole post-sinking situation.
Or if his father is furious with him. Obviously, he must be.
And how wrong it feels to leave him behind to deal with the fallout.
Our meal comes, and I push mushroom risotto around my plate with my fork despite it being delicious. My stomach’s in knots. When I glance up, Martin gives me a wry smile. “I know, bankers are boring, right?”
I flush. “No, not at all. My apologies. It’s not you. It’s me… I’ve been… dealing with a few things lately.” My voice is low.
Martin gives me a sympathetic look. “I imagine all the press attention is exhausting.”
“Mm. I’d like my regularly scheduled life back,” I confess to Martin. “Where I had a lower profile.”
Which is Aidan’s fault for prolonging the situation with his ongoing press releases and interviews. I still haven’t bothered answering his texts, the most recent one of which arrived last night.
I still can’t say why I haven’t blocked Aidan. Like I’m a true glutton for punishment.
Something shifts in Martin’s expression. Maybe it’s wishful thinking where he sees me as more of a person rather than a public person.
“I can’t imagine it’s easy,” Martin says wryly, “being in the public eye so much.”
“No.” It comes out more heartfelt than intended.
And I’d hate to come across as complaining and ungrateful, because I’ve had a great life with the encouragement of my parents to go live out of the spotlight for a few years.
Then, with Papa’s death, the spotlight focused in on me and Freja.
I suppose that was the real shift. Then Aidan’s doing.
And then… Greece. Something heavy sits in my chest. “It’s not.
But I have a lot of privileges too. It’s a trade-off. ”
I press my lips in some semblance of a smile and put my fork down at last since no more food is going into my mouth. Martin looks at my half-eaten meal. He’s already finished his steak and a mountain of veg.
“If you want to finish it… it’s delicious. I just can’t right now,” I admit.
Martin takes the plate. “I’m supposed to be avoiding carbs right now. Except carbs taste so good, and I’m very happy to make an exception.” At my curious look, he explains. “It’s my training routine. What I eat is a big part of it.”
“What do you train for?”
“Rowing. Since uni. It’s my real passion. Getting out on the water early when the world is quiet. It’s great.” His eyes light up.
“Yeah, I can only imagine. Sounds perfect.” This only makes me think of the sea, which inevitably leads to thoughts of Stefanos yet again. I shake my head slightly to clear it. Thinking about Stefanos is not helping me in the least right now. Seriously, I’ve got a problem. I refocus on Martin.
“Do you like sailing?” Martin asks curiously.
It’s a reasonable question, which makes me want to dive under the table and hide. “I… don’t know too much about sailing.”
“Frankie told me you were in Greece recently. I couldn’t help but see the news story about the yacht…” Martin efficiently finishes my risotto. I can only imagine what he can do with a spreadsheet. “So I wondered.”
I suppress a groan. “It was only meant to be a few hours on the water, that’s it. It wasn’t an expedition or racing or anything like that.”
“You’re certainly not obligated to talk about it,” Martin assures me.
“I’m still… processing all of what happened.
” It’s true enough. Then I don’t know what else to say, and I swallow hard.
So much for being the charming prince tonight.
I’m much more in toad territory, hopping from lily pad to lily pad.
And I don’t know the man to trust him with a confessional in case it ends up in another Aidan sell-out situation.
Though if he’s a friend of Frankie’s, that’s not likely.
Yet I can’t take the chance. “It all happened very quickly.”
And I’m not entirely sure then if I’m talking about the sinking or how quickly Stefanos caught my attention, something my mind doesn’t want to let go of. Which is definitely not helping me be present right now. Or cheering me up either. My shoulders droop slightly.
“I can only imagine.” Martin shakes his head. “Such terrible luck. At least you’re safe.”
“Mm, yes. The rescue came in time, thankfully.”
Martin’s quiet for a long moment. My face warms under his steady attention. Obviously, he’s caught on that I’m distracted. Which is no kind of date material, fake or real.
“I’m so sorry, Martin. I’ve got to confess this has all caught up with me more than I expected.”
“It makes sense.” Martin leans back in his chair, setting his cloth napkin beside the empty plate. A moment later, a server comes to whisk it away. We look at each other. I shift in my chair and place my napkin down, too, with an air of finality. There’s a long, awkward pause.
“Do you want to get out of here? Or?” Martin asks at last.
I shake my head slowly, at a loss. Of all the things I feel like doing right now, despite Martin’s impeccable manners, fake dating isn’t among them. Not even in the top three. Which would be hiding, texting Stefanos, and reaming James out. “Yes?”
Martin smiles. He nods in a way as if he’s reading my mind. Or, more likely, my body language. I’m doing my best not to droop. All that royal training should be good for something, but he’s perceptive.
“I’m sorry. You seem great. Except… I’m kind of exhausted,” I blurt.
Shit. Nice going, Theo.
His smile broadens. “I gathered that much. You’re under no obligation to stay.”
“I… I’m so sorry. Please. Let me get the bill.”
“No need, I’ve taken care of it.”
I blink. That makes me feel even worse, on top of being terrible company. I should have told James it was too soon to try out his fake-dating scheme after getting back from Greece. “Please…”
Martin shakes his head with a certain finality. “I also ate your meal in addition to my own,” he points out. “It’s only fair.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Well. Thank you, then.”
When we’re outside the restaurant on the pavement, we exchange hugs and air-kisses, which are caught by the lurking paparazzi. The flash from cameras dazzles my eyes for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“Please. Don’t worry about it. I had a good time.” Martin smiles and brushes his mouth by my ear as he speaks in a whisper. “Here’re the photos you need.”
I give him a wry look, then smile too. So maybe he does know this wasn’t a real date after all, but it doesn’t make me feel better about the night’s charade. Or anything else, for that matter. “Thanks.”
A moment later, I’m in the taxi for home, feeling like I’ve failed fake dating too, right alongside regular dating.
My finger hovers over Stefanos’ contact details.
I stare at his number for a long time as the taxi weaves through London’s evening traffic, a sea of red taillights ahead of us in the rain.