Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 31

Thirty-One

WINTER

A m I all bluster and bullshit?

God, I hope not. I just told a gorgeous woman to wait for me in my bed and now I’m not sure I’ve got the nerve to back it up. Last night, I just said it. The L word.

And fuck if that isn’t the road I’m on. I told her it was a mistake, a slip, but isn’t that what they say about people who drink too much wine and then spill the truth? My high was coming straight from the smell of lavender on her skin, from the way she gripped my fingers when I slipped them inside her, the way she looked right at me and told me she wanted my mouth on her. I have never been so affected by a woman. It’s because I’ve had too many intimate days with Cat, surrounded by her wit and determination, charmed by her, enamored with the secrets she tells me in the dark, and the truths she elicits from me in return.

Am I on my way to loving her? Do I love her already? Like a long walk off a short pier, I’m going, almost gone . . .

I’ve got to get my head straight before I go back to her.

The barn is my happy place, so that’s where I head for a quick check on the horses and to sort out my thoughts while a French press sits on the kitchen counter and a stack of pancakes warm in the oven. Snow crunches under my boots and I relish the feeling of sun on my face. The quiet.

I spoke to her as if I’ve got it all figured out. Like I didn’t choke last night. And fucking bless her, she seems happy to forgive me. To continue whatever it is we’re starting with no inclination of how it will end, or how invested I, albeit stupidly, already am.

Except, I have a sneaking suspicion loving Cat Bloomfield would be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

Truth is, I got scared. I’m a coward. I pulled away and instantly regretted it, then didn’t know how to fix it and now, I’ve got to pull myself up by the short hairs and make-up for it. We’ll figure out all the Royal Hearts contract bullshit and how we’ll finish the show later. Even if I’m falling for someone behind the camera, I know I’ve got to finish—for my people and for Cat.

Something matters to me for the first time in a long time and I’m smart enough to apologize and pivot before I fuck it up for certain.

It’s the words that came out of my mouth unbidden and yes, technically in jest, that scare me. I’ve never told anyone I love them, other than Annie, or the dudes when we were half-popped on a bottle of scotch, and of course, Lola. But she’s a dog.

I tell all my animals I love them constantly. That doesn’t count.

Do I even know what those three little words mean? What they entail? What I’ll need to do to back them up if I tell Cat, much, much, later that I mean them?

I shake my head and slide open thick, cedar barn doors. I’m getting off track.

The stalls are mucked out, piled high with clean bedding and hay, and I march down the row pouring oats into feedbags. The horses whinny and nicker at the sight and smell of me, and the feeling is mutual. Just being in here, my safe space, surrounded by soft pungent smells that take me right back to childhood and the only place I was happy, is enough for me to allow myself a deep breath.

Destiny, the newest pony in my barn who is now quite steady on her feet, nudges me with her nose. “Hello, girl. I see you.” I pat her neck and feel my body calm, let her take worry and dissolve it in a way only an animal can.

God, I’m a fool. As if priding myself my entire thirty-plus years up to this point on my intelligence, my ability to control a room, to charm a crowd, has led me to the moment I’d royally fuck up the one thing I really wanted. I didn’t charm Cat last night—I almost hurt her. Even after I blew it last night, she stayed. She didn’t leave. The things I told her, things I’ve never told anyone—not even the dudes—about what scares me, and about who I am deep down. Things about still hoping for my family’s love, I didn’t even know it until the words left me, coaxed by her calm voice, her firm hand gently rubbing my arm from shoulder to elbow until I’d gotten it all out.

Brave, selfless, ballsy girl.

Faintly, from across the property, the sound of crunching snow bounces off the lake and surrounding trees. But when I exit the barn, it’s not Cat, disregarding my request to stay in bed and wait for me, it’s a town car. With tiny royal flags flying proudly from the hood.

I dust my hands off on my thighs and brush oats from the t-shirt I threw on.

Eerily familiar voices waft across the property as I stomp toward my back door.

My fucking parents.

No one informed me they were in the country, but I catch a glimpse of them coming up the walk, heading toward the front door, and I call out for them to stop .

Annie pops out of her cheery yellow carriage house door adorned with a skinny Scandinavian Christmas wreath as I’m passing. “Did you see? On the monitors, it’s your parents. You really need some security, Winter. Anyone could show up willy-nilly. I think you’d rather they didn’t! Most of all, your parents.”

“I saw them. Go back to your tea, Annie. I can handle it.”

“Better hurry.”

I holler out to try and get their attention as I jog toward the house but my attempts at catching them go unanswered. My jog turns into a sprint and exactly fifty-four seconds later, because yes, I’m counting with the beat of my heart as I race through the house and up the stairs, a regal queen walks through my bedroom door before I can stop her.

