by Alyssa Cole
“No! Of course I wouldn’t! Why would I—” He huffed, then grabbed it from her, losing his stiff royal bearing and reverting to excited teenager. “It’s been sold out for weeks and Lars was trying to get it, and—”
Lukas stopped and looked at her, shock and fear in his eyes.
Nya just kept doing her makeup, smiling just enough to let him know that he had nothing to be afraid of from her. “Go ahead. My friend Portia gave me two tubes because she got sent a bunch to talk about on social media. This one fits your coloring better, so you can have it.”
“Really?” Lukas smiled, the most genuine she’d seen from him, before dabbing the applicator at his lips and leaving behind a gloss that looked like crushed diamonds.
“It looks so good on you,” she said.
“Thank you,” Lukas said, checking himself out in the mirror from behind her. His gaze met hers in the reflection and there was a tension in his eyes. “Oh my god, you really are too good for my brother. How did he trick you into agreeing to marry him?”
Now that she thought about it, Johan hadn’t exactly tricked her, but she had been under duress when he’d proposed his plan. She didn’t regret saying yes, but she couldn’t help but think of the Phokojoe tale again.
She decided to change the subject. “Are you coming with us to the opera Greta was so excited about?”
“I wasn’t invited,” he said. He studied his reflection, pursing his lips then regarding himself from several angles. The smile that had pulled up his wide mouth slowly relaxed into a frown, and he grabbed a tissue and held it between two fingers.
“That’s probably because your brother thinks you hate him,” she said, gently taking the tissue from between his fingers and replacing it with a sheer highlighting stick. “Because you’re kind of acting like you do.”
Lukas shook his head and began dabbing angrily along his temple. “Johan doesn’t care. About any of that feelings stuff. He’s always so busy worrying about what people think, and what I have to do to make them think certain things. It’s exhausting. Even if I did hate him, he’d probably just say something like, ‘Oh, how devastating. Now I won’t have to waste my time looking after you.’”
Nya sucked in a breath. Though that had been a very good impersonation of Jo-Jo, it was a terrible one of Johan. She’d seen the hurt on Johan’s face when his brother had cursed at him. She’d seen his frustration when Lukas had run off. And she had seen his hidden pain, snapped in an accidental photo and when she’d walked into the sauna. She’d felt his gentleness with her, and not just when he kissed her. Johan cared about feelings stuff. But he’d have to show his brother that himself.
“I think that you and your brother are having a communication problem,” she said diplomatically.
“You have no idea,” Lukas said with a deep sigh, then glanced at her. “Do you think he meant what he said the other day? About me looking foolish?”
Nya finished dusting on her setting powder, and then looked at Lukas. Really looked at him. His hunched shoulders and the bluish circles beneath his eyes.
She had her own family problems to worry about. Or to not worry about. If she took a moment to really think about her father starving himself . . . the man had always been stubborn, but now it was clear that he would go to any length to maintain his hold on her.
She shouldn’t interfere with this von Braustein issue when she couldn’t even deal with her own family, but she also couldn’t just let Lukas think the worst.
“No. I think your brother was hurt because he expected you to confide in him, and instead of saying he was hurt, he hurt you back. Redirecting. Projecting. Stuff like that. In the short time I’ve known him he’s only spoken about you from a place of love. Intense love. He’s a good liar but that can’t be faked.”
Lukas regarded her suspiciously.
“Are you a therapist?”
“Just an observer.” She would have said she was a teacher, but she was unemployed. Another aspect of reality that loomed ahead of her.
There was a knock at the door connecting her room to Johan’s. Lukas quickly gabbed another tissue and wiped off the lip gloss, then slipped the tube in his pocket.
She grabbed her coat and they walked over to the door together.
“Look who I found!” Nya said cheerily as she ushered Lukas out in front of her.
Johan’s cool gaze took in Lukas’s change in appearance from the day before, but he apparently decided not to make any comment. “Hallo, bruder.”
“Hey,” Lukas said bleakly.
“You both look very nice,” she said, sliding her arm through Johan’s then placing the other on Lukas’s shoulder so he would feel included, too.
“I always look nice,” Johan said jokingly, and Lukas humphed. To be fair, the joke didn’t really seem like Johan . . . the Johan she’d gotten to know. He may as well have been miming, performing the act of untroubled older brother.
“Let’s go,” she said. She hoped they figured out their issue because as much as she liked Johan and was coming to like Lukas, she couldn’t fix it for them.
THEY LEFT THROUGH the palace’s main entrance this time, and there were more than three photographers waiting. The street was lined with cameras, the lenses all turning toward Nya, Johan, and Lukas, with the photographers behind them calling for their attention.
Nya had a brief flashback of a lone journalist in Thesolo who’d snuck into the hospital room where she’d recovered from her breakdown after her father’s arrest—and where she’d first discovered that the mystery illness that had plagued her for most of her life had been another of her father’s means of controlling her. She’d awoken to the journalist going through her chart, and when he’d noticed she was awake he’d demanded to know whether she’d helped her father with his crimes.
Nya had thrown a pitcher of water at him, and he was arrested after the nurses came to see what the noise was.
