“Welcome to Helgmøre, Madam,” the hostess said with a sunny smile.
And Cherry, damn her, dropped the ice in an instant and answered with a devastating smile of her own. “Thank you, Ida.” She paused, looking out of the open door at the bare tarmac, crawling with security, and the frosted field beyond. “It’s so… refreshing. What a beautiful country.”
Ida’s smile widened and her pale cheeks flushed with pleasure. She stared at Cherry as though hypnotised. “Thank you! You are very kind.”
Ruben moved forwards to help Cherry down the plane steps, and for one fraught moment he thought she might resist his touch. Might protest or jerk away or do something that would alert the plane staff to the depth of the chasm between them. But thankfully, she allowed it, rigid and unyielding as her hand felt in his.
He, utterly pathetic, bathed her in warmth, in smiles, in consideration. He led her down the steps, feeling Hans’s disapproving stare at his back. How galling to realise that he was desperate for even a single ray of the sunshine she gave out so liberally. If she shared a drop of that charm with him, he might die of gratitude.
How did she do this? How did she do this to him?
“You like my country?” He asked, trying to inject some humour into his voice. He wanted to make her laugh, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. He’d done it before, so surely he could do it again.
She smiled and murmured, “Oh, yes.” It was a practiced smile, and they were practiced words. Indistinguishable from the facade she’d offered the air hostess moments ago.
So this was how it would be. Ruben cleared his throat awkwardly, shame creeping down his spine like a centipede, making his skin crawl. What had he been thinking? That she’d soften, that things would go back to the way they were? The way they might have been?
Her life was forever changed because he’d chosen her, and been too arrogant to consider the consequences. He’d taken away her power, her control—the things he already knew that she valued the most. And now he was using her to boot.
They descended the steps in silence. Thank God that, when they reached the bottom, Demetria was there waiting.
“Hello!” She cried, flashing her blindingly white teeth in a manic smile. “I’m Demetria Karzai, Ruben’s assistant!” Ruben had never heard her sound so chirpy in his life. And he’d known her for many, many years. “You can call me Demi. It’s so nice to meet you!” She stepped forward to shake Cherry’s hand, and her hijab sparkled in the sunlight. Why the hell was she wearing a sparkling hijab? And where were her glasses? Was she really wearing contacts just to meet him at the damn airport?
As the two women exchanged greetings, Ruben turned a questioning look on Hans. The big man shrugged helplessly.
Then Demi finally released Cherry’s hand and gave Ruben a hard, sideways look as she trilled, “I’ve heard so much about you!”
Ah.
“Demi,” he said. “Get in the car.”
Cherry frowned. “Don’t be rude to her.”
Oh, so now they were best friends. Bloody women.
“Both of you get in the car. Come on.” He stalked forward, Hans bringing up the rear, Cherry muttering acidly about autocratic arseholes. Ruben bit back a smile.
Once they were safely ensconced in the back of the limo, he said, “We’re not really engaged.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cherry muttered.
But he barely heard that over Demetria’s shrieked, “I knew it!” Then she turned to Cherry with an apologetic look. “No offence.”
Cherry said, very sweetly, “None taken.” She was almost certainly lying.
“What Demi means is that if we were really engaged, she’d already know who you were. She’s my friend.”
“I’m your P.A. And your babysitter.”
“What, you’re not my friend?”
“No comment.”
Cherry’s icy demeanour thawed slightly, and she offered Demi something approaching a smile. “I see.”
Demi nodded. “I woke up the other day to a thousand headlines about Ruben’s mysterious fiancée, and he wouldn’t even answer his phone!”
“I had a lot on my plate,” Ruben murmured wryly.
“Yeah, whatever. So I texted Hans and he said, ‘Ruben is engaged’.”
All eyes swung to Hans, who was sitting silently in the corner. He raised his brows. “What? You are engaged.”
“Anyway,” Demi said, her tone long-suffering. “I thought either something was up, or… I don’t know, that Ruben met his soulmate and fell in love at first sight.”
Hans snorted. “Is that why your hijab is all… glittery?”
“Awww, you noticed!”
“You look like a disco ball.”
“Don’t hate me cuz you ain’t me.”
Cherry, Ruben noticed, was watching the pair trade barbs with the strangest little smile on her face. Then she met his gaze, and instead of looking away, she arched a brow. Almost conspiratorially.
Now, if he could just figure out what the conspiracy was…
When he could only stare blankly in response, she rolled her eyes heavenward and looked away.
Shit.
“So anyway,” Demi said, turning pointedly away from Hans. “What’s going on?”
“Yes, Ruben,” Cherry said sweetly. “Tell her. Explain the situation. Please.”
Ruben stifled a sigh. This was not going to be easy.
The sun was setting by the time they reached Ruben’s estate. Because that, Cherry decided, was the only appropriate word for it: estate.
They may be in Scandinavia, but the imposing grey-bricked mansion looming in the distance seemed as English as steak and kidney pie. Or classism. Or fish and chips.
A huge wall surrounded the property, passing further than Cherry could see, but the car stopped in front of a pair of gothic, iron gates. The gates swung open unassisted, like something out of a horror film, and they drove in.
Why did it feel like Cherry was marching headfirst into her own doom?
A tense discussion raged in the car. Demi, unsurprisingly, had been horrified at Ruben’s explanation and was now berating him quite passionately for putting Cherry in ‘such an awful position!’
Cherry rather liked Demi.
But the argument was cyclical, like siblings bickering during a road trip, and Cherry’s nerves were strung tight enough as it was. Earlier that day, before leaving for the airport, she’d had a quick and unpleasant phone call with her parents.
