Chapter 22Ethan
Chapter 22
Ethan
Prepare yourselves for an intriguing development in the continuing saga of our mysteriously meditative Princess Amelia.
As you know, there has been much speculation in the press that our Amelia has not been meditating on a mountain halfway across the world and instead has escaped the palace, spotted in various locations around the continent.
And now Prince Maximilien, aka our new Prince McGorgeousness, was spotted just yesterday departing from his Royal Air Force base in a private aircraft, destination undisclosed. The timing couldn't be more curious. Just as whispers about his sister's whereabouts grow louder and louder, our dashing prince makes a hasty exit from his military duties.
Coincidence?
This journalist thinks not.
"It's simply a personal matter," insists a palace spokesperson with that tight smile that always suggests there's more beneath the surface. Much more. And don’t we all know by now that "personal matter" is palace speak for "situation we'd rather not discuss?"
This royal correspondent is certain Princess Amelia is the “situation.” What are they hiding? I have a few theories of my own:
She’s got a secret boyfriend in some exotic locale with whom she’s having a torrid affair.
She’s had plastic surgery that’s gone horribly wrong, disfiguring herself in the process and needs to hide until it can be corrected.
She’s joined a cult and will next be seen dancing in a field with heavily bearded men and women in pinafores.
Who knows! What we do know is that my inside-the-palace source tells me the King has requested twice-daily updates from the meditation retreat—a meditation retreat that forbids all communication.
Interesting.
Apparently, His Majesty has been taking, and I quote, "a shot of whiskey rather than a cup of tea before bedtime."
Well! Those familiar with our dear King Frederic know that whiskey is reserved only for matters of significant royal distress.
Princess Amelia's presence will be required at next week's annual Summer Ball along with the rest of the royal family.
I will leave you with this question. Has Max been dispatched on a royal retrieval mission, destination yet unknown?
This is one royal mystery I am determined to solve for you all. And mark my words when I say I most assuredly will.
Yours with binoculars and a notepad at the ready,
Fabiana Fontaine xx
#RoyallyDispatched
#SiblingBailout
#MaximumRoyalIntervention
My phone vibrates against the counter as I'm wiping down the espresso machine. I've developed a peculiar fondness for this routine. The methodical cleaning of coffee grounds and milk residue is somehow more satisfying than memorizing lines for a character who spends half his screen time brooding in sub-zero temperatures and the other half in compromising positions with his shirt off.
Francine’s is enjoying one of those magical lulls between the morning rush and the lunch crowd, with only a few locals lounging at tables. Francine is humming the song the flash mob performed not so long ago while arranging pastries in the display case. Across the room, Pierre is pretending to inventory sugar packets while eyeing Ami with the subtlety of a flashing neon sign.
I check my phone and see a notification from Ami.
Check your messages.
I shoot her a puzzled look across the café. Why didn’t she just come talk to me?
I swipe to open our text thread, and my stomach plummets faster than a badly steamed latte.
She’s forwarded a message with the heading “from my brother.” It reads Arriving in Montelac in one hour. Meet me at your café. I’ll be in disguise. Max xx
Ami’s brother is coming here? A prince, here in Montelac, coming here to check in on his sister—but we all know he’s going to end up judging me.
Just what I need.
What’s more, won’t his presence compromise Ami? Sure, he said he would be in a disguise, but how do we know he won’t be recognized and her cover completely blown?
But then Ami hasn’t been recognized here in Montelac, not even once. Which has always struck me as weird—weird but convenient for us, that is.
Sure, she looks different from the photos I’ve seen of her in her princess persona, in a pair of black jeans and a T-shirt, her hair tied up in a ponytail. But she doesn’t look so different that you wouldn’t see some similarities.
Not that I’m complaining. She’s been able to enjoy her anonymity here for the past three weeks, and we are both grateful for it.
Ami arrives by my side as I finish making a mocha and a latte for a couple of regulars. Her dark hair is pulled back in her characteristic ponytail that makes her look both younger and weirdly more regal. Maybe it’s because I know that she is regal now—which sure is something I’ve had to wrap my head around since that night on the lake shore when we shared our secrets.
But you know what? It hasn’t changed how I feel about her. Not at all. Sure, she was born into privilege and tradition, her life dictated by rules and expectation. She’d told me all that when she was Amy. She just left out the royal part.
None of it changes who she is as a person.
She’s still the gorgeous woman I met who artfully ringed my eyes with eyeliner, the woman who made me laugh despite myself. The woman who’s been right here at my side for this crazy adventure.