I make it to the threshold in time to hear Cat scream.

“Oh my God!” She scrambles to cover her naked body.

Well, not all naked. My riding helmet falls to the ground and I see her throw my crop across the room as if it had suddenly burst into flames.

Damn, I would have liked to get a good look at her holding my gear while wearing nothing else. Fucking parents. “Mom, I yelled for you to stop. You had to hear me?—”

I put a hand on my dad’s chest to stop him from entering. He gives me a look, catching on that there’s an indecent woman in my room. Which supermodel is it this week? his eyes ask, even though I haven’t been that guy in some time.

Cat grasps at sheets to cover herself and I push past my parents. Dad, dutifully hovering in the hallway with his hands over his eyes for good measure.

With rushed steps, I cross the floor and chuck an afghan Annie knit me for Christmas last year at the stunning woman in my bed, the woman who’s surely going to roast my balls on a stick for this.

Pancakes, which are probably dry as hay at this point, are not going to cut it .

“I, I can explain Mrs. . . .” Cat’s voice trails off, speechless. Which is a sight to see but I tell myself not to dwell on that right now and help her out instead.

I open my mouth, but Mom interjects before I can get a word out. “Let’s all put our clothes on and meet downstairs.” Her tone is judgmental, to say the least. They know Cat is my PA, and they know she’s supposed to be here helping me find a woman to marry on the show. They know finding her in my bed is classic Winter-the-royal-fuck-up material.

I hate them for lumping her into an already low opinion of me.

“This is all a misunderstanding, I can explain . . .” I trail off, speechless myself because, how do I explain what this is? I don’t even know what this is, and if I tell them what I think this is, they’ll surely laugh me all the way to the lake where I’ll swiftly drown in embarrassment.

“I have all my clothes on.” My father, clearing his throat, offers primly from the hall.

I grimace. He always thought I made terrible decisions and never understood my need to get out of a loveless family and live in America. Even though I’m a grown man with every right to have a woman in my bed, I can feel them judging me for straying from the plan their team set in motion with Royal Hearts .

“Mom,” I gesture with a sweep of my arm toward the door. “Please, excuse us. I’ll be down in a minute.”

The Queen of Denmark turns on her heel and I hear her murmuring for my father to follow. Their footsteps echo on the wood floor until Cat and I are in silence, staring at each other with wide eyes.

“I can’t imagine what they must think of me,” she says.

“I can’t imagine a world where you care.” The flippant statement is out of my mouth before I can think twice about it—because it’s true, the Cat I know wouldn’t care a wink.

“Winter! This isn’t a game. Of course, I care what your parents think of me,” she yells, jumping from my bed and scrambling to grab her clothes off my chest of drawers where I’d left them folded.

She nips into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked while she changes. I avert my gaze, though it’s a struggle. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, it doesn’t matter what they think. I don’t care, and neither should you.”

“Fine,” she says, emerging from the bathroom, finger-combing her hair behind her ears. “What do you suggest we say?”

“We say nothing. We go down there, and I hear them out. Their opinion of us doesn’t matter to me. But I know they’re here for a reason, and I’d like to have it so I can send them on their way. If you want to go?—”

“Go?”

“You don’t have to endure?—”

“And leave you to the firing squad? I don’t think so.”

My heart swells and I tell it to stand down. I can’t deal with my parents and my growing feelings for Cat at the same time.

We trudge down the stairs together, hand in hand which makes me feel some kind of wild for her, and find my parents sitting in the living room. Annie appears in a beautiful knit sweatered with turtle doves that she’s been working on all year, and she’s made a neat pot of tea with all the accoutrements. She serves my parents and pours a cup for Cat and me without asking.

After handing us the tea, she leaves the room, but not before giving me a gentle squeeze on my forearm. She also pauses to push her shoulders back, and prop her chin up, all while looking at Cat, who gets the message and does the same.

A grandfather clock ticks away while Christmas decorations glitter in the morning light.

“May we speak freely in front of your guest?” Mom asks, sipping her tea.

“Yes,” I grit, lifting my steaming cup to my lips so it might soothe the nerves rolling around in my belly.

They’ve got an announcement. I can smell it .

“Do you want to tell him, Frederik?” My mom says.

Dad takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. “We came to tell you the Crown is pulling out of the show. The theatrics aren’t becoming, and it’s clear none of the ladies,” he says ladies as if he’s speaking about vermin under his shoe, “are adequate, anyway.”

My mother’s hands bunch in her lap. “Anker is trying to protect the brand. He says the people do not like this version of you.” Everyone has a fucking brand, even royals.

“There are so many ways to elevate and reinvigorate your brand, as a family, as a united force for your people. Likability shouldn’t fall solely on one person.” Cat speaks directly to my mom, comfortable talking shop. I wonder if the passion in her voice will make it through their thick skulls.

