Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Astrid
I can barely find the words to describe how wonderful I feel tonight as we make our way back to our hotel from the festival.
We’re not walking hand in hand like lovers, but we are together in a way we haven’t been before.
The dancing, the laughter, the way it felt to be held in his arms, it was all absolutely magnificent, and it has left me filled with hope for what our future might become.
We reach our suite, with its view over the mountains and the town scattered below, lights glowing softly in the darkness. It’s picture-perfect, of course. And now, with this new, fragile sense of whatever this is between us, being here feels quite magical.
I kick off my shoes and flop onto the sofa, my whole body buzzing as I grin at Fred. “Tonight was absolutely wonderful, wasn’t it? I loved dancing with you. You’ve got moves. Where have you been hiding those?”
He smiles, and I know at once that it’s real because it reaches his eyes. It’s not the careful, composed smile he gives photographers. This one is just for me.
“I had an excellent teacher,” he says.
I pat the cushion beside me. “Why don’t you come and sit? I’m far too excited to sleep. We could talk for a while.”
He hesitates, and the pause feels heavier than it should. I wonder what’s running through his mind. Whatever it is, I don’t want it to steal this moment from us.
“Please?” I add softly, tilting my face up to him, hoping he can see how much this evening has meant to me.
He moves to sit beside me, the cushions dipping under his weight, close enough now that I’m acutely aware of him. He hasn’t taken off his shoes or his blazer, as though he’s still braced to leave at any moment.
On a sudden surge of courage, I lean over and begin to unbutton his jacket.
“What are you doing?” he asks, startled.
I freeze, my fingers resting against his chest. “I was only going to undo the buttons so you could take it off. You look uncomfortable.”
“Oh.” His voice softens. “I see. Of course.”
He takes over, slipping out of his jacket, and the gesture feels strangely intimate, like we’re peeling away more than just layers of fabric.
But perhaps I’m reading too much into the simple act.
My gaze drops to his shoes, still pristine and formal. “What about those?”
He glances down, then back at me. “You want me to take my shoes off?”
I smile. “I want you to relax. Where’s the disco diva I saw earlier?”
His lips quirk, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Are you calling me a disco diva? Me? The Ice Prince?”
I nudge his shoulder with my elbow. “Go on. Kick them off. It’s just us.”
He looks at me for a moment longer, and then, to my surprise, he unlaces his shoes.
Of course, he doesn’t kick them off the way I did.
Mine are flung across the floor without ceremony.
His, on the other hand, he places neatly side by side at the edge of the sofa, as though he might slip his feet back into them at any moment.
I press my lips together to hide a smile.
When I first arrived in the country, I found his control frustrating, like it pinned him in place. Now, I find it strangely charming. Endearing, even. He isn’t my free spirit. He’s a touch grumpy in comparison with me, but he’s Fred. He is who he is.
I know there’s more work to do to break down those walls. I suppose it will take time, and I’m prepared to give him that time. The man I’ve seen beneath the princely facade has shown me he’ll be worth the wait.
I lean a little closer, resting my elbows on my knees, angling my body toward him. “Honestly, you should go on a talent show. They’ll call you the Dancing Prince and you’ll take Europe by storm.”
He laughs, a warm and genuine laugh, and the sound rolls through me, sending a ripple of something through my chest. It strikes me how rarely I’ve heard it. I didn’t even hear it when we were children, that time we visited Villadorata.
The thought makes my chest tighten.
“Was there ever a time when you were just a kid who played and made mistakes?” I ask, toying with the fabric of my dress.
The moment hangs between us, and I wonder if I’ve crossed a line.
He chews his lip, his gaze drifting somewhere distant. “I’ve always been who I am. I’ve never particularly been one for frivolity.”
“Never been one for frivolity,” I echo and nudge him lightly with my elbow. “Fred. Come on. It’s just us. Where’s the man I saw out there on the dance floor, letting loose? Where’s your inner Tom Cruise?”
“My inner Tom Cruise?” He blinks. “The actor?”
“Yes, from Risky Business when he dances around his parents’ house in just his shirt and socks.”
He looks at me blankly. “I haven’t seen the film.”
I shake my head in mock dismay. “Then I have a very long list of things I need to show you, and that movie is right at the top.”
His lips curve. “So I require education in music and cinema.”
“And fashion. Do you always wear suits with collared shirts pressed within an inch of their lives?”
