Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 17

Seventeen

WINTER

T he Breakfast Place, my favorite spot on Main Street, is a flurry of activity this morning. Skiers are here in full force as we begin December at the bottom of the mountain, making my favorite diner feel even more quintessential Americana.

Around me, the dudes order, and I mumble something to the waitress about a sausage scramble that I hope is coherent. I grip a mug of Earl Grey, trying to focus on brunch, on seeing the guys, and not on Royal Hearts .

I’m on a fucking reality show. It’s been two weeks of dating women in groups with cameras following my every move, and my PA taking up all my thoughts. Why did I agree to this? I look around waiting for someone to recognize me, to ask if I’m that guy . How quickly I gave away my anonymity in this town. Before people knew who I was, but they didn’t care about an old rusty European title. Being the bachelor on a dating show is different.

I checked my computer this morning to tend to business things that needed my attention, and I stumbled across a new story highlighting the unorthodox show and the Danish crown’s PR team defending their choice to exploit their prince finding his queen. Royal Hearts is Prince Winter’s way of connecting with his people, letting them into his life which has remained uber-private up to this point. He’s looking forward to taking a wife, returning to Denmark, and taking the crown when his time comes. A direct quote from Anker. I slammed my laptop shut.

“Pass the salt?” Jack asks from across the table as our waitress lays a spread of eggs, bacon, grits, and pancakes in front of us. I pass him the salt but push my plate away.

The first few weeks of Royal Hearts were a blur of spray tans (I turned orange and scrubbed it off immediately), cheeky comments (I’m not as charming as I thought I was), and awkward dates (all around, I’m not sure anyone was having fun). My hands shook when Robbie’s camera pulled in close, my heart raced when I worried about saying the wrong thing, and I often compensated for it all by acting as if I didn’t care.

But I do. It was pure ignorance for me to think I could appear on camera for all the world to see and not feel judged, to the point of panic. Because of my history with the media, I do have some coping skills. I breathe deep, I visualize the cameras fading away, and I focus on something to ground me. When I was really little, Annie would take my hand in hers every chance she could. That was the best.

Now, I press my thumb into a little black heart on my wrist, since I no longer have painted fingernails. I think I like the black heart better.

When someone at the table laughs, and the men around me I call my best friends pound the table making water glasses jump, I join in. But I haven’t heard a word they’ve said.

I’ve worked in the barn as much as I can, mucking out stalls and feeding the horses while cameras recorded. I gave my stable hands some extra time off. Riding in the mornings helps take my mind off the show before we film, and yesterday I assisted Annie with a particularly difficult pot pie recipe that filled the main kitchen of Vikingstrong with savory smells just in time for a tour. But try as I might, thoughts about my feisty PA keep popping into my head.

Later today, on the doorstep of Vikingstrong, I’m supposed to say, and I quote, “I’m sorry, you will not receive the crown,” to ten of the fifteen women on the show. Ten.

This is grating on my nerves for a few different reasons, (1.) My entire personality, I’ve recently learned, revolves around making other people like me. My social anxiety from a childhood spent in front of media makes me want to pull away, but deep down I crave the approval. Stephen says it’s all wrapped up in my self-worth, that I desperately want to be close to people, and am also terrified by the thought. Fuck. I can feel my pulse jumping in my neck just thinking about it. Dumping ten women on a live stream doesn’t a likable, worthy of your admiration, man make. (2.) I think I’d like my PA to be part of the cast.

Which is a problem, since I’ve signed on to this show specifically to make her life hell. It’s too much fun playing with her, trying to make her crack a smile, and trying to pull down some of her walls. Cat’s not quite who I thought she was, and I find myself wondering almost every minute of the day— then who is she?

Shit.

“He’s being so quiet.” Ben Holiday passes syrup across the table. “My mom’s worried about you, you know. She noticed you didn’t go for seconds at Thanksgiving.”

Though I haven’t even unrolled my silverware, I say, “Let me eat in peace, Holiday.”

