14. 14
14
Kalle
I ’ve had a lot to drink tonight.
The beer with my brother, and another one when I was getting ready.
There was a little shot of whiskey before I left. Okay, maybe two. And now, most of the bottle of wine is gone, and I don’t think Fenella had more than a glass.
I’m fine though—I am an Erickson and Vikings can handle their alcohol. It just helps get Edie’s expression of disappointment out of my head.
And hurt. That one still sticks.
I can honestly say it’s not the best night to take Fenella to dinner, but it’s the least I can do. I look at it as if I’m doing her a favour because while the intrigue is there, the interest in Fenella has definitely dwindled.
And that’s a me thing—nothing to do with her.
So while I sit across from here, trying to pull out the charm and make conversation, there’s a whole what am I doing here vibe going on for me. I’m a little stunned that I’m there, but I wager being with Fenella would stun most men .
She’s like my sister—Lyra is a force of nature as well, but unlike her, Fenella has the billions to fix the destruction she leaves in her wake. At least her father does.
Halfway through Nonna’s finest lasagna, I have a flurry of thoughts, wondering if I should be thinking of Fenella as a potential queen.
Edie said no. She doesn’t want to marry me.
And now—it’s not like I’m fixated on the idea of getting married, but it’s something to think about so I don’t have to think about other things.
Like me being king. And how crappy I’ll probably be at it. If I think about who I would want to become my queen, I don’t have to think about me being king.
Do I need to give every woman I date the queen test? Or should I go with the arranged marriage route, like Odin? It worked out pretty well for him.
No. That’s not for me.
I never thought marriage was for me until my father shoved the idea into my head and now that’s the only thing I can think about. So maybe I am fixated on the idea.
It’s hard to imagine Fenella with Mom’s emerald and diamond crown on her head when I look at her across the table. She’d look pretty good in it though.
I brought her to Nonna’s Ristorante because I had a hankering for the lasagna, and the light from the tiny candles in the glass jars gives her face a softness it lacks in the daylight.
It also makes her prettier, a more approachable prettier .
I chew on a piece of bread and try to pay attention to Fenella’s story about the last Met Gala; something about a dress that resembled someone else’s and what was said in the ladies’ room.
I don’t do a very good job paying attention. At least I seem to nod in the right places as I continue to mull over the fact that Edie turned me down.
She said no to marrying me.
Edie said no.
Not that I would expect her to ever want to marry me, but hearing the no come out of her mouth was a shock. I thought she’d give a reason, argue a bit but a flat-out, no? And like I offended her with the question?
I wasn’t expecting that.
I don’t hear no very often.
“Earth to Kalle.”
I glance up at a pair of bemused eyes. Purple eyes, because of course Fenella Carrington would be the only woman I know with purple eyes.
I haven’t asked if that’s her real colour, but I want to.
“Yeah,” I grunt.
“You’re in your own little world over there.”
I take another piece of focaccia and dip it in the saucer of garlic oil. “I’m right here,” I assure her.
I’ve never brought a date to Nonna’s. I’ve been told I’m a bit of a romantic when it comes to dates. My go-to spots are the castle garden—asking the kitchen staff nicely to set up a table with champagne and dinner so we can eat in the moonlight—or in the fields behind the tennis courts where you can lie on the grass and see the stars. I took one woman to Stella’s pet rescue when she said she loved cats and borrowed a friend’s fishing boat for an evening sail for another.
Or I just take them back to my place.
But I take Fenella Carrington to Nonna’s, so that should say something.
But I’m not sure what I want it to say.
“Kalle.” The snap in her voice pulls me back to reality. “One more time and I’m out of here.”
Those full lips twisted into almost a frown, violet eyes narrowing. She looks almost annoyed.
I wonder if Fenella has trained herself not to show emotion when she’s in public or if that’s something her family taught her. “Have you ever walked out on a date?” I ask.
“Do you really have to ask that?” she counters.
That gets a smile out of me. I can picture her sweeping out of the best restaurants in Paris and New York, leaving a half-eaten dinner and a date who happened to say the wrong thing.
Fenella is fun and feisty, her good heart countering the spoiled and indulged side. She makes me laugh, she makes me think—not always a good thing.
I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent with her. But something is missing.
