Chapter 10
Lyra
I
tell myself I picked Asani because I’m interested in him. That I’m attracted, intrigued. I was swept away by our first meeting, our conversation at the cocktail party, and that I can see a future with him.
I could have picked any of them—Tanner, Basher, sweet and funny Rand. Eliott. Even sad-dog-eyed Lucas, but the way he looks at me might have been too much for an entire date.
But I picked Asani.
I keep listing the entirely plausible reasons so I can forget that I decided to give Asani the First Date Rose because he was first out of the car, and that seemed fair. It takes courage to go first and he should be rewarded.
It’s not a great reason, but at least it’s a start.
The show gets me a snazzy convertible, thinking it makes good video to show me speeding around the roads of Saint Pierre. I agree that it does.
There aren’t a lot of snazzy any things on Saint Pierre.
Most of the vehicles are either pickups or tiny compacts, and all have seen better days.
But I like the red Audi convertible waiting for me the next afternoon, although I push it a bit on the short drive and the drone filming above me barely keeps up.
Whoever designed the hotel did an amazing job because it feels like any place in the South of France. Luxurious, with a lobby to the water and a bar at the back. The pool is off to the side via a winding path set into the manicured lawn.
Not many things grow in the soil of Saint Pierre, but they’ve managed to find flowers to bloom in containers set along the path.
I find the men by the pool when I arrive to pick up Asani, all in various degrees of undress. Some are in the water, some lounging around it. Someone has created a mock gym near the deep end, and a number of the men are flexing with weights.
I’m sure this scene will take up many minutes in the episode because there’s so much to look at.
And I’m looking.
I didn’t see the men yesterday, and even though first impressions have faded and most of their faces have blurred, I can guarantee I won’t have the same problem with their bodies.
These boys have been hitting the gym.
Asani stands off to the side, patiently waiting, as I greet the others, wearing off-white linen pants and a patterned shirt that would be perfect for a Caribbean vacation.
I wear cut-offs and a tank top with a loose white shirt. Alexa still took her time to make sure I’m “camera ready”.
I told her I was born camera ready.
Asani’s smile is warm and he smells amazing, a mix of cloves and citrus, and I breathe deeply as I give him a hug hello, conscious of the gazes of twenty-one other men.
It’s not an unpleasant sensation, knowing these men are here just for me.
I give them a bright smile as I take off with Asani, excitement at war with apprehension and making my stomach tingle and tighten.
Here we go. Lyra’s journey to love starts now.
Good luck, my darling girl.
Most of the men I’ve been involved with—whether they are men I’ve picked because of interest or friends or acquaintances I’ve asked to take me to events or premieres or social gatherings where I need to be seen—know the rules of dating Princess Lyra.
There must be fashionable attire since many pictures will be taken.
There will be alcohol served, and drinking will be monitored so no drunken situations will occur.
Conversation will be limited to small talk and pleasant discussions so there will never be a question of having a picture taken with an embarrassing expression.
Why did Princess Lyra look sad with so-and-so? Did he break her heart? Is she carrying his baby? She looks drawn and tired and has lost weight? Is she taking Ozempic? Is she gaining weight?
I long ago stopped reading the comments that inevitably follow whenever a picture of me with a man shows up online.
There will be more than pictures of my date with Asani. There will be video so people can rewatch it as many times as they want to dissect every word and expression.
Or maybe not, Maybe I’m putting too much importance on myself.
But I don’t think so.
I come from a famous family; not only that, but it’s a family that is liked and admired and followed by millions. My brothers seem to grasp the importance of this. Or maybe they have been able to separate themselves from being part of the Laandian royal family.
I never have, which is why there are rules and no reading of comments
But this is not a normal date, so I’m not exactly sure how to proceed. Or what to expect.
There are no paparazzi in sight as I drive us to the tiny airport, just the cameraman. I think his name is Johnny.
I should really find out.
“Where are you whisking me away to?” Asani asks, linking hands with me as we cross the tarmac to the tiny prop plane.
“We’re going to look at birds,” I tell him cheerfully.
As we board the plane, I explain to Asani that the nation of Saint Pierre is an archipelago, made up of islands. The bird sanctuary—which Camille herself started—is on the mostly uninhabited Miquelon.
It’s a short flight across the water to the island and the first thing I notice is that Asani holds my hand like he expects me to be frightened.
It makes me want to pull my hand away from his grip.
I’ve been in planes my entire life, some even smaller than this.
I’ve flown planes my entire life, even though I’ve never followed through to get my pilot’s license like Bo and Gunnar.
But even before my brothers started flying—and teaching me something every time they took me up—I had always pestered the royal pilots to let me push the buttons, touch the rudder, let me take the controls for just a minute, please.
I was with Spencer when he took the second flight of his life, when he returned to London for boarding school. He was a frightened seven-year-old, already regretting his decision to go to school away from his family, and I was a four-year-old, cocky with my experience flying in planes.
The cockiness didn’t last long when I realized Spencer was scared.
I made him watch videos with me, and he shared his headphones as we listened to music.
I curled up on his shoulder for my nap. I didn’t leave his side until we landed, and then my mother had to physically pull me away because I hadn’t realized Spencer was staying there, that he wouldn’t be coming home with us after the quick visit with the Windsors.
I cried all the way home.
