The Wild Heir(27)

He glares at me. “I wouldn’t call it horrible.”

“You’re a manwhore, playboy, womanizer.” I tick off my fingers. “Wannabe Casanova.”

“Wannabe? I think I’ve fully achieved Casanova status at this point.”

“You’re proud of it, too. So how on earth do you expect to settle down with someone and marry them? You do know what marriage vows are, don’t you?”

“This might be different,” he says.

“You mean you would break those vows?”

“Wouldn’t you, if you had to?”

I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. “I don’t even know why I’m discussing this with you. Of course you’d be okay with a lifetime full of illicit affairs as long as your public image remains pure.”

“There are a lot of marriages like that, more than you’d think, and it would be na?ve of you to think otherwise.”

“Then maybe I am na?ve and maybe I’m a bit of a romantic. And maybe I have morals and I take things like marriage seriously, which you obviously don’t since you don’t seem to take anything seriously. You think this world is your giant playground.”

He sucks in a breath as if I’ve seriously insulted him. The glint in his eyes turns mean. “You don’t know me. I take things that matter to me seriously and this matters to me. This is serious. And it would help if you took it seriously too.”

I press my hand to my chest. “I am taking it seriously. I think this is seriously messed up and that I’m seriously not interested in getting involved in a sham marriage with you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” He almost looks hurt and I realize I’ve been a little harsh with him. It seems like that’s the only way to get through to him. “Sorry. I’m sorry you have to be put in this position, and honestly, I do wish you the best of luck and happiness. But after this dinner, I have no plans to ever see you again.”

He nods, exhaling through his nose. “Man. I’m starting to feel sorry for every girl I’ve told that to.”

I roll my eyes and start to walk away. Unbelievable.

Just then the French doors open and the Queen steps out, holding up the hem of her dress so she doesn’t trod on it, a cell phone in her other hand.

“Princess Isabella,” the Queen says in a hush, holding the phone out for me. “It’s your father.”

“Is everything all right?” I ask, taking the phone from her.

She nods, a strange look in her eyes as she looks from me to Magnus. “He’s fine. He wishes to speak to you about our arrangement.”

My brows raise and I look back at Magnus in surprise. Arrangement? There is no arrangement.

I put the phone to my ear, completely expecting to hear Schnell’s voice. “Hello?”

“Isabella,” my father says in his thick German accent. “How are you?”

Oh my god. It’s actually my father.

“Father,” I say, feeling both breathless and giddy, like just hearing his voice is putting everything right again in my world. “I’m so happy to hear from you.” I glance at Magnus and notice him staring at me. I need to tone it down a bit. “Why are you calling?”

“I was just having a discussion with King Anders about you.”

“Oh, yes,” I say, my voice going higher. “What about?”

I mean, did he call the King? Did the King call my father? Have they always talked on the phone and I just didn’t know about it? Who else does my father know on a calling your cell phone basis?

“I’m sure you know what about, Isabella,” he says to me. “And I must say how thrilled I am at your decision.”

Oh god. Oh no.

“What decision?” I ask cautiously.

“To marry Prince Magnus.”

My mouth drops open. “I, uh…what did the King say?”

I glance wildly at the Queen hoping for some sort of clue but she’s a hard nut to crack and her face remains impassive except for the quick glances she keeps throwing at Magnus.

“Well, when he first called me yesterday he said that Prince Magnus was interested in getting to know you. I had hopes, of course, as any good father would, that this could lead to something grand and so I made sure you went to Oslo right away. But now that I’ve been talking to him, he said that you both hit it off and it looks like it will be a royal match. He did just propose right now, didn’t he? That’s what the King said. He took you out to the garden and popped the question.”

I slowly look over at Magnus and I can see that he has absolutely no idea what my father could be saying and he certainly didn’t so much as pop the question as to suggest it, like he was deciding what TV show we should watch tonight.

Oh, I could bloody well kill the King of Norway right now.

“Hopefully you said yes,” my father says, his voice going lower in that same disapproving way he’d use when I was younger. Every time he thought poorly of me he’d use that voice. “Oh, you only got a B on your math test? You did study, didn’t you?”

I don’t like to use the F-word without warrant but…

FUCK.

Tell him you said no. Tell him there was no proposal. Tell him the King was wrongly informed. Tell him…