“I’m leaving as soon as this horrible storm lifts,” she announces.
“Not enough to interest you here?” I offer her a lazy grin. “I can see about offering more amusement.” I dip into flirtatious charm—at least that’s what I’m aiming for. I can pull it out as easily as I can growl out a monosyllabic sentence. It just depends on who I’m with, and who’s watching .
Everyone is watching us at Nonna’s, so it’s all smiling eyes and flirting banter. The restaurant is surprisingly busy with the storm still raging. Some people just don’t want to stay at home during a storm.
I’d rather be at the bar. Make sure everything is quiet, with no outbursts of fighting. Edie can control things, but I want to make sure she has enough help.
I want to make sure she’s not mad at me.
I know the night will not end how the diners think it will. I can put up a good face, but my heart isn’t into this tonight. My heart isn’t into Fenella, period.
It’s too bad, really.
“It’s not happening with us, Your Highness,” Fenella says echoing my very thoughts.
Which gets my full attention. I might know something is missing but that still doesn’t mean I can’t show her a good time. “What?”
Fenella smiles kindly, like the babysitter letting down her ten-year-old charge with a crush as gently as she can. “You know it, too, Kalle. You’ve been playing for a long time, same as me. But you’re ready for something real now. Same as me. And—” Fenella waves between us. “This isn’t real. Might end up being fun, but it wouldn’t last.”
This is a new one for me. “I don’t understand.”
“Have you never had a girl break it off with you?”
“Uh… no?”
Fenella gives a peal of laughter. “Oh, to be a prince with no kingdom.”
“I have a kingdom. ”
“Do you?” She leans back in her chair, half of her mushroom ravioli uneaten. “I didn’t think you wanted it.”
“I never said that,” I say, my gaze straying to the door like I’m looking for the quickest way to make an exit.
“You never not said that either,” Fenella points out. “Maybe that’s the problem—you haven’t found your person because you haven’t found yourself yet.”
How did we get to be talking about this? I change my mind about Fenella being fun. “I know who I am.”
“Of course you do,” she soothes.
“I’m the crown prince of Laandia, and someday, I might take the throne.”
“Is your father planning on acquiring immortality?”
“What?”
Fenella leans across the table, gaze holding mine. There’s something in the way she looks at me that calms the surge of temper. “There’s that word. Might .”
I shake my head. How else am I supposed to say I’m going to be king some day? I hate even thinking about it, let alone saying it.
“ Might implies that there is a possibility that either you might not take the throne or your father will be there indefinitely,” Fenella says, dropping her voice so the table next door can’t eavesdrop, which they’ve been doing all night. “Or that there might not be a throne to take.” She blinks those purple eyes at me like she’s waiting for me to unleash all my emotions and concerns and thoughts on the matter.
I’m not doing that.
Why would I ?
Just because the possibility of me not taking over as king has dodged me for my entire life despite doing what I can to avoid it. Instead of being like Odin, and learning what I needed, I played sports, excelling at everything I tried.
Unlike being king. I won’t be very good at that. In fact, I’m going to suck at it. I’m an athlete, a dumb jock, and a bar owner. Who would ever want me as their king?
I’m not telling Fenella that. I’m not telling anyone.
“So what’s the real thing you’re leaving for?” I ask, trying to move away from the part of me who wants to tell her all of this. The thought of telling someone is very tempting.
Must be something in this bread.
“There’s someone back home,” Fenella admits with a smile. “In LA, which is sort of my home base these days. At least I hope he’s a someone.”
“Who?”
“Ever heard of Opium?”
“The drug or the band?”
“The band. The lead singer, Tiger Hennan and I… well, there’s something.”
“Enough to give up your chance with a prince?”
Fenella smiles prettily. “We both know there’s no chance here, as tempting as it may be to think so. You agree.”
“I don’t really have a choice,” I tell her ruefully.
“But you agree. I’d love to have another Laandian prince pining after me, but it’s not going to happen. Now, are we ordering another bottle of that pinot noir? You’ll need something to drown your tears in.”
“There’s no tears.”
“Exactly why it would never work with us, handsome. Besides, I saw you at the wedding before I moved in. You’ve got something with Edie, and that—” She nods knowingly. “Is going to end up being more real than this.”
I don’t have it in me to argue.