Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Even though I’ve seen Eddie a couple of times since our trail ride day, we’ve shared precisely zero kisses since James’ birthday. It’s been about three weeks since we last caught up for dinner in town. Yesterday’s call from Mamma gave me a sleepless night mostly spent pacing my flat.
We embrace as we meet at the Ritz in the bar. His duking and business activities brought him to London today, and so we agreed to catch up for a drink, all public-facing and respectable-like in our premium suits. After we’re seated at our table, we order cocktails.
Eddie takes stock of me. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too.”
“Is everything quite alright? My apologies for the short notice,” Eddie offers. “It was a last-minute meeting this afternoon in the city.”
“Yeah. Well, no. Not really. I mean, no problem to meet you. I’m just up the street.
” I offer as much smile as I can muster, which isn’t quite at the one hundred percent level, more like a solid seventy percent.
It’s good—but not great. Not enough to be convincing.
“And I have a lot of things on my mind, I’ll admit. ”
Last night, after I met with Ethan in the afternoon to start outlining projects and the handover, I wasn’t ready to go home after work, and I ended up on top of Primrose Hill on one of the longest days of the year.
I took a picture of London’s skyline in the distance from the top of the hill and sent it to Stef.
He responded today with Edinburgh Castle, so he’s at least on the right side of the Atlantic. There’s some comfort in that knowledge.
“The plans are moving forward,” I confess after our drinks arrive, giving him a meaningful look. “Related to Copenhagen.”
His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “I see. So does that mean the other plan is on the table?”
“I don’t know, is it?” I hold his gaze.
Eddie’s lips twitch. “Well, I suppose everything’s on the table.”
“A great big old table,” I agree with a sigh.
The cocktail is delicious, at least, and truthfully, so’s Eddie.
We’ve had a few glances our way, when I waited outside early to meet him and now even in the bar, so we’ve been clocked.
Nobody appears to be listening, but the tables aren’t that far apart.
Maybe I should have invited him over to my flat for the privacy to talk freely, but I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. Which is probably a weird position to take about a man who is meant to be my fake husband. “I do like refinishing furniture, by the way.”
Eddie smiles. “A man of many talents.”
“I’ve got a chest of drawers in the workshop that I’m just finishing up for a client this week. It was a real find.”
“Sometimes the best finds come by surprise,” Eddie offers. “Lucky client. Maybe I should order a great big old table while I still can.”
I’m not sure how to take any of that, holding his gaze. “Well, my colleague Ethan’s the one taking bookings for the foreseeable future.”
“I’ll consider reaching out. In the meantime, I’ll consider the table. Special order from you.”
“Mm.” I fight the urge to chew my thumbnail, a terrible habit when I get really stressed, and really stressed is happening right now.
So if Eddie’s actually entertaining this unhinged plan, I’ve got to take it seriously too.
The latest hubbub has died down about Aidan, about the yacht, about me acting the fool.
I could turn over a new leaf with Eddie and be all respectable.
“I’ll see what I can find. I suppose you’ll need to think about where to put it. ”
“True. In the summer house in the country or in the city?” Eddie offers.
“I guess that’s an important one to decide. Where the table is best suited for placement. It’s helpful that you have options and flexibility about where the table should go.”
“Maybe I’ll need to rearrange some furniture.”
“Maybe you will.”
We consider each other over our drinks and order another round.
“When should I book for?” Eddie asks at last. “I imagine your calendar is very busy.”
“It is,” I confirm, then give him a wry look. “It’s a very busy season. However, mid-July has an opening.”
Eddie, bless him, looks startled, but quickly recovers. “Right, mid-July.”
“I realize it’s not a lot of notice…” I cough delicately, sitting back in my chair, wondering if he has completely lost his mind or if I have.
It can’t be more ridiculous than Freja abdicating.
Imagine rolling into Copenhagen with a new husband and telling Freja that two can play this game.
“I guess we’ll need to plan out table settings too. ”
“Good point.”
“State banquet or not.” I shrug a shoulder, doing my best to look demure. Secret wedding or a public royal one? I’m well out of my depth here. “I’ll need to confirm the timings.”
“As will I.”
With relief, I raise my glass to Eddie. We shift topics to his business meeting, my day in broad terms, and when we step outside, I hesitate.