“You want me to tell Marion Holiday you no longer love her famous homemade gravy? Or you wanna tell us what’s up with you?”

John’s home from his trip and the dudes called an emergency brunch. “Did you guys break him while I was gone?” he asks, flipping his cap backward and digging into a veggie omelet.

Logan just got here but isn’t eating with us, something about a fast. “Wasn’t us, but something’s gotten under his skin,” he adds, sipping hot water and lemon.

“Something with dark hair, named after an animal—which is perfect for him—and knows how to put a prince in his place,” Ben adds.

I glare at him but don’t put full force behind it. “Do you want me to start in on your love life? How you’re still hung up on your high school sweetheart, you run every time she calls, knowing full well you get your heart shattered every time?”

He puts his hands up and leans back. “You know what, I’m gonna let Boggs take this one.”

“Don’t get involved with Francesca’s sister,” John says matter of fact. “You two do not have good history.”

“Bro, you’ve been gone for two weeks, how do you already know it’s Frannie’s sister?” Jack asks.

“I happen to be living with one of the Bloomfield sisters. And we caught a few episodes of the live stream before Frannie turned it off and said it was too weird watching Cat on TV.”

Ben chews through a grin and says, “The PA he had to have is putting him through his paces. It’s poetic.”

“I mean,” John leans in, “I’ve never seen tension between two people so thick. They were on the mountain, you know at Little Star, and he was about to puke all over this girl because of vertigo?—”

“Oh shit,” Jack covers his mouth trying to swallow a laugh.

“And then Cat comes over,” John goes on, “shoos the girl away, gives him water, and tells him to pull it together and man up.”

“That’s not exactly how it went,” I interject. “I was sick. It’s a condition.” These guys are supposed to be on my side.

“Well you should have seen him on the craft-date-thing at Revival, there was a hot glue in cleavage incident, and our boy was all ‘ Can I help, can I have your permission to dab at your chest? ’” Jack laughs raucously and they all join in.

“Man, I need to start streaming this at work,” Ben chuckles.

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” I point around the table. “I’m family. You have to support me.”

“Fannie’s gonna be my family, too, pretty soon,” John’s eyes dance and the table sobers, “which means you’re gonna have to get along with her sister.”

That shakes me out of my complaining. “Did Fran say anything? About me and Cat?”

All four men clap and pound their fists on the table. “Damn, you nailed it. It is the PA that’s gotten under his skin. What happens if you two marry sisters?” Ben asks, still grinning ear to ear while packing away his breakfast potatoes. “I did catch a little at my parents’ house last night. My sisters had it on, and you could bottle the attraction between you two and use it as bait. I like that they’re filming everything. Cutting from shot to shot. Giving us behind-the-scenes footage with the producer and the crew. Feels very artsy,” he muses, adjusting the aviators on his head. The guy could have been an actor, I’m not surprised he’s into it.

“There’s absolutely zero going on there, I promise you. The tension you see is absolute revulsion, coming from both sides. What about you?” I ask Logan. Is everyone watching me make an ass out of myself in front of the world? “Are you watching, too?”

“No.” That’s all he says while sipping lemon water, his big bear paw wrapped around a cream mug.

“No one’s marrying anybody,” I go on. Even though I know John’s planning on proposing soon, I thought he’d do it on their trip but he hasn’t made that announcement so I’m guessing he choked.

“Well, actually, you’re marrying someone at the end of this asinine show you signed up for.” The brackets around Ben’s constant smile pop, and I can see myself reflected in the mirrored glasses propped in his sun-streaked hair. I look miserable .

I groan.

“Don’t worry buddy, I’ll be right behind you. And then we work on these two chuckle-heads,” John says, pointing at Logan and Ben because Jack and Wagner started the whole wedding fever that seems to be working its way through my brunch crew.

The waitress appears over his shoulder with a check she places neatly on the table. “Please fill out the survey on the back of the card for The Breakfast Place if you’ve enjoyed your meal. I get a gold star,” she drones, clearly not as motivated as one might think.

