The Wild Heir(88)

She doesn’t say anything to that, just moves away to the bathroom and shuts the door.

I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. This is still so messy, still so complicated. I thought it would get easier with time but so far, it’s not.

And a part of me is afraid getting married won’t fix a thing.

We end up going to dinner not on speaking terms, which makes things fucking awkward as anything. Luckily, we’ve gotten so good at faking things so far, that any strain between us isn’t apparent to anyone else.

Well, except for Aksel. I can’t read that man very well, but I can tell he thinks something is a bit out of whack. I’m just not sure if he’s picking up on the fight or something else. The whole sham marriage thing.

It isn’t until after the guests leave and we’ve put on our last fake smiles that Ella says she has a headache and quickly excuses herself, going to the room.

Aksel and I are sitting in the lounge (one of them, anyway, there’s, like, ten in this palace) with glasses of aquavit and he’s staring at me curiously.

I look around the room, avoiding his eyes. “So which room out of all the rooms is your favorite? Must be hard to choose.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?” he asks.

I stare at him. “What?”

“Your fiancée,” he says. “She didn’t seem well.”

“She’s fine. Just a headache.”

He takes his time digesting that as he takes a sip of his drink. “How long have you guys known each other again?”

I can’t tell if there’s more behind that question than he’s letting on. “Why?” I ask carefully. I may have told Viktor the truth about us but I’m not sure how honest I should be with Aksel.

He shrugs with one shoulder. “I don’t know,” he says smoothly. “I know we don’t talk often but it does feel like this came out of left field. In other words, Magnus, this isn’t like you.”

“Maybe I’m growing up,” I say, wincing as I take a sip. Good lord it burns, it burns. “You know, I got diagnosed with ADHD and I’ve been learning to handle myself better so maybe that’s what you’re picking up on.”

“You don’t say,” he says wryly. “And don’t change the subject. When did you meet her? How long have you known her?”

“I’m not changing the subject,” I counter. “I just want to know why you’re so suspicious of my fiancée.”

“I’m not suspicious of her,” he says. “But it’s obvious you two don’t know each other.” He pauses. “Is she pregnant? Is this a shotgun wedding?”

“Maybe you should slow down on the aquavit there, Hamlet. She’s not pregnant. In fact, we were just arguing over kids upstairs.”

Oh, I think I’ve said too much.

“You do know Hamlet was the Prince.”

“And he was also the father. King Hamlet. Hey, I paid attention to Shakespeare in school. I thought he had the lowdown on what the real royal life was like.”

“Why were you arguing over kids?”

“Why are you suddenly Mr. Talkative? What happened to Mr. Quiet and Mr. Brooding?”

“Nothing happened to him,” he says. He grows quiet and then seems to brood into his drink right in front of my eyes. “I haven’t really talked to anyone in a while.”

Well, shit, now I feel bad. And I certainly don’t want him to feel worse.

“What happened with your nanny? I thought you were getting a new one.”

For the first time I see a smile creep on his face. A small one, invisible to the naked eye, but it’s there. “I did get a new one. She’s actually more of a governess. From Australia. The girls love her.”

I raise my brow and take a drink before I ask, “What’s her name, this Australian governess?”

“Aurora,” he says.

“Pretty,” I comment.

“She is,” he says. Then he clears his throat. “So, you don’t want kids…?”

“I never said that. I told her I’d never thought about it.”

“You never thought about having kids and yet you asked this woman to marry you? Magnus, you have to come up with a better story than that.”

“It is not a story,” I say in overblown defensiveness, like how dare you insult my sensibilities.

But I don’t have the energy to keep this up around him.

“Okay fine, here’s the truth. Ready, King Hamlet?” I exhale loudly. “I fucked up with that sex video. Everyone hated me. Pretty sure that included my own family. I had to get married to someone royal and nice to improve my image. I was arranged to meet Ella. She reluctantly agreed to marry me. Now we’re getting married, everyone has forgotten about the video, and appears to love us all again, and that, my friend, is that.”

“Uh huh,” he says slowly, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers together. “You left out the part where you’ve fallen in love with her.”

I stiffen. “That’s neither here nor there. And damn you for assuming that.”

“I don’t know how you can possibly be ashamed of it.”

“Who said I was ashamed of it?” I look at him sharply.