Don’t get me wrong. I know her royal status complicates things. What kind of a future can we have with both of us leading lives in the spotlight? Both of our actions relentlessly scrutinized?
But I’m determined to find a way. The way I see it, you don’t get that many chances to find your person. And when it comes to Ami, I know deep in my heart that she’s my person.
“You saw the message?” she asks.
“Meet me out the back after you deliver these, ’kay?” I say, and she nods as she collects the cups and turns to walk away.
I tell Francine I’m taking a quick break and head out the kitchen door to the alleyway. A moment later, Ami arrives.
“Your brother's coming here in an hour?” I question.
She pales, her eyes widening to cartoon proportions. “Less than that now. It’s a terrible, terrible idea. I tried to tell him to stay away, but he’s insisted.”
Anxiety pings against my skull as I pace. “The King of Malveaux is coming here?”
“No, not Alex. Max,” she replies. “He's not the king of anything, and nor will he ever be.”
“But he’s still your brother, and having a sister myself, I know how protective we brothers can be, and I also know what jerks guys can be.”
She brushes my concern away with a flick of her wrist. “Oh, Max isn’t like that.”
“Ami, every brother is like that. Did you know he was coming to visit?”
She chews on her lip. “He threatened it a while back, but I told him not to.”
I push out a breath, placing my hands on her arms. “His arrival here will… well, it has the potential to seriously mess things up for us.”
The exposure of Ami’s real-world identity could pop her carefully constructed Montelac bubble—and destroy mine, too.
“I know,” she replies, looking up at me with those big brown eyes. “But he did say he would be in a disguise, and besides, no one has recognized me here. Perhaps the same will happen for Max?”
“Is it just me, or is that weird? You’re a princess from a neighboring country that has close ties to Malveaux, right? I get that Montelac is a small, sleepy place, tucked away from the world, but not one person seems to have reacted to you, a princess, working in a café.”
“Perhaps they have, and they simply don’t care? Perhaps they’ve decided to turn a blind eye because they knew I’d run away and that I need the anonymity?”
It sounds more wishful thinking than anything, but it could be that the past few years have made me cynical.
I give her arms a squeeze. “I hope so. And I hope I pass the test with Max.”
She smiles up at me. “Of course you will. With flying colors.”
The door swings open and Pierre steps outside, coming to an abrupt stop when he spots us. He narrows his eyes, flicking them between Ami and me. “You two are now … lovers?” he asks in his Malveauxian accent, stretching the “r” to three times its usual length.
Busted.
I glance at Ami. She straightens her shoulders and slips her arm around my waist.
“We’re together,” she replies, and the pride in her voice makes my heart double in size.
We both watch for his reaction, but all he does is shrug as though it’s no big deal and says, “Okay.”
Considering he’s made flirting with Ami a professional sport since we got here, that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.
“There’s someone here to see you,” he says as he checks his already perfectly styled hair.
Ami and I share a look before we dart back through the kitchen and into the café. I scan the room, my eyes landing on a solitary figure by the counter. And his disguise? Let’s just say it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to work out who Max is.
Waiting with casual confidence, one arm leaning on the counter, is a man a couple inches shorter than me in a colorful Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts with multiple bulging pockets, an “I Lac des Rêves” hat he probably bought moments before arriving, and a bushy, obviously stuck-on, fake mustache.
That’s his disguise? A mustached tourist?
That’s it.
Game over.
We’re done.
At least we had the originality to disguise ourselves as goths. Max’s outfit makes him look like he’s an extra from an Adam Sandler movie, and what’s worse, he sticks out amongst the locals like a sore thumb.
“Good morning, café staff of this very pink café,” he says in English in a sonorous voice, his accent matching Ami’s. “My name is Chip and I’m from Arkansas in the United States of America,” he says, sounding nothing like someone from Arkansas. Or the United States, for that matter. “I’m here for the Festival of Lake Lights and I wondered if I could order a pot of Malveauxian tea, since I’m a tourist here in your fine country.”
Wow, this guy may as well have the words “prince in disguise” spelt out in three languages in a flashing neon sign above his head.
Ami can barely contain her grin as she replies, “Might I suggest a cup of coffee instead, Chip?” She touches my arm. “Maverick here makes a fine cup.”
Max’s eyes—the same brown as Ami’s—slide to mine. His fake mustache twitches as he raises his (real) brows at me. “I think I would enjoy a cup of Maverick’s coffee. Are you both goths?”