We all throw our credit cards in a pile and Ben shuffles them like a deck of cards. “And the lucky winner is?—”

I feel her presence before I hear her voice. “Where the hell have you been?”

“ Uh-oh ,” the dudes chorus as one, like a classic sitcom track. I swear, they probably practice when they’re supposed to be paying attention at lake committee meetings.

Turning in my chair, I look up to see my PA frowning down at me. She’s all in black with lips so red, like an apple I could almost take a bite of. “At brunch?” I motion to the table to make sure I’m right because she’s looking at me like I have horns.

“We’re supposed to be filming!” She launches forward, grabbing me by the collar and hauling me to my feet.

“I thought we started at four?” Is it so wrong that I like her jerking me around? I need to ask Stephen what that means and how I can fix it.

She pulls at my bicep and I take a few steps, letting her think she’s got a hold on me.

“That got changed. Didn’t you check our mailbox?”

“You two have a mailbox?” Ben plunks his chin on folded hands and bats his eyes at us.

I point at him, “Don’t start, Romeo.” Out of all of us, he’s the biggest ladies’ man and the most moony about romance. I turn to Cat and give her my full attention. “You hardly use it, so I didn’t think?— ”

“Well, I’m using it now. And you missed my note.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. She’s using our mailbox . A silly thing I got a notion to build out in the barn in the middle of the night. I never thought she’d play along.

Noted, Bloom.

“Is it me, or are we about to witness Winter Larsen’s first grovel?” Ben whispers to the table, loud enough I hear it.

I pull my keys from my pocket. Without further protest or apology, I stand and say, “Let’s go,” and motion for her to lead the way.

“Gentlemen, I’ll return him when I’m finished.” She nods with a half-smile and a mischievous twinkle in her eye, instantly winning them over. “Hey, John.” She waves.

“And that’s Ben Holiday,” I point him out, “Logan Green,” Logan tips his cup, “And you know Jack.”

“Hey, Cat.” Jack waves. “I’ve gotten a lot of foot traffic since filming, thanks.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” she says. “John, give Frannie a hug for me. I can’t wait to see her.”

“She’s dying to see you, too. Can’t reach you on your cell but that’s because of the show, right?” He turns his baseball hat back around, a tic he picked up when he played pro-ball.

“Right. Tell her to stop by the set today if she’s free. We’re filming at Vikingstrong all afternoon. The first crown ceremony.”

“Ooooh,” every single voice at the table unanimously mocks me, “ Crown ceremony ,” the chortle.

“You can all come,” Cat laughs. “Just don’t sign an NDA if you don’t want to be caught in the background.”

“No. You cannot all come,” I say, looking at her with wide eyes. She’s betrayed me already. I thought she had my back.

When did I start thinking that? When she took care of me in the bathroom of the bakeshop? When she found me water on the mountain?

“Sounds like we’ll be there,” Ben winks .

“Are you committed to being late?” Cat throws her hands out wide when I fail to follow her as she turns.

“So long, fellas.” I salute them, deciding to take the high road. The more I beg them not to show up this afternoon, the more determined they’ll be to make room in their schedules. “I’ve got a gaggle of women to date.”

John yells, “Glad someone’s got you on a leash, Larsen!” as I make my way out of the restaurant. “It’s about damn time.”

Men’s laughter follows me almost all the way to my car, I can see them through the front window, carrying on and saying God knows what about me. My credit card is getting picked for roulette. No doubt.

“Get in,” I say to Cat. Surprisingly, she does, slamming the door of my G-Class behind her. “How’d you get here anyway?”

“Darcy dropped me off on her way to yoga.”

I raise an eyebrow in her direction as I start the engine and check behind us for traffic on Main Street. “And how’d you know I was here?”

“I used the front desk phone to call Annie. Darcy gave me the number.” She tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear, looking satisfied with herself as I gaze at the curve of her cheek. Her profile is positively Roman, perfect and balanced.