“You’ve seen me in casual attire.”
“You mean polo shirts pressed within an inch of their lives with dress trousers,” I tease.
“That’s the way I like to dress. I like to look nice.”
“You do look nice,” I say, meeting his eyes.
And he does. He’s a handsome man, the kind people would notice even if he wasn’t a prince.
He won the genetic lottery in every sense, from his square-cut jaw, dark hair and eyes, to his broad shoulders and the long, athletic lines of him.
Even now, relaxed beside me, there’s a quiet strength to him that pulls my attention.
“What were you like as a child?” I ask. “I only met you once, and we didn’t really spend any time together.”
“I remember you were very chatty.”
I can’t help but grin. “I’m always chatty. Apparently I came out of the womb commenting on how the interior needed redecorating.”
He lets out a snort of laughter before he can stop himself, the sound abrupt and entirely unguarded. It takes both of us by surprise.
“I beg your pardon,” he says quickly, self-conscious.
“Don’t be silly. You don’t need to beg my pardon for laughing, Fred.”
He hesitates, then nods. “All right. Thank you. And to answer your question, I was always who I am today. I played more when I was younger, enjoyed games with Francesca and a few friends, but—”
“But you always knew one day you would be king,” I say to finish the sentence for him.
He lowers his head slightly, his voice quieter when he speaks. “I felt the weight of that, in a way that has stayed with me.”
Something tightens in my chest. It’s such a rare moment of openness from him, and it feels as though he’s giving me something precious, something he doesn’t hand out lightly. I want to hold on to it, to understand this man I’m engaged to. This man I am to spend the rest of my life with.
I shift closer and reach for his hand. The warmth of his skin against mine is grounding. When he looks up at me, there’s a softness in his eyes I’ve not seen before.
“I understand why you feel that way,” I say carefully. “I really do. I know you take your role seriously.”
“But,” he says, already anticipating me. He knows me better than I give him credit.
“But you need to live as well. You need to let Fred the person live, not just Fred the Prince.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re the person for the job.”
My smile curves before I can stop it. “I was rather hoping you’d say that.”
His gaze locks with mine, steady and intense, and my heart begins to thud in my chest. I could fall for this man, for his quiet strength, his discipline, the beating heart I can sense beneath all that control.
Encouraged by his openness, I say, “I know this might sound odd to you, but when my parents and the Prime Minister told me about this arrangement between us, something about it felt right, like fate almost.”
“Fate?” he asks. “It was a decision made by our parents and governments for the benefit of our respective countries.”
And there’s the Prince.
“I don’t mean any of that. I mean that when I knew this was going to happen, it felt to me like it was meant to be. That we were meant to be.”
He studies my face, my hand still clasped in his. He opens his mouth as if to respond, then closes it again.
For a heartbeat, I wonder if he thinks I’m na?ve. Or ridiculous. Or if he’s simply feeling more than he’s ready to admit.
I know which I want it to be, and I’m sure I felt that connection between us out there in the festival. He must have felt it. He must.
There’s a knock on the door that makes us both jump.
“Come in,” Fred calls out.
The door to our suite opens and Tommaso, Fred’s private secretary, steps inside. “Your Royal Highnesses, my sources informed me that a lantern release is about to take place outside to mark the end of the festival. It’s a local tradition, and apparently quite something to see.”
“Thank you,” Fred replies.
“Can we go and see it?” I ask, reluctant to let this moment between us slip away.
“You will be able to see it from the balcony, ma’am,” Tommaso says. His heels click softly against the hardwood floor as he crosses the room and pulls open the French doors. Cool night air drifts in, carrying distant voices and music from the square below.
“Come on, Fred,” I say. “Let’s go watch the lanterns.”
After a brief pause, he lets me lead him onto the balcony.
“Thank you, Tommaso,” Fred says over his shoulder.
Tommaso smiles and inclines his head. “I’m told it’s quite romantic.” He closes the doors behind him, leaving us alone once more.
“Quite romantic, hmm?” I tease.
“We’ll see about that,” Fred replies, in his usual measured tone.
Then he points at the sky. “Look.”
Low in the sky, the first lantern drifts upward, its soft glow cutting through the darkness. Soon, another follows. Then another until dozens of them rise together, floating gently, dotting the sky with warm sparks of color against the inky blue of the night.