Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
After Eddie leaves, I find my phone, flop on the length of sofa with my feet over the arm, and scroll once again through my recent messages till I again find Stef’s.
And then I stare at his message for a long time.
Well, his photo. He wears a dark blue, lightweight pullover with a zip collar and looks seriously at the camera as he holds his stout.
It looks like he’s in an old pub, with walnut-stained wooden surroundings and stained-glass windows.
As ever, he looks amazing. I swallow hard at the sight of him.
There isn’t any sort of actual text accompanying his photo. And I wonder who took the photo of him.
He has friends, Theo. A life.
The important thing is Stef replied, and he didn’t tell me to go away, which is something. Then again, he’s not likely to tell me to go fuck off either.
But Stef didn’t need to send me a selfie.
I rake my fingers through my hair, tousling it, adjust the collar of my shirt.
So, I lift my phone, take a selfie, partly unbuttoned shirt and all, and hit Send. I’m rewarded with a response from Stef five minutes later, which leaves me grinning. It’s a breakthrough.
I send Stef a text to follow.
It’s over with the duke.
Interesting. Also, you look like a debonair rake. Public health warning please
I laugh, thrilled to bits he’s responded, and thankfully, it’s not a message telling me to fuck off. Also, I’m a sucker for compliments. Beaming, I type out a quick response, as if his words—or mine—will disappear if I don’t message fast enough.
Yeah, I’m post business. Where are you? X
Back to Edinburgh. And I’m packing for work right now
Go on, I’m all ears. Work trip?
Yes. For a dig. My flight’s tomorrow morning
Where are you headed?
Greece
Ha, of course. Congrats on the gig. Good luck. Let me know how it goes?
I will
Then, the phone goes black. I hold it against my chest, excited for Stef to get some work.
And I’m excited to even have this brief text exchange with him.
It’s bittersweet, seeing Stef move on with his life in one direction, while mine goes careening off in quite another. If only we had the same destination.
But all our problems still exist. Maybe in another life.
And God, he’s probably going to find some other hot Greek guy digging in the next trench. Where they can go off finding ancient ruins together and watch Greek sunsets together. After all, in a dig, there’s got to be close proximity, long hours, and of course sweat. I scowl at the very idea.
Focus on your own life, Theo.
This time, I can’t impulsively pack my bags for Greece and leave my reality behind.
Instead, I gaze around the main room of my flat.
I’m going to need to hire a removals team for my things and figure out what to do with all of my belongings once they reach Copenhagen.
Which is a problem for another night. Soon, I drowse on the sofa and fall asleep still in the same position, dreaming of Stef, until familiar unsettling nightmares begin a new cycle.
Later that week, I’m in the studio with Ethan.
We’re sitting side by side at the worktable with open laptops and a buffet of pastries from the café up the street to fuel us as we go over the accounts together, continuing to wrap up loose ends on my part.
Accounts aren’t my favorite, but I don’t want to leave Ethan in a mess either, so we’re making sure our records are up to date and correct on our end before sending them to our accountant.
I work on another apple strudel, the crunch of the pastry and the delicate taste of the filling reminding me of Stef’s kisses. I definitely don’t have a problem.
We’re well into our work when there’s a near simultaneous text on my phone and the ringing of the buzzer at the door.
Miles is stationed in his SUV, and he would have intervened and alerted me to real trouble.
At any rate, my phone starts blowing up with messages, vibrating and chiming and ringing like it’s having a seizure.
Ethan looks at me, startled. He sets his tea down. I shut the phone off as he goes to answer the door. We don’t have any appointments scheduled this afternoon.
Ethan peeks through the peephole. “Don’t worry, it’s not Aidan,” he announces. Then he opens the door to let James in. Ethan clicks the lock shut behind him.
James stares me down accusingly. “You didn’t text me back.”
“When?” I frown. “I literally just shut my phone off if you messaged in the last, I don’t know, five seconds. I didn’t get any other texts from you.”
“What on earth are you two doing?” James looks exasperated, from me to Ethan and back again, before taking stock of the laptops and a stack of financial statements.
“Work.” I gesture at the table. “You may have heard of it. Accounts, specifically.”
James turns back to me, frowning. “Theo, please don’t tell me you haven’t heard the news and instead have been staring at spreadsheets.”
“What news?” I ask, exchanging a glance with Ethan, who looks increasingly alarmed. Which, incidentally, is contagious. I grit my teeth.
“Good grief, boys.” James shakes his head, with a fatalistic air about him as he gives me something like a pitying look. “Why, your sister’s announced she’s abdicating the throne. Which means congratulations are in order—you’re the new Danish King.”
We stare at James.
Light-headed, I sit down hard on my stool at the table before my legs give out. Ethan puts a steadying hand on my shoulder.
“Are you quite sure she abdicated?” My mouth has gone completely dry.
“It’s either her or her doppelg?nger giving a statement from your royal palace.” James shrugs. “Well, it’s a speech about her intent to abdicate.”
“It’s not my palace—” I say out of instinct.
“Actually, Theo, it is now.” James pauses. “And a whole kingdom too.”
We stare at each other.
“Why didn’t she call me?” I rub my eyes. Of all the ways I expected the news to come about Freja’s abdication, I figured I would have heard from her directly. Not finding out via James.
I full well know why she didn’t call me today.
She’s been leaving messages the last two weeks, and obviously, she had it with me not responding and moved on with her plans.