“You spoke to Annie?”

“Yup. We had a nice little chat.”

“About?” I prompt, straightening in my seat and gripping her headrest as I back out of the space.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sure would. I’d also like to know why it lights me up from the inside out thinking of Annie and Cat chatting on the phone—about me.

I floor the gas pedal, something electric and exciting coursing through me as we take the curves in the road at a clip. She lurches back and cracks a smile.

“Where are we headed?” I ask, my head completely foggy with the sight of her in my car, her lavender smell filling the small space .

“We’re filming on the front step of Vikingstrong, remember? I reminded you of all of this in the letter.”

“Bloom, I can’t wait to read your letter. From now on, I check that mailbox first thing every morning. I won’t even stop to put on breeches. I’ll ride out in my pajamas.”

“See that you do.”

“Your box is very important to?—”

“Winter!” I chuckle, enjoying her feigned shock at innuendo. Is this what we do now? When did we crossover from sparring to bantering?

“Excuse me, let me rephrase: your letters are very important to me.” I throw her a half-grin and to my shock, she smiles back fully and laughs out loud.

I’ve never seen her like this. “Cat Bloomfield, are you flirting with me?”

“You started it,” she says, not looking at me and scrolling through my playlist on my monitor.

My brain demands I fill the encroaching silence like it always does. “I’m nervous about today,” I admit.

“Really?” she turns in her seat to face me as I follow Main Street’s curve toward Paradise Bay and Vikingstrong. “You know, before all of this, I didn’t think someone like you got nervous.”

“Someone like me?” She’s leaning in, over the center console of the car, listening intently to every word I say.

“All the confidence.”

“You’ve certainly seen me struggle, now,” I almost swallow the words but push them out anyway.

“But you overcome that struggle, every time,” she counters, arguing for me.

“Ah. Well, you see, I can fake it through most things in life. Be whatever it is I need to be. But despite the fact you think I’m evil incarnate, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings today.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t think that part of this through. There’s a plan I’ve been chewing on,” I hit a blinker and pull the car to the side of the road. “Can I run it by you?”

“Should you call Stephen?” I can’t tell if she’s joking, or if all our real conversations are starting to add up for her. Are we both beginning to see each other in a different light, as an ally, instead of an enemy?

“I think you can handle it.”

“Okay,” she shrugs, “proceed.”

“I think I should cut all the nice women first.”

She makes a face. “Why would you do that?”

“Well, and this may come as a shock, Bloom, brace yourself—my heart really isn’t in this. Originally, I was going to be an asshole, piss you off, make you quit. I hadn’t thought much past that, I think maybe I was out to piss off my parents, too. For blindly following the Crown’s ridiculous PR stunt.”

She stills, I know she’s thinking about the end game for her in all of this. If I ruined the show by quitting, her business reputation might be at risk. “And now?” she whispers, her voice as light as I’ve ever heard it.

“Plans have changed, per your request . And I figure, if I cut the women who are here for love, I save them from any real heartbreak. Get them back to their lives, and their families. There are plenty of women who are here for their fifteen minutes of fame. I keep them, instead.”

“That’s surprisingly chivalrous of you.”

“See. I can play nice. The other day, I realized you’re not exactly who I thought you were. I’m man enough to say it. Maybe the banana splits both ways.”

“What?” she makes a face at me.

I glance her way, “Is that not an American saying?”

“No.”

I run my hand through my hair and scratch comically at my chin. “Well, it should be.”

She leans back in her seat, looking to the roof of the car. “Are you really nervous about today? I thought it might get easier for you, I know you don’t like the spotlight, but I figured you’d get used to it. That you were used to it.”

“Look,” I hold one hand up, and yes, it’s shaking, “have you ever thought maybe you got a few things about me wrong, too?”

Shocking the hell out of me, she takes my hand and stretches it across the console. “I think we both misjudged each other. You’re shaking.” Then she digs into her bag, pulls out her marker, and begins drawing a heart.

