Yachts and Yuletide (Resplendent Royals)
1. God Jul
GOD JUL
LARS
I expected Christmastime fuckery on holidays spent with my mother. I thought as I grew up, that would change. By my mid-thirties, I usually got out of typical Christmas occasions. It was always drama. Even extravagant gifts or elaborate holidays abroad couldn’t compete with the doting, warm Christmases with my father and stepmother. Thus, you may wonder. How, Lars, did you find yourself aboard a yacht with your mother one particular Christmas? Well, it was my bleeding heart and empathy for another child of divorce—my step-niece Jacqueline.
This year, I agreed to attend the same sailing competition my stepbrothers and father participated in—a highlight of the winter yachting season. While I hoped to spend time mostly with my preferred blended family, I instead shared quarters with my mother and stepfather, Christian Sardani—a Monaguesque shipping magnate she married two years prior. He brought his brand-new superyacht, Alessandra , to dock in Miami’s beautiful port.
Christian was neither good nor bad in my eyes, but he wasn’t the worst of the men my mother shacked up with. His sons were annoying, but his oldest son, Tomas, had a daughter. Jacqueline—Jack, as we called her—was a fourteen-year-old sailing phenom who immediately stole my heart. This was her first Christmas away from her mother since her parents’ divorce.
As Jack’s father wasn’t much involved, someone had to help her prepare for her solo race. It was her first time at the Paladar International Yacht Race, but not mine. Growing up, I sailed competitively with my father, a former Olympian, and my stepsiblings. The races were a balm—taking me far from bleak Oslo to sunny Miami. I wasn’t excited by the company, but the weather worked in my favour.
“Can we go, please ?” Jack whinged. “Because I’m not interested in staying with the old people forever.”
I turned to my mother. “If I take Jack early, is that okay? Will Tomas care?”
“I don’t care,” Mother replied.
“Let me text Far,” I said.
Jack let out a typical teenage groan, impatient. “You know Dad is out with that woman . If I wait for him?—”
“I promise I will go soon,” I said.
My mother and stepfather would be along in two hours—always on their own time. Jacqueline’s father was poolside with his new girlfriend, some twenty-something model closer in age to Jack than himself. I gathered they came back to shag, hoping we’d leave and then make a very late appearance. I didn’t fancy arriving at the start of an awkward mixer as “that random prince” with my fourteen-year-old charge without backup. If Pappa and the guys were around, I’d not be alone. My little sister Betty would help me watch the kid, too.
Me
When are you leaving? Jack is antsy.
I promised I’d take her
Pappa typed a follow-up. Jack stared daggers out the window, impatient. I got it. Being stranded on a boat alone was no fun. My phone buzzed.
Pappa
Sanne is ready to go. I will ask Keir and Ingrid about it. The twins and Nate went in with Mac and Niall. Betty is holding us up.
Sanne, my stepmother, was one of my favourite people. She treated me as one of her own. Sanne, Pappa, my sister, and four stepbrothers stuck to my parents’ yacht while I languished here. It was a complicated, royal mess.
I texted Betty.
Me
Betty, can you hurry? I have an impatient teen who won’t be waylayed much longer.
Betty
Fucking chill. I’m almost ready. You’re as bad as Mamma.
Me
Think of the child!
Betty
?? You work in guilt. Fuck you. I’m coming.
“Let’s head out in ten, kiddo,” I said. “My Dad says they are finally leaving. I’ll let you man the tender.”
“Finally!”
While Jack uttered no thank you, I knew she appreciated my willingness to bring her in. That was all the response you got from an angsty teen. It sufficed.