She hadn’t thought about that in some time, but in the face of all those journalists, the memory froze her for a moment.
“Ça geet et, Sugar Bubble?”
She glanced up at Johan, whose voice called her back to the present.
“Sorry, just got a little overwhelmed,” she said.
“Why are you apologizing?” His voice was harsh but his gaze was intent. It was a question and an inside joke—and a reminder that Johan would protect her from anyone, even himself.
“Not sorry,” she said, her tension loosening.
He raised his hand, cradling her face in the soft warmth of his leather gloves. “We don’t have to do this. I didn’t bring you here to overwhelm you.”
No. He hadn’t, and Nya hadn’t come to be overwhelmed either. She’d come to shock everyone, and Johan would help her do that.
“I’m fine,” she said, then placed her palms on his chest, pushed up gently on her toes, and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, an innocent press of lips, but . . . Johan was a performer. His hand cupping her cheek held her face in place while his other hand slipped behind her back, pulling her close. Then he was kissing her deeply and passionately and, goddess, she hoped this wasn’t a performance, too.
The desire in his eyes before they fluttered closed, the urgency of his tongue pressing into her mouth, the devilish groan that vibrated against her lips . . . all of that was real. It had to be.
He pulled away, eyes unfocused and expression dazed as he looked into her eyes.
“All better, then?”
“Hrim!” she replied, not quite able to speak yet, and his features creased as laughter burst from him.
Laughter and whistles from the crowd of journalists and onlookers reminded her that they weren’t alone.
“Can we go?” Lukas asked sullenly.
“Sorry,” Johan said.
“Not sorry,” Nya added, feeling frisky. “But we will keep the PDA to a minimum. Sorry, Lukas.”
The journalists kept a respectful distance as they followed their stroll to the nearby market. The stalls
all looked similar from afar—wooden posts and red fabric awnings beneath strings of light. As they approached, she could see each vendor sold something different.
Homemade soaps, scary marionettes with yarn for hair, cheeses of all kinds, meats and stationery and cell phone accessories. Their fellow shoppers looked at them, though most pretended not to see them or the group of photographers following them. The vendors made sure to hold their wares up at an angle that would have made Portia proud.
Johan held her hand on one side, and Lukas strolled quietly on the other. She noticed how Johan’s gaze flicked to his brother—and those around his brother—even as he made jokes to break the tension. How he guided both of them around raised cobblestones and away from anyone who looked poised to approach them, despite the fact that guards from the castle tailed them, all while maintaining a carefree demeanor. She knew what it was, to pretend that everything was fine when it was not, but Johan had mastered the art of careless vigilance.
Lukas began to thaw as they walked, though he didn’t seem to notice how Johan was attuned to his every move. Nya had seen similar behavior in siblings who came to live at the orphanage—the obsession with making sure no one else they loved came to harm. The social workers had a protocol in place to mitigate the overwhelming fear and guilt the protective siblings felt. It was clear that no one had ever stepped in to do the same for Johan.
She wanted to gather him to her, to tell him he could stop pretending and stop protecting. She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him instead, hoping her eyes radiated the message she’d never received.
I know things are not fine. You aren’t in this alone.
Lukas stopped at the marionette stall to explain the history of the creepy dolls to her, which she supposed was his way of bonding, and the vendor let him operate one with flaxen hair.
He worked the strings with ease, smiling as the doll shimmied and kicked across a clear space on the table.
“Johan used to put on shows for me,” Lukas said as he settled the doll back in with the others. “He’d make a little stage out in the garden and use marionettes our mother had brought for me.”
There was something wistful in the boy’s voice.
“Jah,” Johan said. His relief that his brother had finally addressed him was almost palpable. “When he got older, we would dress up and act out plays. He makes a very fine Miranda.”
“It was fun.” Lukas gathered his ponytail in his palm, smoothing the hair as he slid his hand down it. “I used to think he just liked spending time with me. But like everything else, it was just preparation for all of this.”
Lukas gestured to the paparazzi surrounding them, and maybe more. Nya thought he might mean all of Liechtienbourg.
“That’s what everything comes down to with Johan. Putting on an act. Do you like acting, Nya?”
Johan went stiff at her side.
“I’m not very good at it,” Nya said. “Though I think it’s necessary sometimes.”
“Let’s go get a mulled wine,” Johan said, pretending the conversation wasn’t happening.
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” she asked.
“Never.” He took her hand again. “The reason we’re a fortress city is that all of the surrounding fiefdoms and countries were always trying to steal our secret recipe.”
She glanced up at him, his face the very picture of carefree prince as he scanned the stalls in the opposite direction of his brother, and she squeezed his hand. His mouth twitched, but he squeezed back, and then there was an uproar to the left of them.
Johan pushed Nya and Lukas behind him with one swing of his long arm.
“Jo-Jo!” a female voice called out crisp and clear.
A woman stepping from between the awnings with a bundle in her arms. The security detail that had quietly shadowed them rushed toward her, but she flipped back some of the cloth in her arms, revealing . . . a baby. A redheaded baby.
Nya’s stomach lurched.