Maybe it’s because my head is full of those memories, but I spend more time talking to the pilot during the flight than Asani. I notice the cameraman doesn’t film that.
I wonder how long it will take before I forget he’s even around. Grayson assured me I would, but I’m very conscious of him.
Or maybe I’m very conscious of Asani.
He’s super polite and attentive, asking questions and listening carefully to everything I say. I wonder if this is nervous behavior for him, or if this is what I can expect if I make Asani my forever guy.
That will take some time—viewing each of the men as a potential person to spend the rest of my life with.
Right now, I’m not convinced about Asani.
“Do you like birds?” he asks after we land and get a tour of the area they call the nursery, where the eggs lie under warm lights, and baby birds get their start in life.
After that, we head to the medical area where the injured birds are taken care of.
It’s a well-run organization but still loud and slightly chaotic when a gull is brought in with the remains of a plastic bag caught tight around his wing.
“Who doesn’t like them?” I counter. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
“A surgeon,” he says proudly.
And yet, Asani doesn’t give the injured birds a second glance.
I do like birds. I’m sure I’m not the sort of person that anyone would think of being a birdwatcher, but there’s always been something about watching them fly.
It’s like they’re calling to me to come with them.
I don’t tell Asani that.
But these men took time out of their lives to come on the show. They have given up a lot to take a chance on love.
To take a chance on me.
I thaw slightly. “Why did you decide to come on the show?”
“To find true love.” He smiles.
It’s truly a devasting smile.
We spend a few hours on Miquelon. I like the fresh air and being close to the water. I miss being close to the ocean when I’m in Chicago. And this is my ocean, a little south of Battle Harbour. Rough and wavy, always in motion, the dark blue water suggesting hidden depths, and so much below.
“It looks dangerous,” Asani says as we walk along the water. He’s back to holding my hand again, consistently tugging me away from the waves rolling along the pebble-strewn beach.
I’m not sure if it’s protective of me or he just doesn’t want to get his pants wet.
“You don’t like the ocean?”
“I prefer pools,” he offers.
I get the sense this isn’t a perfect date for Asani. He acts like being outdoors is a chore, something he’s not accustomed to. I can see him on a golf course, or maybe a picnic with a curated basket of artisanal meats and cheeses.
The cameraman—Johnny—motions us back. Ria met us here, as well as another man and woman with cameras and technical stuff, plus Alexa, to touch up my makeup.
I’ve followed all the instructions given today—to walk where they want me to walk, to look at what they decide they need me to look at.
They tell me when to smile up at Asani, and how close to stand to him.
It’s not really a date, but rather a series of logistical exercises to make two people look good together.
I’m not sure any exercise would make me feel comfortable with Asani, and I’m not sure if I can blame Johnny and the rest of the audience, or just us.
There is no us. I don’t know what I should be feeling, but I do know it should be something, and not this mild irritation, like there’s a pebble stuck in the sole of my shoe.
I’ve already decided that there will never be an us, but I still have to get through this date.
“Look at all the birds,” I cry as we reach the stretch of sand beside the centre. Hundreds of seagulls and other birds I don’t recognize perch along the beach. Some of them walk along the water, some sleep on warm rocks.
An air of devil-may-care fills me and I stop to take off my sandals.
“What are you doing?” Asani asks.
“Waking them up. I used to do this with my brothers.” I tug his hand. “Come on.”
“No.”
“It won’t hurt them.”
“I don’t care. I am not running pell-mell into a group of birds like a child.” His face is set and he’s not as pretty anymore.
He actually stopped being pretty earlier today.
“Pell-mell,” I say lightly, trying to ignore his implication that I am childish. “Good description.” And then I turn and run through the birds with a whoop of laughter.
The result is a cacophony of sound and movement as every bird reacts to my sudden presence. Some take off with an offended shriek, some shift onto another rock.
A few actually seem like they’re playing, flying away only to suddenly dive-bomb me, and sending me racing away with a screech that echoes the birds.
I spend a few minutes running across the sand with the birds, laughing like a child during their first trip to the playground. And then I see the seals basking off the shore and I spend more time watching them.
I motion Asani over to see them, but he stays where I left him, arms folded across his chest, with an expression like a disappointed father.
I notice Johnny filming him standing like that.
Gunnar and I would run with the birds every chance we got. Sometimes Kalle would join us, occasionally Bo. Never Odin, or Spencer, but Spencer would always hold my shoes.
He would cheer me on. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be childish—it wasn’t often, but there were moments when his mischievous side emerged—but he hated the idea of a bird pooping on him. One summer, it was as if every time we played outside, he would get dropped on.
I finally, reluctantly, head back to Asani.
“That was great,” Johnny calls out to me. “I got most of it.”
“Good, because I’m not doing it again,” I tell him, grinning at Asani.
“Is that something you enjoy doing?” he asks, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“Yes.” I raise my chin. “I enjoy being childlike and having fun.”
“It’s just not… not very princess-like.”
The red flag swings high and there ends the journey for Asani. “I’ve never really followed the stereotypical princess behaviour,” I drawl. “Nor am I about to start.” I head back to the car waiting to take us to the plane.
“You have bird poop on your shoulder,” Asani calls after me.
When we get back to Saint Pierre, I tell Ria the date is over.
Even though I didn’t mean to, it seems that the First Date Rose curse is still alive and well on my season.