Chapter 4
Lyra
“W
hy are you doing this?” Odin demands.
I’ve been in the house exactly thirty-seven minutes. Time enough for Madame Carol to show me to my room, for Camille to come running and excitedly throw her arms around me.
I’m not used to an excited Camille, or one who initiates first contact. It’s nice, but will definitely take some getting used to.
All this will take some getting used to.
As will Camille’s dogs: tiny rat-dog Betty White who sniffs at my ankles like she’s about to take a chunk out of me, and goofy, gangly horse-dog Bea Arthur. She would have knocked me over in her excitement had Camille not grabbed me.
They make the house seem fuller, more complete.
I’ve never had a dog before and I crouch in an attempt to make friends with Betty White. I think I like them. Even with the dismissive curl of her lip, I’m confident I’ll win her over before I leave.
Kate’s warning from last night still rings in my ears, following me from Chicago to St. John’s, Newfoundland where I took the ferry across the St. Lawrence to Saint Pierre because I’ve never done it before.
I had a great conversation with an eighty-year-old former fisherman and his wife eager to tell me all the gossip from Saint Pierre.
They even invited me to dinner with my “beau” after the show ends. Hope it’s good that I told them what’s going on.
Odin didn’t pick me up at the dock, but he did send a car. I don’t know if I was more annoyed or relieved.
Camille takes me down to the kitchen, where Madame Carol has a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc waiting. I need the help because Odin is there readying for the attack.
The thirty-eighth minute of me being in the house has my big brother starting a tirade of how irresponsible I am to go on the show.
My brothers always think they have a right to tell me what to do.
Like they never made mistakes.
Odin, the second son, is now happily married to Camille, the new prefect of Saint Pierre.
She agreed to marry him because she needed a husband to govern her tiny island nation.
Technically, it’s a French island nation, and Camille just looks after it, but she takes it as seriously as if she’s a queen.
Camille will never be queen because Odin abdicated his position to the throne to move here with Camille and support her.
I never really saw that coming.
I may not have much to do with the running of Laandia, or give much thought to the list of events and committees and groups Duncan presents me with every year as suggestions for how I can be more involved, but I love being a princess.
Who wouldn’t?
I have wealth and freedom and a certain amount of standing.
Yes, I have a public persona that I try not to let embarrass herself, but it’s not too far off of my true self to be a challenge.
Doors are opened for me. Friends around the world are cultivated without too much effort. I’m welcome anywhere.
The only thing I don’t have falling into my lap, is the love of a good man.
Stress on the word good.
Men continually tell me they want, need, have to have me. I’ve had twenty-three proposals of marriage since I turned sixteen, and the L-word has been thrown at me more times than I can count.
And because I haven’t accepted these declarations in kind, I’m seen as picky, a tease, high-maintenance and a slew of other names, none of which are very respectable to call a princess.
Unfortunately, I learned at an early age that, while I am lucky to have a lot of things, respect hasn’t always been one of them.
But still, I wait politely until Odin takes a breath.
“Hypocrite,” I say, coughing into my hand.
“What did you say?” The furrow between Odin’s eyes reminds me of our father’s.
“I said, I didn’t realize my big brother, the stoic sword-master and Viking ancestor advocate was a hypocrite.
” I glance at Camille’s expression of surprise.
She may be married to him but she’s been hiding out too long on Saint Pierre and hasn’t seen someone—me—shut my brother up.
“I know it was traumatic for you, but did you somehow blank out that week or so that you were on the show? That you decided, on your own, and possibly needed to apply, to be on The Suitorette?”
“That’s different,” Odin blusters.
“Yes, because I am the star and you… were not,” I say.
Grayson did admit that the show had considered Odin for the Suitor for the next season, but then he announced his engagement to Camille and had no need for the magic of reality romance.
Not that I think anything about this will be magical.
Or maybe it will be.
I’ve always considered myself as lucky, so I might find the love of my life on a television reality show.
Or…I might not.
Odin’s question is the fourth time he’s demanded to know why I agreed to go on the show, all worded slightly differently but with the same meaning. Before our in person chat, it was through text and email, and one garbled FaceTime call when I was boarding my plane.
I love all my brothers, but why did you birth them this way?
The silent question is directed at my mother because even though she’s gone, there are some things you can only talk to about with your mom.
“Odin.” I twirl my glass between my fingers. “Did anyone ask you why you went on the show? Or, why any of you let People Magazine take pictures of you for the sexy issue?”
“Sexiest Man issue,” Odin corrects, his tone stiff like he’s embarrassed.
Embarrassed to admit he liked being featured in the magazine, more like it.
“Full of sexy men.” I turn to Camille and roll my eyes. She smiles.
My sister-in-law is totally on my side.
But Odin is red in the face and looking like he might be close to picking up one of his swords and swinging it at me, so I’d better give him something. “It sounded like fun,” I concede. “So I thought I’d give it a try. I always look good on camera.”
“Fun?” he splutters. “How is it fun to have your heart broken?”
“Who says anyone is going to break my heart?” I demand. “Maybe that’s what happened to you, big brother—”
“Did you get your heart broken?” Camille adds, turning to him with ice in her gaze.
“No! No. I…it was…” he stammers.
“Embarrassing?” I offer
“Humiliating?” Camille raises an eyebrow.
“Mortifying?” I’m enjoying myself. “But it still turned out pretty good for you, didn’t it?” I gesture to Camille, now sitting with her arms crossed. “You got the girl in the end.”
