The Wild Heir(16)

“Sometimes you need to get inappropriate,” she calls after me as I head over to the door, my shoes sloshing as I walk. “It would do you some good!”

I open the door and look over my shoulder. “With any luck he won’t even be there so I don’t have to be embarrassed over my lady-in-waiting drooling over the Crown Prince and picturing him naked. I’m going to pack and I’ll come back here in an hour. Just promise me when I do you keep your head out of the gutter.”

She gives me a grave nod, standing up straighter, and I know there will be no promises. Sometimes it feels like I’m the one keeping Jane in line and not the other way around. This time though, I know the both of us have no idea what to expect.

For once I’m going to have to put on my princess face and act like I belong.





Four





Magnus





When I was younger, I was the world’s shittiest student. It explained why going to university after high school was never even on my radar. What was the point when everything to do with studying bored me to tears? Besides, even if there was something I was interested in, the testing system was always designed to make me fail. Every time I sat down to take a test, it didn’t matter how well I knew the subject, I totally froze. I couldn’t decide on the right answer for the life of me. Everything I knew went out the window and my mind went a million other places instead. As a result, I flunked.

So you can see why I’m having second, third, and fourth thoughts about my choice of princesses from the fact sheet.

Let’s just push aside the truth for a moment, that what I’m doing is extremely unrealistic, and, well, silly. Let’s forget that I’m actually selecting a human being to be my motherfucking wife and get down to the gritty facts and logistics. Those being that even though I spent a good week pouring over my options and Google and Facebook and Instagram stalking these blue-blooded, noble ladies to the extreme, I’m still having doubts that I’ve picked the right one.

But how can I even know that at this point? How can I pick the right one if I haven’t even met them face-to-face? There’s so much more than just what my father said about intelligence and wit and it’s got nothing to do with looks. It has to do with sexual chemistry. I’ve been with my fair share of women and not all of them are stellar supermodels. Okay, some literally are. Sometimes I’m after the same pack of women as Leonardo DiCaprio. Hell, sometimes I see Leo at the same party and we do this head nod as if to say, what up brother, keep doing you.

Where am I even going with this? Right. So sometimes I’ve been with women who aren’t conventionally beautiful for one reason or another, but I connected with them on another level. If you want to get into that deep shit, you could say that it’s our souls that forged with one another. If you want to stay real, it’s more that your bodies want to forge. You want to fuck and you’re both very good at it, so you do it and go your separate ways. That’s that.

Anyway, I’ve had to scour page after page of these women and try and settle on one of them, and even though I was never fully confident about my pick—because how can I be—I’m doubting myself now.

As I pace back and forth in the main hall of the royal palace.

Hands behind my back.

Waiting for her arrival.

I don’t know what was said or what was promised, but the moment I went to my parents and told them I’d settled on Princess Isabella of Liechtenstein, calls were made, and then I was told she’d be here tonight for dinner so I could meet her in person.

I’m not sure if this is just a trial dinner, you know, like speed dating, princess-style, or something more. I’m pretty sure if I don’t like her, if she turns out to be a total bore, if we have zero spark or chemistry, I can move on to my second and third choice picks, though honestly, I can’t remember who they are right now which tells you a lot.

The reason I picked Isabella was because she looked the most normal. Apparently she was in a boarding school in England during her high school years and now is studying at St. Andrews University in Scotland. Other than a barely updated Facebook page, there isn’t a lot of information on her, which I took as a good sign. The tabloids don’t follow her, she doesn’t do anything that makes the news, and for the most part, it looks as if she lives a life of total anonymity.

And, yes, of course, she’s pretty as hell. Striking, even. Tall, blonde, sparkling eyes, and a big smile. She exudes charm and warmth through her photographs, more than any of the others did. There was no formality in them, no forced cheer. She just seemed real.

Lord knows if she’ll match my expectations.

“Nervous?”

I stop my pacing and turn around to see Mari standing in the doorway to the sitting room. Her blonde hair is braided down both sides, and her black and red dress almost looks like the traditional Norwegian dress. It strikes me that Mari is closer to Princess Isabella’s age than I am.

“Me, nervous?” I ask her with a smile.

“Of course not,” she says, slowly walking over. “Prince Magnus worries about nothing.”

My smile falters slightly. I wish that perception of me were true.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” I ask her as she walks over to the window and peers down at the courtyard at the back of the palace.