“Oh, come on,” Johan muttered. “Vraiment?”
“Does she want you to kiss it or something?” Lukas asked, jostling Nya a little as he peered around his brother’s bulk. “Oh. Ohhh. Is this the love child?”
The journalists went wild at that, and Johan glared at his brother. “There is no love child!”
Lukas and Johan began to bicker, and it was only Nya who noticed that the woman had disappeared from the marketplace while everyone buzzed about the baby.
“Is she your former lover?” one of the photographers asked.
“Will you claim responsibility for your child?”
“What does this mean for your engagement?”
“What does it mean for the referendum?”
Johan ran a hand through his hair, and regarded the flashing cameras with a confident grin. “I’ve never seen that woman before in my life. I have no children—I am certain of that. I know some of you are ready to sell any story, but there are a couple of redheads there in the press pool and if you’re going to start assuming paternity by the color of a child’s hair, you should get in line.”
He said it so calmly that there was no way it was a lie. But . . . Johan was a very effective liar. He could make people believe anything.
Just like your father. The realization hit her like a blow to the diaphragm, making her slightly nauseated.
No. No way. He wasn’t at all like her father . . . except Alehk Jerami had always been able to fool people into believing what he believed. He’d even made Nya think that she was weak, helpless, and could never leave him.
No.
Johan has always been up-front with who he is, she reminded herself. Father never admitted to lying. He never admitted to anything he did.
And now he’s starving himself . . .
A female journalist shouldered her way to the front. “Nya! Ms. Jerami! Do you have any comment?”
All eyes turned to her and she summoned her Jerami pride to keep her expression and voice unconcerned. “Comment? I think that child was adorable. Much too cute to be related to Johan. Have you seen baby photos of this man?”
Laughter spread through the journalists.
“I’ve only been in Liechtienbourg for a short time and I’m still getting my bearings. I think I need to head back to the castle now.” She looked at Lukas and Johan. “Shall we?”
Johan took her hand, leading her away as the reporters were held back by security guards. “You’re learning fast,” he said.
She pulled her hand away, pretending to hold the collar of her coat against the cold breeze. “I come from a family of politicians, Johan, and my father was a criminal one at that. You’re not the only one who knows about manipulation.”
Her words were curt, and Johan’s expression flickered.
“I thought you didn’t have a nefarious bone in your body.” He stared at her as they walked. “That you do shouldn’t be sexy, and yet—”
She sighed aloud and shook her head, glancing back to see Lukas lagging behind them. She tried not to think about the woman and the baby. She tried not to believe that Johan’s lies might mean he was a bad person. It didn’t matter anyway.
This is a game.
Chapter 16
It seems that the rumors are true! Johan’s heart has been claimed, if the images coming out of Liechtienbourg are any indication. Our boy seems totally smitten, and though we should all be jealous, this is too cute to hate on. We stan a besotted bad boy! Protect #JoNy at all costs!
—Jo-Jo Lovers Unite Blog
That night Johan paced back and forth in his room, unable to sleep. He was too preoccupied with Lukas’s behavior, Nya’s presence in his life, the referendum, and the bad feeling he had about the events of the past two days.
Greta had been keeping him up-to-date—there had been illegal postering, raucous town hall meetings, and even some small-scale vandalism like graffiti. That was unsettling, given how calm the country usually was, but Johan figured that if people needed to express themselves, there were wors
e ways for them to do it.
But the things that had been happening since he’d returned seemed personal. The graffiti over the “secret” doorway, the mystery woman trying to cause a stir. The head of the opposition, Arschlocher, was known for playing dirty when it came to business, and Johan didn’t doubt he was involved in this somehow.
He’d gone down an internet rabbit hole, finding himself in a pro-Arschlocher forum where people speculated about Liechtienbourg being taken over by foreigners, insisted that Johan was part of the Illuminati, and much, much worse. There was even a conspiracy thread devoted to the death of his mother, but he hadn’t clicked through to see that garbage.
He’d heard her doctors tell her to take it easy until they figured out the limits of her heart condition and watched as she tried to help just one more person, and one more, and one more. He knew why she had died: because she cared too much. He didn’t need anyone’s enraging speculation on the matter.
He’d looked at the formation dates of several of the tamer threads, the ones speculating on the validity of the monarchy, whether Johan was a pox on Liechtienbourg, and what kind of government would be best for the kingdom. And they’d all been started a couple of months ago. It hadn’t taken very long to notice that the most virulent detractor on this forum was an account named FloupGelee, who seemed determined to convince everyone that the von Brausteins were the worst thing that could have happened to the country. This person hated Johan, but attacked Lukas just as viciously, which was surprising. There was a thread about the fight Lukas had gotten into at school, with several people coming forward with descriptions of behaviors that seemed nothing at all like his brother, but very much like someone who shouldn’t be king.
Johan had a stable of private investigators, and he reached out to one of them, and to a friend who claimed she was as good as any PI he knew, just in case.
Hi Portia,
I know you’re busy with the new business, but I think you mentioned tracking down someone using just their username for your sister? Can you check out this FloupGelee person if you have the time? The link is below.
