Chapter Four #2
Her voice was somewhere between exasperation and plea.
If he heard either, he didn’t react. The only sound was the quiet hum of the motor and the shush of waves against the hull of the boat as he studied her, this time in cool assessment.
Her heart thumped in her chest as his gaze seemed to penetrate her, finding its way far too deep inside her.
“You may have the house,” he finally said.
“Can you get the king to put this in writing without tipping off my father?”
His smile was as dark as it was satisfied. “I will make sure it’s in writing. I find it hard to trust anyone—wouldn’t you agree?”
Back in the castle, she hadn’t been able to hold back her surprise that her father had already discussed a backup plan—an alternate marriage with Gustav—without consulting her.
Now not only was her own escape plan closed to her, but Gustav was proving her description as a pawn to be far too accurate.
Livia waited for another kick of anger, but it was almost completely muted by hurt.
But that wasn’t the only source of hurt.
“You went behind my back,” she said. “You arranged our marriage without even talking to me.”
“What evidence did I have that you wouldn’t turn on me? Trust must be earned, ?lskling.”
That last word came out with a cruel irony to it.
?lskling. Darling.
Livia wished she had tuned out this particular part of her Swedish tutor’s lesson.
“That trust goes both ways,” she snapped.
“How delightful that we have our honeymoon to begin this journey to wedded bliss together,” he said, his cruel smile mocking her.
Before she could respond, the motorcade came to a stop, and yet another guard dressed in all black opened the door.
Livia stepped out into the endless summer sun and glanced at Gustav.
His gaze traveled down to her rear with unmistakable interest, and his words rang in her mind: This is about taking what is rightfully mine.
Molten heat flashed through her body, threatening to melt the new fuel of anger and frustration that kept her from crumbling in defeat. He was cornering her into marriage.
She turned away and focused on the old stone church in front of her with its ancient stained-glass windows and towering steeple.
On one side, the pine forest spread out, with its bright green underbrush and rocks highlighted in the filtered sun rays.
On the other side was a clearing with a semicircle of small stone cottages, and just beyond, Livia could see glimpses of the sea.
A woman in black escorted her toward one of them.
The buildings showed centuries of use, but as she entered through the thick wooden door, she saw that the inside had been updated. She was escorted through the entry and into a main room, decorated in the old-fashioned Scandinavian elegance of whites and faded blues. Understated and comfortable.
“The hair and makeup assistance will arrive shortly,” said the woman. “I will have the cook bring some light refreshments while you wait.”
“Thank you,” she said with a tight smile. Livia hadn’t missed the fact that yet another person was telling her what to do, however politely. But rebellion was pointless, at least until she came up with a plan that served her end goals—this much she had learned since her teenage years.
Livia collapsed onto an overstuffed armchair just as a man brought out a tiered tray of tiny sandwiches, cookies and scones as well as an array of drinks.
Livia reached for a scone and dolloped it with clotted cream, then took out her phone.
She had a total of eight voicemails and twenty-three messages from the illicit phone her sister used, each in increasingly panicked tones.
The last message summed them up in all caps: WHAT IS GOING ON?
Livia took a deep breath and typed, Slight change of plans, but the house is still ours. Call you soon.
Slight change was an understatement, but the last thing Livia wanted was for her sister to worry. That road led to disaster. Regardless of her own anxieties about this future she was facing, Livia had to keep the situation under control.
She bit into her scone, then closed her eyes and tried to focus on the fact that it was the most tender, most delicious scone she had ever tasted.
But her phone rang and Mother flashed across the screen, ruining the moment.
Livia took a deep breath and tried to steel herself for the unavoidable conversation.
Her mother didn’t bother to start with pleasantries.
“We negotiated for the crown prince of a very minor nation, and you traded him for the Bastard Spare?”
Despite her anger at Gustav for ripping away her agency and ruining her plans, Livia bristled at the insulting name her mother so casually threw out.
“You sound like the tabloid press,” she said, attempting to keep her tone light, as if the comment were a joke when she knew that this was a direct hit.
Her mother absolutely never wanted to be reminded of her middle-class past, when she was a groundskeeper’s wife who reveled in reading the tabloids back before Livia’s father had hit on a radical change in fortune.
But the company she now kept never fully let her forget this past. The refrain was subtle but insistent: Her family’s new money didn’t hold the same values in the circles she aspired to.
Livia knew her dig was low, but her mother would almost certainly repeat the insult a few more times if Livia didn’t push back.
“I’m simply repeating what everyone else is thinking,” her mother said testily.
“What everyone else is thinking is that Edvin, the man I was supposed to marry, has disappeared off the face of this earth, and no one knows where he is,” said Livia smoothly. “Isn’t this the most expedient solution? Father certainly thinks so, if he discussed the possibility with Gustav.”
Her mother was quiet for a moment, and Livia wondered how much her mother knew about these backroom negotiations. She fiddled with a fluffy pillow, searching for ways to end this conversation.
“Is this what you want?” Her mother’s voice was tentative and almost…gentle.
Livia froze as tears unexpectedly welled in her eyes.
She swallowed them back. Her mother’s plans and manipulations would be so much easier to make sense of if she never had these moments where she showed glimpses of love.
And though Livia knew these scraps of love were all she would get—and had never added up to enough—she still felt that old, stubborn drive to please her parents.
She had never intended to marry royalty of any kind. But now that she had found herself cornered, the truth was that she would rather be married to Gustav, even with their complicated past, than some unknown royal from who knew what far-flung country.
“Yes, it’s what I want,” she said, even though this answer was only truth-adjacent at best.
“Then I will tell your father to finalize the negotiations.”
Livia ended the call, and in the quiet of the cabin, she was left with a strange pit in her stomach.
Her mother hadn’t even brought up the idea of coming to the wedding, however impractical the timing might be.
First and foremost, this was a transaction for her parents, not a pivotal event in Livia’s life.
Livia knew she would fare best if she treated this marriage in that manner, too.
It was a path to appease her parents and protect her sister from their political machinations.
And Gustav… Well, that was its own jumble of dangers. Which she was about to face head-on.
An army of stylists showed up at her door as she polished off the last scone, and she was escorted to the bathroom, where she bathed in rose-scented water as a woman massaged shampoo and rinses through her hair.
She was dried and buffed and then led into a sort of sitting room, where an array of dresses hung on dressmaker’s forms. Livia had never intended to go through with the marriage to Edvin, so choosing a dress hadn’t crossed her mind.
Now, as she gazed at her selections, she was drawn immediately to the silkiest, slinkiest dress with an impractically long train that would trail behind her.
It had a revealing neckline, at least by royal standards, and it hugged the form in a way that would show off her curves.
If she was going to be cornered into becoming a princess, she might as well enjoy dressing the part.
The stylist presented a set of jewelry that were probably royal heirlooms, including a tiara, all lovely, and yet she was drawn to the ring.
Large, glittering and impersonal. How fitting that Gustav didn’t even bother to give this to her in person, she thought, ignoring the twist in her gut.
The team styled her hair and dusted her face with makeup, and then she was escorted across the stone path and into the church.
She had a pang of longing for her sister, so far away. But for now, here in the church, Livia was on her own. She walked through the heavy doors and into the front room, then through more doors.
She looked up, her gaze following the trail of the red rug, past row and rows of pews to the altar.
Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly all she could see was Gustav, tall and devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored suit.
He had shaved his beard, and the line of his jaw and the curve of his lips sent a wave of memories crashing down on her.
His expression was sober, but his eyes were alive with desire and something else that made her traitorous heart leap.
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