Chapter Seven #3
“Do you listen to pop music?”
“No,” he sniffs.
“Why not?”
“I’m perfectly content with classical music.”
“Classical is great, but what about when you want to let loose? You can’t exactly bust out a move in a shirt and socks to Bach.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. Almost a smile. Almost but not quite. “Bust out a move?” he questions. “And why in a shirt and socks?”
“You know, for fun. To let loose. And surely you know that scene from Risky Business. The Tom Cruise movie? His parents are away?”
“I haven’t watched teen movies since I was… well, I haven’t watched many.”
I count off on my fingers. “You don’t listen to pop music, you don’t watch ‘teen’ movies. What do you do for fun?”
“I have my fun.”
I don’t believe him for a second.
“How exactly?” I challenge him.
“I have my ways.”
“You’re being very elusive. Why don’t you tell me? It’s not something embarrassing, is it? Or illegal?” My eyes grow wide. “It’s not illegal, is it?”
“Of course it’s not illegal. Now, let’s move on, shall we?”
I cross my arms. “Not until you tell me what you do to have fun.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to be your wife. I want to know you better.”
“Astrid—”
“It’s Asti, remember?”
“Asti,” he corrects. “I’m sure you’re very good at having fun, but I’ve had to spend my life on more serious matters.”
I gesture at the sea of folders. “Like planning weddings and honeymoons down to the last minute.”
“Precisely. And as for the music, this is the program.”
Well, he’s shut down that conversation.
I run my eyes down the list once more. The only upbeat piece is a waltz. “Is this the final program?”
“I assumed you would appreciate the efficiency.”
“Efficiency? That’s what you’re calling it? Leaving me out of my own wedding?” I try to keep the hurt from my voice.
Fail.
His tone softens. “This isn’t personal. These decisions are based on historical precedent from both our countries. When you’re royal, your wedding is a state function, as I’m sure you know. Personal preference is a luxury neither of us can afford.”
His tone may be less harsh, but his words land like stones. I feel thoroughly reprimanded, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“I see,” I say quietly. “It’s just—” I cut myself short.
What am I going to say? That I hoped we’d lay eyes on one another and fall in love in an instant?
That I hoped we’d discover we’re soulmates, brought together by an arranged marriage but always destined for each other?
That I’ve always had a thing for him and hoped it could grow into something more?
I can’t say any of those things. He might laugh in my face, or worse yet, say nothing at all.
“Could we maybe compromise on one song?” I ask instead.
“What would you like?”
“It’s a song I listened to once I knew I was coming here to marry you. It’s by Vanessa Williams, and yes, I know she’s a pop star, but hopefully you’ll like it. It’s called Save the Best for Last. Do you know it? Somehow the words seemed appropriate for us.”
“I don’t know it,” he replies, which doesn’t surprise me in the least.
“I’ll make you a mixtape,” I tell him. “It’ll be the first song.”
“A mixtape,” he repeats, as though I’ve said I’ll cut him a slice of the sky and serve it up over pasta.
“Yeah, a mixtape. You know, I find a bunch of songs I think you might like and then put them all on a tape for you to listen to.”
“I know what a mixtape is,” he replies, although I doubt he does.
“Okay.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Well,” he says as he looks at his watch. “I think we’ve covered everything we need to today. Shall we convene tomorrow at the same time to review the guest list in detail? I’m needed elsewhere now.”
I’m certain the guest list is already finalized, too. It would seem all I have to do at my wedding is turn up.
“Of course.”
He pulls out my chair for me, like the gentleman he is. As he opens the door, he surprises me. “Asti?”
I swivel back toward him. “Yes?”
“You did well today. We covered a lot of ground.”
I smile at the unexpected compliment. “Thanks.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I turn to leave before I look back at him. “Hey, Fred? Do you want to just hang out? You and me? I was going to head to the gardens.” I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb.
“The gardens are the other way,” he corrects.
Because of course he does.
“What can I say? I’m geographically challenged,” I say with a shrug. “You may have noticed.”
That earns an actual smile from him, small though it may be. “Be sure to wear sun lotion. The sun in Ledonia is much stronger than in Elkevik.”
Sun lotion. Right. I guess that means he’s not coming with me.
With my shoulders drooping in defeat, I make my way out into the garden, the warm sun soaking into my skin. I walk down a long path past perfectly trimmed hedges and find a pretty rose garden, where I sit in the grass and pluck a daisy.
“He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not,” I repeat until the final petal lands in my lap. “He loves me not,” I whisper. “Yeah, I could’ve told you that, Daisy.”
I let out a sigh. What am I doing here?
I might have glimpsed something that felt real in him last night, but it might just have been a passing moment, never to be repeated again.
I’m optimistic by nature. I’ve not once been defeated. But perhaps Frederic is my Waterloo?
And instantly the ABBA song leaps into my mind.
I lift my chin, resolved. Tomorrow, I’ll try again.
I’ll try to be the kind of woman he wants me to be.
I’ll keep myself in check. I’ll go through all the details he wants about our wedding and our honeymoon and everything else.
Who knows? I might even find something positive to say about the roading system in Switzerland.
I sigh again and stand, brushing the wrinkles from my skirt.
Who am I kidding? I can’t be anyone but myself. I don’t want to be anyone but myself.
And if Frederic doesn’t want that? If he doesn’t want me?
Well, that’s his problem.
Actually, no. It’s both of our problems.