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Meanwhile, Steffan remained in his chair. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on his thighs, and the glassy look in his eyes gave way to something more somber. “May I speak with you, Your Highness? Alone?” He glanced at Booth, who looked at me.
I nodded, and Booth slipped out of the room.
Once the door shut, I said, “You can call me Bridget. It would be odd if we were engaged and you still called me Your Highness.”
“Apologies. Force of habit, Your—Bridget.” Discomfort crossed his face before he said, “I hope this doesn’t make things too awkward, but I wanted to speak with you regarding, er, Mr. Larsen.”
Every muscle tightened. If there was one person I wanted to discuss Rhys with less than my grandfather, it was my future fiancé.
“I won’t ask you whether the, uh, news is true,” Steffan added hastily. He knew it was. Rhys’s glower throughout our first date, the cracked flowerpot at the Royal Botanic Gardens, the day he ran into us at the hotel…I could see the pieces clicking together in his head. “It’s not my business what you did before our…engagement, and I know I’m not your first choice for a husband.”
Guilt warmed my cheeks. If we married, I wouldn’t be the only one trapped in a loveless union. “Steffan—”
“No, it’s fine.” He shook his head. “This is the life we were born into. My parents married for political convenience, and so did yours.”
True. But my parents had loved each other. They’d been lucky, until they hadn’t.
“You don’t love me, and I don’t expect you to. We…well, we’ve only spoken a few times, haven’t we? But I enjoy your company, and I’ll try my best to be a good consort. Perhaps this isn’t the fairytale love you may have dreamed of, but we could have a good life together. Our families, at least, will be happy.” Other than the twinge of bitterness coloring his last sentence, Steffan sounded like he was reciting from a teleprompter.
I studied him while he stared at the desk, his face taut and his hands gripping his knees with white-knuckled hands.
I more than recognized that expression and stance. These days, I lived them.
“Is it Malin?”
Steffan’s head jerked up, his expression resembling that of a deer in headlights. “Pardon?”
“The woman you’re in love with,” I said. “Is it Malin?”
Steffan’s throat flexed with a hard swallow. “It doesn’t matter.”
Three words. One confirmation of something we both already knew.
Neither of us wanted this. Our hearts belonged to other people, and if we married, it would be comfortable. Pleasant. Second best.
But it wouldn’t be love. It would never be love.
“I think it matters quite a lot,” I said gently.
Steffan released a long breath. “When I met you at your birthday ball, I had every intention of pursuing you,” he said. “You are lovely, but then in Preoria…she was my mother’s aide while she was recovering. It was only us in the house besides my mother, and slowly, without me even realizing it…”
“You fell in love,” I finished.
He cracked a small smile. “Neither of us expected it. We couldn’t stand each other at first. But yes, I fell in love.” The smile faded. “My father found out and threatened not only to cut me off if I didn’t end the relationship, but to ensure Malin never worked again in Eldorra. He doesn’t bluff. Not when a relationship with the royal family is at stake.” Steffan rubbed a hand over his face. “Apologies, Your H—Bridget. I realize this is extremely inappropriate for me to share, considering our arrangement.”
“It’s all right. I understand.” More than most people would.
“I had a feeling you might.”
I brought up something that had been nagging me since our hotel encounter. “If you were together, why did she push you to ask me out?”
Sadness flickered in his eyes. “The hotel was our last time together,” he said. “My father had returned to Preoria and dismissed her as my mother’s aide, so we had to go somewhere where we wouldn’t…where we could be alone. She knew about you and what my father expected of me. It was her way of letting us go.”
I tried to imagine myself pushing another woman into Rhys’s arms and recoiled at the thought.
I barely knew Malin, but I hurt for her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Silence lapsed for a beat before Steffan cleared his throat and straightened. “But I do enjoy your company, Bridget. We shall make a suitable match.”
A sad smile curved my lips. “Yes, we shall. Thank you, Steffan.”
I stayed in my office after he left, staring at the letters on my desk, the royal seal, and the calendar mounted on my wall.
Three weeks until my proposal.
Six months until my wedding.
Nine months until my coronation.
I could picture it all already. The dress, the church, the Coronation Oath, the heavy weight of the crown on my head.
I squeezed my eyes shut. The walls pressed in from all sides, and the roar of blood pounded in my ears, blocking out every other sound.
I’d grown accustomed to the idea of being queen. Part of me was actually excited to take the role and bring it into the twenty-first century. The monarchy had so many outdated customs that no longer made sense.
But I hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, nor had I expected it to happen without Rhys by my side, even if it was only as my bodyguard.
Stern and steady, grumpy and protective. My rock and anchor in the storm.
Breathe, princess. You are the future queen. Don’t let them intimidate you.
I wondered if Rhys had left Eldorra yet, and if he’d remember us ten, twenty, thirty years from now.
I wondered if, when he saw me on TV or in a magazine, he would think about Costa Rica and storms in a gazebo and lazy afternoons in a hotel room, or if he’d flip past with nothing more than a spark of nostalgia.
I wondered if I would haunt him as much as he haunted me.
“I wish you were here,” I whispered.
My wish bounced off the walls and drifted through the room, lingering, before it finally faded into nothing.
* * *