After all, she did give fair warning. As did Mamma.
Feeling nauseous, I grip the edge of the table and force down a deep breath.
And another. It’s no good. Instead, I push my laptop aside, fold my arms on the table, and bury my face in them.
Ethan pats my shoulder. He can’t quite bring himself to speak.
“C’mon, now.” James’ footsteps click across the concrete floor towards me. Then he stops nearby. “Do you want me to call Eddie?”
“No.” My voice is muffled. I don’t move.
“Why not?” The frown in his voice comes through clearly.
“Because I ended things with him.”
“Theodor.”
“Irreconcilable differences.”
“You didn’t,” James says, aghast.
Ethan coughs. He shuffles beside me. “I’m… going to put the kettle on.”
With reluctance, I at last lift my head from the table and straighten. Too soon. The world spins, and I go back to holding on to the table.
“At least you have nibbles,” James observes, picking up a strudel with its fine dusting of icing sugar, and takes a large bite. “King Theodor has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Oh God, I’m gonna die,” I groan. A shiver ripples down my spine. “Maybe this isn’t real.”
James shakes his head. “Check your socials. The news. Anything.”
“Nope. I shut my phone off for a reason.”
“How’s your security detail going to find you, then?” James points out helpfully. “Or your Danish family, who are conveniently in Denmark and not here? They’ll be worried if they can’t catch you soon. Might cause another international incident if you’re not careful.”
I scowl darkly. “Fuck. I need to talk to Miles.”
“He’s probably calling you right now. Also, quite possibly the Security Service too.” James polishes off the rest of the strudel and wipes his fingers clean on a napkin.
“The Security Service?” I echo weakly.
“Oh, you know, MI5, MI6, that sort of thing.” He gestures.
A whimper escapes me.
“Let me call Eddie,” James urges.
“No!”
James already has his phone out of his pocket and his screen unlocked, but he obligingly stops to peer at me as though I’m quite unwell. Which isn’t far off from the truth.
“Please don’t,” I try in a much more restrained, and I’d like to think kingly, manner.
I sit up fully and try to pull myself together, rubbing my face, then getting up to pace.
With a sigh, I take out my phone and turn it on again, which resumes its tantrum of notifications.
“Oh my God, I can’t even,” I splutter indignantly.
“Ringer off,” advises James as Ethan comes back with a tray of mugs and a teapot.
I obligingly shut off the ringer and put the phone on the scarred wood worktable and gingerly back away while it buzzes nonstop. I click shut the pair of laptops.
“Well, that won’t do, will it?” James frowns, considering my phone as it continues its noise. “Turn off the vibration function too.”
“I don’t want to touch the thing.”
“Unlock your phone, and I’ll tell you if there’s anything important,” James instructs me, plucking my phone from the table. “Also, you have 10 percent battery, by the way.”
“Good. That’ll put it out of its misery,” I mutter.
“Theodor, as a king, you can’t just go dark.” James looks personally affronted. “It’s not how things are done.”
“Watch me. Also, I don’t know for real yet I’m actually a king. Right now, it’s hearsay.”
James rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone and bringing up a video of Freja’s abdication.
We all gather to watch. She speaks in Danish, of course, but there’re also English subtitles.
To her credit, Freja gives a passionate speech about her love of Denmark and her loyalty to its people, but she tells everyone she has fallen in love and married and will instead support the new King.
“That,” James tells me most helpfully, in case I missed it, “is you.”
“Could you please bring some whisky, Ethan? Thanks.” I shake my head, still staring at the video, as Freja answers a few prepared questions from two trusted reporters.
Freja’s charming and professional, and excuses herself after a few minutes of questions.
Then the stream goes on to other news stories.
James shuts it off while Ethan distributes tea and, in short order, whisky. I pour a dollop into my mug and drink.
“You’re partway to a hot toddy,” Ethan says wryly. “I have cinnamon and cloves upstairs if you like.”
“Nah.” I put in some honey. “I’ll pretend.”
We all look at my phone, which continues to spasm.
“At least they have the right number,” James observes.
I give him a dark look. He shrugs. Reluctantly, I snake out a hand for my phone and start to skim notifications, of which there are approximately a billion. “Fucking hell.”
I gulp down some whisky tea and rise, calling Freja on video so it will hasten the demise of my phone as I pace away from the table to the other side of the room. To her credit, she answers after the third ring.
“Theo. Thank God, finally. I’ve been trying—”
“Hey. I’ve got like five percent battery. I, um, saw the news…?”
Freja gives a wry smile. “I couldn’t wait anymore.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I get it. You’ve been waiting for months.”
“You’re not angry?” She sags with relief, searching my expression.
“With you? No.” I shake my head and give her a half smile. It’s not anger. More like the wind’s been knocked out of me and then some. It feels like this is happening to someone else. “I don’t think so. I honestly don’t know what I am. In shock, I guess.”
“You’ll need to come home very soon. As in: tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Also, there are security arrangements. Please check in. Mads is waiting.”
I nod, feeling bittersweet. “Can we talk later tonight? Gotta abdicate, be right back.”
“You’re not funny.” But Freja smiles anyway as we hang up.
“I guess it’s real, then,” I announce to James and Ethan, who have settled at the broad table with the tea and whisky and pastries. Putting my phone away in my pocket, I sit to join my friends at my last day of my old life.