“You should hire her,” I say, smug while my parents realize in real time how smart and savvy Cat Bloomfield is. Formidable. I also hope they finally fire Anker.

“Frederik, maybe she’s right—” Mom is stepping out on a limb here, trying to intervene and it hits me right in the chest.

“You’ve been released from your contract,” my dad finishes firmly, ignoring my mom, ignoring Cat, and ignoring me.

“Released?” I repeat.

“From the show?” Cat clarifies.

“And from the monarchy,” Dad confirms, ruthless thin lips forming a line to signal there’s to be no discussion, no outburst, no emotion. “Until you come home and live by our standards.”

I set my cup and saucer on a silver platter, it clatters and Cat sucks in a sharp breath next to me. “You’re releasing me from the family? ”

Dad straightens in his seat. “Stop fucking around, Winter. You, your insolence, reclusive habits, and bad behavior has tainted our family name. Return to Denmark, assume your rightful position, and all will be restored as it should be. This is my final offer.” He’s bluffing. I am his only son.

“You’re willing to risk it all on a threat, Freddy? You’re so sure you’ve got that strong a hold on me?” I ask, not caring that he hates when I address him this way. “You know Elias would be a good fit?—”

“My own son, suggesting my brother’s offspring take the crown. Do you not have an ounce of backbone?”

“Maybe there’s a way,” my mom offers. She’s being brave today, for me. She and I both know in this moment, this might be our last chance at anything that looks like a family.

“Unfortunately, no, because he’s all we’ve got and goddammit,” his cup clatters on a side table, “you’re a disappointment. I cannot look at you, much less wait one moment longer for you to fall in line. You disgrace me, you disgrace your mother.”

Cat points at my dad with her teacup, a little liquid sloshing over the side. “Wait just a minute your, your royal—Frederik.”

“Don’t,” I say, low and almost in a growl. The last thing I want is for her to be touched by the ugly that is my family.

“But someone has to tell them how magnanimous you are. Don’t you realize what a gem you’ve got on your hands? A man who can stand up for what he wants, who is a solid friend, and who, despite your toxic family, can stand on his own two feet and be confident in who he is? He would be the perfect leader: strong, compassionate, generous. Maybe you should listen to his ideas.”

“You,” my mother interrupts, gently placing her teacup on the table, “are part of the problem. He was going to play by the rules, before you. He agreed to this show to bolster his image and take a wife so we could at the very least, move toward a possible passing of the crown the country could support.”

My dad cuts in, his anger building with my mom’s words. “Now, all anyone can talk about is the two of you. The prince and the PA? I think not.”

“She’s a talented?—”

“She’s an internet trollop, Winter, honestly,” he says with all the righteous pride of the Crown behind his words.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” I say, standing in a show to my parents that their time here is up. “I’ll pack my things, and move out.” Make no mistake, I’ve played out this possibility in my mind before, a reality where I walk away. Hearing them bad mouth Cat puts me over the edge.

The only thing I cannot leave behind is my animals, but I’ve planned for this all along and have a stable lined up to board already. It never seemed like a long shot, but I also realize in this moment, I never thought I’d do it either. It will be hard to leave Vikingstrong, the only home I’ve ever had.

“You’re refusing to return to Denmark?” The King cannot believe I’ve called his bluff. How do you like my backbone, now?

I try to keep my voice in control when I say, “You’ve disowned me. In name. In home. In title.”

“Exactly what you’ve always wanted, son. You’re welcome.”

It’s both true, and not. But all thoughts of family drain away when I look at Cat.

She’s staring at the carpet, a look of pure dread on her face. But before I can say anything, she pulls her chin up with determination. “It’s your choice if you want to disown your son, but let’s get one thing straight: he,” she points her finger at me without breaking eye contact with my parents, “is a solid man who loves his country, and deep down I know he loves you. He craves your love in return. You break him like this, and you may never get a chance to fix it.”

“Why? Because you’ll be the one fixing him?” my mother asks. I can’t honestly tell what answer she wants from Cat. A part of me hopes my mom is happy that I’ve at least got someone to lean on while I get cast out of everything I’ve ever known.

I have no clue what Cat will say next. No one has ever stood up for me, to them, the way she is right now.

Cat stands and smooths her wrinkled clothes with the inherent dignity of a queen. Pointedly as if on stage while my parents’ eyes remain glued to her, she tucks her hair behind both ears. The ruby earrings, recognizable Larsen family heirlooms, glint and sparkle against her raven hair.

She holds their gaze until we’re all on the edge of our seats and the tension in the room is filling like a balloon about to pop. “There’s nothing wrong with him, and while I’m here for whatever he needs, he’s strong enough to mend himself.”