My armor.

Her fingers grip my wrist with a light touch and I lean toward her, desperate for more warmth, more affection, all of it. My voice is gravelly when I speak. “I’m sorry.”

I glance at her then back to the road and wait for what she says next. Traffic moves past us as we idle on the shoulder. We need to get going, but I’m not ready. Not yet. This feels like a pivotal moment between us and I wish I knew which way it was going.

She drops her marker in my cupholder, then intertwines her fingers with mine. “I’m sorry, too, and I hate that this is hard for you.”

I’m afraid to say anything, to ruin the moment, the magic in this new world where Cat Bloomfield doesn’t hate me.

And I don’t hate her.

Not even close.

Maybe all the tension between us from the very start has been because we have a few things in common, perhaps because deep down we like each other.

I pull back onto the road, driving with one hand.

On the steps of Vikingstrong, under crossed dragon heads carved by my ancestors, ten women stand in front of me while I hold one of my great-great-great-grandmother’s crowns .

My eyes dart to Cat. She looks away.

The crown is heavy, and I’m overwhelmed standing alone on the steps to my house while all eyes are glued to me. Hungry. Waiting. Thankfully, when we arrived, Cat had a chat with Marco and convinced him to let me do the first cut in one fell swoop. My gratitude toward my PA is immense.

“I’m sorry,” I shift my feet and try to keep my face neutral. “I’ve called this group here today because I cannot offer you the crown.” The red light on Robbie’s camera seems to blink double time, and I’m holding on to the crown with a grip that could bend steel.

The women gasp, some sigh, some give me a little wave goodbye. It’s over and I gulp down air. There’s not enough of it, even though we’re outside with the lake lapping in front of us. The first cut, standing in front of the camera on my own, had been weighing on me. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time, and I also don’t know how long I can keep this up. Filming is affecting me the way being followed by cameras as a kid in Skagen used to affect me.

It’s downright paralyzing and I eagerly descend the stairs ready to be done for the day.

“Wait, Winter, stay right there,” the producer shouts. I barely hold myself up while a crew member takes the crown from my hands, I was about to have a nice little sit—instead of possibly passing out in front of everyone. Marco doesn’t seem to notice. “We need a quick interview with you. Robbie, pull in tight.”

“On it,” Robbie approaches me and settles for five feet of distance, which I appreciate compared to my first round of interviews when he was damn near in my lap.

Cat’s eyes meet mine and she must see something she doesn’t like because she yells, “Hold for wardrobe!”

“Doesn’t anyone understand we’re live?” Robbie asks in a rare verbal moment .

“Hey,” I whisper when Cat comes to stand beside me. “Was that okay?”

“Numbers are high,” she says, meeting my eyes, “but you’re white as a sheet. I thought you could use a minute.” She reaches up to brush at my hair, but I’m too tall, so I move down to the step below her, my back to the camera.

Oh. “Thank you.”

“You did good,” she says, and I fucking preen at those small words of affirmation, some of the pressure to perform fading away.

Instead of responding, I test the new touching policy she instated in my car this morning as my hand wraps lightly around her hip. “Because of you,” I murmur. “I feel better when I’m grounded by something, or to something.”

“We’re both mic’d, and you can’t . . .” She makes eyes at my hand, visible to Robbie’s camera, and I guess the world.

“Sorry. I don’t know what to do with my hands.” What I just did took way more of an emotional toll than I thought it would. Even though the women took it well, I’m suddenly struggling with the entire premise of the show.

“You’re fidgeting,” she says.

“Yeah, Bloom. I’m aware.”

“Here.” She hooks my pointer fingers in the belt loops of her jeans. There’s barely room between us and no one can see. I hold on.

It’s a miracle she’s being nice to me, and I don’t want to fight with her. For a while, since last summer I think, I loved sparring with her. I may have even been looking forward to it when the show started, but now, I crave her praise and her smiles just as much.