“We are,” Amy says with pride as I make my way to Shayna. “What can I getcha … Chip?”
The name in itself must be sending everyone’s warning bells into a symphony.
“I’ll take a half-caf, venti, three-pump vanilla, one-pump caramel, no-foam, extra-hot, light-whip, oat latte with a caramel drizzle in a to-go cup, but double-cupped with a sleeve.”
I blink at him in wonder. He what now?
“I can fix you a latte?” I offer.
His mustache puckers as his lips lift into a smile, and I bet his initial order was some kind of joke I didn’t get. “A latte would be great.”
As I get to work on Shayna, a sleek yellow Ferrari glistens in the light outside. It’s parked with total disregard for parking rules, taking up what appears to be a space and a half directly in front of the café.
Subtlety, it seems, is not a royal trait, at least where Max is concerned.
“Can I offer you something to eat?” Francine asks with her welcoming smile. “Tourists get hungry, you know.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve been a tourist from America in your fine country for a good few days now, and I find I’m hungry often,” he replies, his eyes not leaving mine.
Yup, there it is. The anticipated brother scrutiny, only it’s from a real-life prince whose car is a yellow Ferrari, who’s disguised as a tourist with a false mustache that could drop off his face any moment now.
Seriously, you couldn’t make this stuff up.
As Francine takes him through the various food offerings, Ami and I share a look. Her face is aglow, and I can tell she’s happy to see her favorite brother—and just as bewildered and amused by his disguise as I am.
Finally, after Francine has chewed his ear off about where “Chip” has visited in Malveaux—which he answers with confidence, adding in specific details that suggest he’s actually been to the places he mentions—he takes his latte and a panini to go, and announces he will be by the lake for the next hour or so, admiring the scenery.
“Your brother should have visited our costume store,” I say to Ami under my breath as Max marches out of the door.
She beams at me. “I like that you call it ‘our’ costume shop. And he’s going to adore you.”
Ten minutes later, Francine suggests we both take our breaks before the lunch crowd turns up, so we head for the lake, where we find Max in all his “Chip the American tourist” garb, sitting on a bench. He stands when he sees us, and Ami rushes over to him, throwing her arms around his neck with sibling affection. “I can't believe you actually came!”
“I said I would, didn't I?” he replies, returning her hug while maintaining eye contact with me over her shoulder. It's an impressive multitasking feat to showbrotherly love while simultaneously communicating I know seventeen ways to make your disappearance look like an accident.
Once Ami has released him from her grasp, he extends his hand to me. “You must be Maverick Mitchell, although you look a lot like Rowan Thornheart, the Winter's Curse Wielder to me.”
Ami and I share a look.
“He is Rowan Thornheart, Max. Or rather he’s Ethan Roberts, the very fine actor who plays the role. But he’s pretending to be a goth called Maverick Mitchell right now,” Ami explains.
Hearing my identity summarised like that tells me Max is going to be even more suspicious of me now.
Max sizes me up. “What do I call you, then?”
I wipe my suddenly clammy hand on my jeans before shaking his. “Ethan is fine, Your... um, Royal Prince.”
Ami snort laughs. “I should have taken you through royal protocol, but I'm sure Max will be happy if you call him by his first name. Right, Max?”
“Yes. Max,” he says, his tone confirming every one of my fears.
“Max it is,” I reply.
“You’re wearing eye makeup,” he says.
I’m being totally scrutinized by a man in a Hawaiian shirt and a fake mustache. And that’s not something I can say has happened to me before.
“It’s part of the goth costume, silly,” Ami says.
“I think you have some explaining to do,” he says to his sister, sounding more like a parent than a brother. “Why did you tell me his name is Maverick Mitchell?”
“It's a long story,” she replies.
“I've got time. Perhaps you could start with how you didn't realize he was Ethan Roberts from the get go,” he says.
“You know me. I don’t go in for that sort of show,” she explains. “Too much fighting and not enough loving for my appetite. Although the shirtless scenes aren't terrible,” she adds with a mischievous glint.
“You've watched my show now?” I ask.
“Just a few clips on YouTube. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. You're very good,” she tells me, and I can't help but flush with pride.
“Ami prefers Hallmark Christmas movies, don’t you? She once made me watch three in one night. I now know more about small-town bakeries and Christmas tree farms than any human should.”
“Traitor,” she says as she prods his arm.
