Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
Back in London, I lose myself in work and the fifty-seven drafted and redrafted texts I write Stef and don’t send.
After all, I’m a boundaries-respecting sort of arsehole, and he was clear having me in his life was too much of a problem.
So, right now, this is a me problem. I simply need to find a way to get over Stef.
By the time May rolls around, I’m thoroughly miserable.
My hobby over the past week has been evading increasingly cagey messages from Freja about my plans and pressing for updates.
I’ve seen Eddie a couple of times since the day out in Lewes, but neither one of us has mentioned marriage, exactly, since then.
It’s almost as if we have a silent pact to not bring it up.
Which, right now, works for me. And the fact that I’m still casually seeing Eddie has James satisfied and off my back.
When I finally give in and send Stef another text in June—because he didn’t exactly say he never wanted to hear from me again—my stomach’s in knots, and I don’t sleep properly for the next two nights. Maybe he thought I was drunk, because it was a late-night text. Even if it was a Tuesday.
Thinking of you and hope you’re alright x
Did I go too far even sending him a text?
Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I’m just making him feel worse about everything that happened, which is definitely not the goal.
Stef’s been out of the public eye, which is more his default state than mine.
Maybe this is one hundred percent purely selfish, and he’s moved on with his life and forgotten all about that episode he had with a Danish prince.
Then, I start a new habit of sending Stef a daily photo, which lifts my spirits.
No message comes to stop sending them. Encouraged, I make a new daily habit, imagining what the day’s photo will be.
Things like getting ready for a project with Ethan.
Drinks on an evening out with James and Elsie.
Refinishing another piece of furniture I found in a market somewhere.
My waffle breakfast and morning coffee. Snippets of my life.
At first, Stef doesn’t respond to any of these messages either. He still doesn’t tell me to stop sending them, so I continue.
And then, to my amazement, after a couple of weeks, he starts doing the same, sending me texts with photos of his day. A New York café. The library. A view of Edinburgh at sunset. The private park across the street from his flat. He texts me to say he misses me.
I’m starting to feel cheered about the whole thing, that Stef doesn’t hate me, until Mamma texts me to call home.
At lunch the next day, I call Mamma from Ethan’s car.
We’ve just wrapped up a morning meeting for a big client, a luxury hotel, and he’s now popped into a café to get us some coffees for the drive back from Richmond to the studio.
I’m trying not to think about Aidan, who lives a few streets over.
At least Miles is parked behind us in his SUV like he’s a firm Aidan-free perimeter.
With Ethan away, I have a chance to call Mamma back.
She answers on the second ring. Obviously waiting for my call. And obviously not a good sign.
“Hi, Theo.” Mamma’s in her office, and she takes off her reading glasses. She’s got her serious queening business face on.
“Hey, sorry not to get back to you last night, Mamma. I was out.”
“I understand.” Mamma’s more reserved than usual, not a good sign.
I’ve been home for a couple of weekend trips to do a handful of royal events, opening a hospital and a charity gala with Mamma.
It’s usually the look I get when something terrible I’ve done hits the press and online today, but I’ve been on my best behavior the last while.
Unless Aidan found some old chestnut to drop online in the last few hours. Or if Eddie’s decided to supplement his duke income with a payout from some gossip mag.
I frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Darling.” Mamma doesn’t even try to deny anything being wrong, which only underscores how wrong something must be. A something that involves me. “I want to let you know Freja’s upset, and I don’t think she will delay announcing her decision much longer.”
“Mamma.” It’s my turn to frown. “She can’t. Not yet.”
“She’s not changing her mind. And her plans are in motion for her official move to America. It’s been a few months, Theo.”
I shake my head firmly. “It’s not enough time. I’m still getting over the shock and trying to pull things together. Like by being, say, respectable. Doesn’t that benefit all of us?”
“It does. But also, that should be the floor and not the ceiling.”
“Mamma. That hurt.”
She gives me a wry smile. “I know it’s an adjustment for you. But… please adjust more quickly. Remember, Freja’s coronation celebration is still officially scheduled for the end of August.”
“Also, remember how we haven’t had a formal coronation since 1849? Plus, she made her Proclamation when Papa died. I don’t understand why she would go to all the fuss of making plans for a splashy party and then bail for some guy.”