“Yes, but…” Some of Odin’s bluster deflates. “We don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“That won’t happen. You should worry about the men who signed up for this.” I look at Camille with an evil smile and tap my fingers together. “I’m going to go through them like a fat kid eating Smarties.”
Maybe not the best thing to say in front of my brother. “Lyra! You can’t say that on television. And you can’t—no.” He drops his head into his hands. “We don’t want to see anyone eating Smarties.”
“Who’s we?” I counter.
“Me. Our brothers.” Odin heaves a sigh. “Spencer.”
“This is none of Spencer’s concern,” I say quickly, with enough chilliness in my own tone to cool this entire bottle of wine. “Or anyone else’s.”
“Technically, it might be your father’s,” Camille, who lived under her father’s iron rule for far too long, says tactfully. “If he has a concern.”
“Does he?” I ask Odin politely. “Because I’m sure you told him as soon as you found out.”
Not that I’m completely irresponsible—I did speak to my father and the right hand of the king, Duncan, before I signed the contract.
Neither of them thought there would be any problems, and Dad even told me to go easy on the guys.
I told them there was a privacy issue, and the show wanted to keep it confidential until the reveal, so they couldn’t say anything to my brothers.
So I may have fibbed a little to Kate—I did mention it to my family, but not all of them.
Because—this. Odin’s reaction is expected. I’m sure Kalle and Bo have their reservations as well. Gunnar likes the spotlight as much as I do, so I know he won’t have an issue—but they’ve let Odin have at it. Have at me, to try and change my mind.
Silly boys.
Silly, silly brothers.
“Does our father have a problem with this?” I reiterate.
“He… doesn’t,” Odin admits with more reluctance than Bo has being a prince. “Have a concern with it.”
“Which is exactly what he said to me when I told him. So what’s the problem?”
Odin stares, some unsaid accusation in his gaze. This is the closest I’ve seen Odin to losing his temper in a long time. “He lets you do anything.”
“At least I told him,” I say smugly. “He’ll be ready when my old love stories come out. No offense,” I add to Camille since she had been part of Odin’s old love story.
Camille met Odin when she was eighteen, they shared a perfect night together, and fell in love.
At least Camille did; Odin had been twenty and lacked the brain-power of a normal man in the midst of a good woman.
After sharing hopes and dreams through letters, which I think is the most romantic thing ever, Odin ghosted Camille and left her with a broken heart.
Which is not romantic at all.
Fast forward ten years later, and Odin surprised us all by showing up on The Suitorette. On his date, in his attempt to be vulnerable and relatable, he told the world about his night with Camille, and how she was the one who got away.
This was news to Camille, and she was understandably furious.
In an attempt to stem societal backlash that smacked him for letting such an amazing woman get away, Odin proposed an arrangement between him and Camile.
I’m sure Camille would have preferred to see the slow and methodic torture of my brother, but unfortunately, she needed a husband more than she needed revenge—some archaic law states prefects must be married to govern Saint Pierre—and she agreed to marry him.
Fortunate for us.
Thankfully, what began as an arranged marriage ended in a love match when they fell for each other all over again.
Happily ever after for Odin.
Which started a bit of a trend for my brothers. Kalle, Gunnar, and even Bo have gotten their own happily ever after since then.
I love my brothers, but, c’mon.
I’m supposed to be the princess in the fairy tale, and there is no Prince Charming in sight.
The only one left in the family who hasn’t found their person.
I’ve never handled being last very well.
“Look, Odin—” I put the emphasis on the second syllable of his name.
“I’m going to assume you’re fussing about this because you care, not because of some grudge you might have against the show.
If that is the case, need I remind you—” I gesture to Camille impatiently.
“You got the girl. And I’d appreciate if you take your huffing and puffing and step aside and let me find my boy.
If he’s out there. If not, I get six weeks of fun with a bunch of really cute men, and you get six weeks of my company.
Everyone’s a winner.” I give him my big-eyed, imploring stare that I perfected when I was about three and which has gotten me out of too many messes to count.
“Can you do that for me? Please? Because all I want is what all my brothers have already got. True love.” Blink blink, widening my blue eyes.
And it works, because Odin gives a huff. “Fine. I just don’t want to see you hurt. Or… I don’t know… made fun of?”
I laugh like Nikki Glaser is roasting my last ex. “I’d like to see them try.”
“Lyra…”
“No, seriously,” I tell him. “I’m Princess Lyra of Laandia and I have very tall brothers, who all have awesome significant others who will mess up whoever dares to mess with me.” I pat my brother’s hand and glance at Camille. “Am I right?”
“I’m after them right after Edie, because she’s…” Camille gives a helpless shrug.
“Scary as poop,” I finish. “I got you. No one is going to make fun of me, O, and I’m not going to worry about getting hurt because Grayson promises these men are polite and respectful and are here for all the right reasons.” I slap my chest. “Me.”
Odin shrugs and I know I have him. “Thank you for your big-brotherly concern, and tell Kalle and Bo I appreciate their support—” Camille snickers at my sarcastic tone. “But chill out. Enough is enough.”
He doesn’t reply, and I take that as a win.
“Now—” I turn to Camille as I stand, grabbing my glass of wine along with the rest of the bottle.
“Want to come up and check out the new clothes I’ve got for the show before you feed me whatever amazing thing Madame Carol is making?
If you’re nice to me, I might let you borrow them. ”
Camille drops a kiss on Odin’s head before she grabs a second bottle and follows me to my room, Betty White trotting at her heels.
I totally have the dog on my side.