“Hey! No violence against the American tourist, please,” he says. He turns his attention to me. “So, what's this long story that's had you changing your name to something that sounds like it's from a Top Gun movie?”
I should be pleased that he gets the reference, but instead I feel like a bug under a microscope.
“Neither of us knew who one another was at first. We were both hiding, I guess, playing roles for anonymity’s sake,” I explain.
“Hiding,’ Max repeats, raising an eyebrow in a way that reminds me so much of Ami it's startling. The royal DNA is strong with this one. “And now?’
I glance at Ami, who gives me an encouraging smile that somehow makes the whole bizarre situation feel manageable. “Now we're not hiding from each other anymore, and we’re no longer Amy and Maverick.”
Ami and I share a smile.
“We’re just us, Ami and Ethan,” she says.
“Wait. You were ‘Amy?’” Max asks. “This gets weirder and weirder by the minute.”
“I was pretending to be Amy and Ethan needed a break from the Hollywood spotlight. That's why he was pretending to be Maverick,” Ami adds.
He crosses his arms and levels me with his gaze. “So, you've been lying to my sister.”
“Settle down. It's not like that, Max. Can't you see? Neither of us could be fully honest in the beginning. But now things are different. We've come clean about who we really are.” She turns her gaze to mine. “It's been wonderful to finally be our full selves.”
“It has,” I reply, my chest warm under her gaze.
“Tell me, Ethan, do you always make a habit of rooming with strange women you meet in costume shops?” Max asks, but the sting is sucked from his words as one side of his fake mustache becomes unstuck.
“Max!” Ami warns.
“It was more like—" I search for an explanation that won't sound like the plot of a romantic comedy. "I guess it was more like a series of unlikely coincidences."
“Ethan saved me from that awful con man, Greg. He’s been nothing but a gentleman. Well, most of the time," she adds with a teasing smile that sends my mind to some decidedly ungentlemanly moments we've shared since we came clean about who we are and how we feel about one another, if you can count totally hot making out as “ungentlemanly.”
Max raises his brows, his eyes boring into me.
“Your mustache has come unstuck,” Ami says and Max rips the rest of it from his face and I get a good look at him—mainly because his unflinching stare is trained steadily and uncompromisingly on me.
He has the same thick dark hair as his sister, although his is cropped. His cheekbones are just as high as Ami’s, the shape of his mouth an almost direct replica. He has the kind of square jaw you see on leading men in Hollywood, combined with his obviously athletic physique and I can see why he's regarded as Europe’s most eligible bachelor.
“So, I take it you two are romantically involved now?” he asks.
Ami slips her hand into mine, beaming at her brother. “We are,” she says simply, and I know I'm about to get the brotherly third degree on top of already having been taken through my paces by the guy.
“How about you and I go for a little chat, man to man,” he suggests, sticking to my anticipated script.
The phrase "man to man" has never sounded more ominous.
But I was prepared for this. Well, as prepared as you can be with fifteen minutes notice that the brother of the woman you have recently become romantically involved with is about to turn up in your life.
Here comes the royal inquisition.
Are dungeons still a thing in modern monarchies? What about the rack?
“I figured you'd say that. Wanna take a walk?” I offer.
“Max,” Ami warns, her voice taking on a tone I've never heard before.
“Just a friendly chat,’ Max assures her, though the glint in his eye suggests his definition of “friendly” might include interrogation techniques banned by international treaties.
We make our way down the shoreline, ironically heading to where his sister and I shared our first kiss only seven short days ago.
“So,” he begins. “You and my sister.”
I clear my throat. “Ami and I have become close.”
“Close,” he repeats, his expression neutral. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? I've been training at the Royal Air Force academy, so I might be behind on the current euphemisms.”
Is that his less than subtle way of telling me he has military skills he can and will use against me?
“Look, Max. I care about your sister. A lot.”
“I'm sure you do. Everyone cares about Ami. She's the best.”
“I know. She's an amazing woman and I'm lucky to have her in my life.” I can't help the smile spreading across my face. “Look, I get it. I've got a sister, as well. You're feeling protective over her. But this thing between us may have started off on?—”
“Lies?” he offers, cutting me off.
“Just one each.”
“Quite a big one, wouldn't you agree?”
“We're past that now. We both gave each other the full picture about who we really are and what we're doing here in Montelac. It's brought us closer together. A lot closer. Max, I know you've just met me and all of this is a lot to take in, but what we have is real. It's not about her being a princess or me being an actor. It's about who we are when all that falls away. When we're just two people making coffee and dancing with mops in the café after closing.” I smile at the memory.