“Darling. She wanted to give the public something exciting to celebrate. Last year was not the right time.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry. What’s his name anyway?”
“I’ve told you before. Avery. Avery Erik Larsen.”
“Right.” Except I totally forgot. It did sound vaguely familiar. “Is he in some part a Dane, given his surname?”
“Yes.”
There’s some relief there. “Then—shouldn’t they come live their best lives in Denmark?”
She tilts her head and waits patiently with years of experience wrangling me. Then she clears her throat delicately. “You’re going to need to start making plans soon to move back to Copenhagen. To sell your home, settle your business, whatever you need to do.”
It’s like she’s thrown ice water in my face. Part of me knew this, in the abstract, was coming. It’s quite another to confront the inevitable. I stare at her.
There’s some hint of sadness in my mother’s eyes before she smooths over to full-on regal. “I’m sorry, Theo. But it’s time.”
Unfortunately, I’ve used all the oxygen in the room, and there’s nothing left in my lungs to voice words. Instead, I continue to stare at her, letting the weight of her words sink in. Finally, I manage to say something. “How soon?”
“Maybe a few more weeks? I’m not sure. You need to answer her calls. Avoiding her doesn’t mean she’s going to change her plans. Remember, this is stressful for her too.”
I groan. “Okay, okay.” Then I scowl. “She’s getting out of her queening, how can Freja possibly be stressed?”
She gives me a level look. “Because of expectations. She feels she’s letting everyone down. And she knows the impact this has on you.”
Some unhappy noise escapes me. Kind of like when someone steps on an old squeaky toy that is less squeak and more hiss. I lean back in the passenger seat in the car. Ethan’s emerged from the café, coffees in hand.
“Make a plan,” she advises. “Hire whatever services you need. I can help if needed. But the sooner you can be full-time in Copenhagen, the better.”
“Okay, fine.” I swallow hard, looking away. “Look, I’ve got to run. I’m just on a break between meetings.”
“I’m sorry, darling. I know this isn’t easy. We all realize this is a complete one-eighty pivot in your life.”
I just nod, defeated. “Talk soon.”
We hang up, and I sit staring at my phone.
When Ethan slides into the car a minute later, he hands over my coffee and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re going to need to talk about the business. And… about handing things over to you.” I glance over at him. “And thanks for this.” I lift the cup in acknowledgment. “I was just on a call with my mother.”
Ethan sighs and nods. After a drink of a coffee, he sets it down in the cup holder and starts the car. Before long, we’re on the way back to London.
“I can buy you out,” he offers into the quiet.
I shake my head. “You don’t need to. I can help for now. Transition things over. Support your work. I trust you.”
It’s like someone else speaks. Everything feels a little surreal at the moment.
He glances over, looking concerned. “I’m sorry, Theo. I was really hoping Freja would change her mind.”
“Me too.” I stare out the window at the buildings as we drive past. People walk on the pavements, and the world continues as normal for everyone else. “You know, some people would be really excited to be a king.”
“It sounds like a lot of work, to be honest. A lot of work in the public eye. But you do work hard, Theo. Give yourself some credit. You’re great with people, and you’ll be on your feet before you know it. Plus, I’m sure you’ll have help, along with your mum. You’ve still got all your friends too.”
“I’m going to need to start handing things over to you this week,” I offer. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll block out some time. Don’t worry. And no need to apologize.”
Instead of feeling excited about what’s ahead, it feels like my regularly scheduled life is over. So much for any daydreams about Stef.
Feeling down, later that night, I check my email, and Stef’s sent a message. It’s terrific to hear from him, but it only makes me feel worse about everything.
To: Theodor
From: Stefanos
Subject: Thinking of You
Hi Theo,
I’m sending a quick note to say I miss you and I’m thinking of you.
I can’t stop thinking about you. I wish you were here with me right now in Barcelona.
I’ve attached a couple of photos of the view from the balcony so you can imagine.
I’m here for a few days, another one of my parents’ homes.
It’s beautiful here. The sun shines. Summer’s nearly here and the city is full of tourists.
I’m trying to figure out my way. The only thing I know for sure is how I feel about you.
I know it doesn’t change anything, but I want things to be different.
To be together, with me. And, selfishly, not with your duke.
Stef x
Attachments: Barcelona Photo 1, Barcelona Photo 2