“Do you want to come to my flat for another drink? I can make mocktails if you’re driving later.” I suppose if this plan is on, we need to talk more candidly.
“I do love a good mocktail.” His gaze is steady. If only I could channel some of his calming energy.
“I can make a mean faux-jito.”
And soon enough, we make our way through Mayfair to my flat. It’s totally surreal having Eddie over in my home. Like everything has become much more real rather than hypothetical. Like the call from Mamma last night. While Eddie takes in my flat, I mix our drinks, joining him in the living room.
“Your home is beautiful.”
“Thanks. Will have to sell it, most likely.” I shake my head. “I need to move to Copenhagen this summer.”
“I gathered as much.”
“Yeah.” Glum, I swirl my drink in its glass. “You’ve been very sporting about all of this.”
“I must say it’s a change from the usual.” Eddie smiles, and we sit on the sofa. “So what is your real plan?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. It’s got to involve kingly duties, however.” I gaze at him. Eddie’s close enough to touch. He unfastens the top button of his shirt, and I follow suit. “And respectability, apparently.”
“Well, you haven’t been in the scandal sheets for a while.”
“Thanks for being a moderating influence.”
“It’s all you, not me.” Eddie chuckles. “Much as I would like to take credit.”
“You should hear James go on about how you’ve settled me down.” I shake my head. “It’s a whole lot of something, anyway. Also, about the table situation… how do you feel about a sham wedding in mid-July? Probably a state affair.”
Eddie gazes at me for a long moment. His mouth appeals, or maybe I’m seeking distraction, and for a moment, I’m tempted to kiss him, my supposed future fake husband. Then he clears his throat carefully. “Don’t ever settle, Theo.”
“What?” I blink at him, setting my drink down.
“For what you want.”
“I can’t have what I want,” I say instantly, heart pounding.
“You can. And honestly, I don’t want to be your runner-up,” Eddie murmurs with a wry smile.
“What do you mean?” I frown, a cold wave rippling through me. Being rejected by my fake future husband wasn’t in my game plan for tonight. Or any other night.
He sighs, shifting his position on the sofa to look at me. “I understand you have feelings for someone else.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What makes you think that? I’ve been into the plan. You’re great. Forget feelings. Shit, that sounds rotten—I’m sorry.”
“What do you want, Theo? Maybe you need to chase that. Him.”
I gulp. “I can’t. But… I guess you’re right. I do have feelings for someone. But it’s an impossible situation.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Not this lifetime, I don’t think. The stars or whatever don’t align. And… I’m sorry for leading you on.”
“You haven’t. I’ve had fun with you. And imagining a change in my life at this point.” Eddie shrugs. “And hopefully, we can remain friends. After all, I have a table riding on this at some point.”
I laugh, then swallow hard. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. This isn’t fair to you. Especially because… fuck. Because… you’re right, I’ve fallen for someone else. Even if it can’t work out.”
Eddie considers me. “If I’ve learned anything, Theo, it’s that we get one life to live. Go live it. Fully. Because there isn’t always time for a second chance.”
“Fucking hell.” I rub my face, shaking my head to clear it. Maybe for regular mortals. But acknowledging my feelings for Stef doesn’t help anyone in this scenario. “I have to face being a King on my own.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s… it’s what I need to do.” I rub my face. “It would be way easier to get fake married, for the record.”
“You’d still be King,” Eddie points out. “Either way. And you’ll make an excellent King once you get your legs under you. I have faith.”
“You, I’m afraid, might be the only one. Except for my mother. She has to believe in me.”
He laughs. “Therefore, you have a fan club of two. What more do you need?”
“A whole lot of guts. And luck,” I say wistfully, wishing I could be some fairy-tale prince rather than the stark reality of being… very much not a fairy-tale prince. But at least I’m off the hook for a fake wedding, which is, to be honest, a huge relief. And thank God Eddie’s not upset.
My phone chimes then, and Stef texts a photo of a gorgeous bar with high-coffered ceilings.
The photo is too nice to be a selfie, well framed, and I can see both of his arms in the photo, hands around his drink.
But, most importantly, it’s an actual photo of him, with a hard-to-read expression, holding a drink.