He knits his brows together. “You dance with mops?”
“Just that one time,” I reply, remembering the way she looked at me that night. It gave me a glimmer of hope that maybe she felt the way I did about her.
Turns out that hope became reality in the most beautiful way.
Max studies me for a moment, then does something unexpected.
He smiles. “You seem genuine, despite the twisted path that got you here.”
“I am genuine. You can trust in that.”
“The thing is, Ethan, I've watched my sister get her hopes up before. People tend to see the title, not the person. The tiara, not the woman wearing it.”
“But that’s the thing. I fell for her when I thought she was just Amy,” I tell him honestly. “Finding out she's a princess was... well, it was a shock, but it didn't change how I feel about her. If anything, it made me admire her more. Here she is in this small town, living a normal life, learning to do things she's never had to do before, all with this incredible grace and humor.”
He nods. “That sounds like Ami. But tell me this. What happens when this little vacation from reality ends? When you go back to Hollywood and Rowan Thornheart’s catchphrases, and she returns to her royal duties?”
It's the question I've been avoiding answering myself, the one that sometimes wakes me in the middle of the night.
“The truth is, Max, I don't know. What I do know is I want to figure that out with Ami.”
He nods, considering my words.
“I know you’re her brother and you’re worried about her. I get it. If I met some guy pretending to be someone he’s not, sharing a house with my sister in a foreign country? Yeah. I’d turn up on his doorstep, demanding answers, too.”
“We’re protective, us brothers.”
“Right? That's exactly what I told her. The thing is I get that I haven't known your sister for that long, and for some of that time, we were pretending to be other people. The irony is that I’ve been more my true self with Ami than I have with anyone in a long, long time.”
He sizes me up, but I can tell he's softening toward me. “You care for her.”
“So much.”
He nods. “I’m glad to hear it. Ami deserves someone to love her.”
Love .
The moment the word leaves his mouth, I know that’s what I feel for Ami.
Love.
I love her.
I’m in love with her.
My entire body buzzes with the realization, my face morphing into a smile.
“There's something else you should know. The palace is starting to ask questions. Father isn't buying the meditation retreat story anymore.”
“I was amazed anyone would believe that in the first place, to be honest.”
“You’re right. It’s shocking that anyone believed Ami would voluntarily stop talking for more than twenty minutes,” he replies with a laugh. “There are rumors circulating in the press, too."
My stomach tightens. “What kind of rumors?”
“The usual. Secret boyfriend, hidden pregnancy, plastic surgery gone wrong,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, just like Ami does. “Although the secret boyfriend one seems to have been right on the money.”
“I guess it is.”
“Some are even speculating she's joined a cult.”
I can't help but laugh at that one. The absurdity breaks through whatever tension is left between us. “A cult? Ami wants to break every rule in the rule book. She'd be a horrible cult member.”
“You'd be surprised what people will believe about royals,” he says with a wry smile.
“I'm not sure I would.” A gesture at myself with my thumb. “Hollywood actor right here.”
“Yes, I suppose that does make you uniquely qualified for understanding what it's like for us.”
I glance across at Ami, waiting patiently for us on the bench. Something inside me solidifies, a certainty I didn't know I was capable of feeling.
A certainty about us.
“I know it won't be easy for her and me. Nothing worth having ever is,” I say.
“That sounds a lot like a line from your show,” he replies, but there's less edge to his voice now. That is until he leans forward, suddenly serious again. “Just so we're clear, if you hurt her?—"
“You'll have me thrown in a dungeon?” I suggest, only half-joking.
He grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Don’t hurt her.”
The hairs on the back of my neck tingle. “I won’t. You have my word.”
Clearly tired of being patient—not a characteristic that’s overly developed in her—Ami trudges over the sand toward us. “Are you playing nice with my boyfriend, Max?”
Boyfriend .
It's the first time she's called me that out loud, and despite the circumstances, I can't help but smile like I've just won an award for something far more meaningful than any golden statue could.
The thing is, as I look at this beautiful woman I love, I know I want to be more than just her boyfriend. I want to be the man she shares her day with, the man who is there for the little moments as well as the big. The man she relies on, who she can trust completely.
The man who is with her through the full length of her life, loving her, cherishing her, always being there for her.
I swallow down a lump forming in my throat.
I want to be her everything. And despite the obstacles in our way, I want nothing more than to make that happen.