She’s still running her fingers through my hair, lightly squeezing my earlobes in an effort to calm me, and it’s working. I almost purr.

“Cat, what’s the holdup?” Marco yells.

“Two more minutes, he needs gel.” She pulls a bottle from her belt bag and after rubbing a dot of gel in her palms, begins moving it through my hair. “You good?”

I glance over her shoulder and sure enough, Robbie’s camera is trained on us from the bottom of the steps, and he’s got this look like he doesn’t want to break us up but feels bad about filming, too.

“Any day now. We’re at your leisure,” Marco yells from a snack table set up for production. “His hair is fine. It’s always fine. It’s a character of its own at this point, people love it—there’s a hashtag, I think.”

“Not yet,” I say for only her to hear, leaning in a little more so I can inhale her scent. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. Why is she so comforting? Like my own personal brand of bandages.

“I need to check his mic pack,” she yells over me, pulling me closer so that I can graze her skin with my cheek. That’s a blatant lie, and I love it, chuckling into her neck.

“They’re picking all this up, you know. Viewers are probably watching and listening right now,” I murmur.

“Let them,” she whispers, and I melt a little more. Surrender a little more to her right there on the steps of my home.

Marco groans. “Why don’t we call this the Cat and Winter show?”

“I would ship them!” Ben Holiday’s voice rings out from somewhere on the beach.

I turn around while she pretends to check my mic pack clipped to the back of my pants and find all the guys in a huddle steps behind Robbie. Though I tried to deter them, it helps a little more, knowing they’re all here to watch me make an ass out of myself. They showed up to support me. They always do.

Ben’s words embolden me, who knows why, and as quietly as I can while looking past Robbie, past his camera, past the crew, to the lake, I whisper, “Maybe I should just hand you the crown and send everyone else home. ”

Her fingers still and she goes rigid behind me. “What did you say?” she whispers back, it’s more to herself than to me.

I keep my eyes trained on my buddies, on the lake, a tiny smile tipping my lips. My own confusion takes over my nerves, the awkward but giddy feeling is better than almost passing out. And I like her reaction. I’ve caught her totally off guard.

“What’s shipping?” John asks from across the lawn.

“It’s being obsessed with a couple. Man, you’ve got a sister, too. How do you not know this?” Ben responds.

“Guys, if you’re not signing NDAs you need to get off my set,” Marco yells, exasperated but smiling nonetheless. “What am I running here, a kindergarten? Cat, get out of the shot!” Marco’s shouts grow so loud that crew members next to him cover their ears comically.

That catapults her into action, stumbling down the steps and off to the side. Her face is red, her chest is heaving, and she’s left me feeling the same if not worse.

Did I mean it?

Maybe?

I could talk to her on dates all day long, our conversation is always easy and real, so much different than I’ve ever felt with anyone else. It’s just natural. The camera fades away when she’s next to me. I guess, everything does. When I’m with her, she’s got my sole attention.

“Winter?” Marco asks, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” I say, but my voice is hoarse and dazed.

“Question number one,” he says, glancing at Cat curiously, she’s frozen behind Robbie at the moment. Tongue-tied. The producer carries on, “You signed on to this show to find a partner. Do you think you can fall in love in a matter of weeks?”

“Uh, sure. Why not?”

He smiles. “So, do you think the one is here? We’ve been filming for almost a month now. Is the woman for you here on Royal Hearts ?”

What should I say? I could give a flippant answer, or I could say something that would make Royal Hearts viewers hopeful. Make Cat believe this show is going to be a success, and therefore, Brand Hub a success. Didn’t she say, if I look good, she looks good?

The answer is out of my mouth in a flash, “One hundred percent, yes.”

My eyes meet Cat’s, now standing with my buddies on the beach as if she’s one of them. She looks over her shoulder, out toward the lake and the guys erupt into hoots, hollers, and catcalls.

If it’s a battle not to look at me, she loses, dragging her gaze back to mine as I stand on the steps of my castle and add, “She’s here.”