It hadn’t gone well. Not that they were angry with her. No. But when she’d awkwardly lied about a whirlwind courtship and sudden engagement—things she’d never do—they’d decided that she was having some kind of early mid-life crisis, and that Ruben was taking advantage of that crisis for his nefarious, princely purposes.
She’d been hoping that his royal status might get her parents onboard. Apparently, the opposite was true.
So she took deep breaths and tuned out the argument filling the car, squinting out of the darkened windows as they drove up the gravel path. She could hear it crunching beneath the car wheels. Who the fuck had a gravel path, for Christ’s sake? And the thing was miles long, too, with a turning circle. A bloody turning circle!
She bit on the inside of her cheek as they approached the house. And then…
They drove right past it.
Cherry frowned. “Where are we going?”
Ruben took a break from bickering with his P.A. to say, “Home.”
“Isn’t that your house?”
He rolled his eyes. “The mansion? No. I hate that place.”
“So where do you live?” Cherry demanded. As soon as the words left her mouth, another house came into view. Tucked back into the grass of the mansion’s vast garden, this house was more of a cottage. Not exactly small—about the size of a family home, really—but cozy. Warm and welcoming and not at all disturbingly gothic.
“I live there,” Ruben said.
Cherry nodded stiffly. She to
re her gaze away from the house with its cheerful red bricks and wide bay windows and ivy crawling merrily up the walls, and tried her best not to feel pleased.
Magz: Mum thinks you’ve lost it
Cherry lay back on the mammoth, four-poster bed that apparently belonged to her now. It was a nest of thick, deep purple blankets and over-fluffed pillows that she desperately wanted to hate, but found disturbingly comfortable.
Whatever. She still didn’t want to be here.
Cherry: I know. Do you?
Magz: You haven’t really told me what’s happening yet, so I’m reserving judgement
Cherry huffed out a laugh and settled back into the blankets, the silk of her headscarf sliding against the satiny pillows. There was no lock on the door, so she was lying in the dark at 10 p.m. If anyone came knocking, she could pretend to be asleep. That way, she wouldn’t have to display her bare face, wrapped up hair and fluffy bed socks to whoever decided to stop by.
Living with people was strange—people who weren’t family, anyway. She’d have to be on constantly. For what felt like the thousandth time, Cherry began to wonder if she could really do this for a year.
Cherry: Do you trust my judgement?
Magz: Yes
Magz: 100%
Cherry smiled. There was something to be said for little sisters.
Cherry: I can’t tell you everything, but I want to know what you think… I had a decision to make, and I looked at all the available evidence, and I think chose best long-term. But short-term it’s going to be uncomfortable. I keep worrying I’ve got something wrong and it’s too good to be true or it won’t be worth it. What do you think?
She lay there, her arms aching from holding her phone up over her face, waiting for Maggie’s response to that cryptic mess.
Magz: That was an essay, lol
Cherry rolled her eyes.
Magz: You’re super smart. You’re the sensible one. You probably chose right.
The idea that her little sister, who was studying Biomedical bloody Engineering at Harvard, thought Cherry was smart, made her grin. But still, she couldn’t stop herself from asking…
Cherry: Probably? What if that’s not good enough?
Magz: Probably has to be good enough. Life is probability, sis.
Cherry: Wow. You’re really learning shit over there
Magz: Whatever. So are you gold-digging your prince or what?
Cherry snorted. If only she fucking knew.
Magz: Cuz if you are, hook me up with a cousin first
Cherry: Hook you up?! You better face your damned books!
Maggie replied with several eye rolling emojis. Cherry snorted.
Cherry: I should go. Beauty sleep.
Magz: But you don’t need it cuz you’re already soooOOooooOOoooo beautiful
Cherry: Girl shut up. I’m not staying up to text you about Teen Wolf.
Magz: Wow, you don’t love me at all, do you?
Cherry stared at that message for way longer than she should have. It was a joke. The kind of throwaway comment they made all the time, totally sarcastic. But it struck her all at once just how much she did love Maggie. How happy it made her to think of her little sister living her best geeky life across the pond, going to school every day with all the other geeks, learning to be the best geek she could be. Or whatever. And while the whole family had moved heaven and earth to make that happen, the possibility that one day they might run out of heaven and earth had always existed.
But it didn’t exist anymore.
Cherry: You take your meds?
Magz: I’m the one who suffers if I don’t, so what do you think?!
Cherry: LOL. Down, girl. Night x
Magz: Night sis, love you x
Cherry: I really love you too.
Chapter 12
The next morning, Hans dragged Ruben to the dining room bright and early for ‘a meeting’.
He found a council of war seated at the mahogany table, sunlight streaming through the tall, glass windows like a hazy spotlight.
Demi sat at the head of the table, the set of her shoulders and her dark, winged brows giving her a militant air. She was wearing her glasses again, and her usual plain hijab, so she looked both familiar and austere all at once.
To her right was a round, faded old woman wearing a floral apron and a warm smile: Agathe. And to Demi’s left was Hans, who was staring at the side of Demi’s head with a brooding expression. Probably because he hated meetings, Ruben thought. Those two really were polar opposites.
At the end of the table, two more seats faced each other. One was empty. The other was occupied by Cherry, and the sight of her was like a punch to the gut.
Her lipstick was peachy today, instead of red, and glossy instead of… whatever the opposite of glossy was. Her velvety skin shone in the sunlight and her tight curls quivered with every movement of her head, like countless little springs coiled up with energy. He remembered how soft those curls had felt in his hand and wanted to kick himself. How had he fucked things up so royally with this woman? This woman, of all women?
Her eyes settled on him, gleaming copper in the light, and he tore his gaze away. He may be infatuated, but there was no need for her to know that. It would only make her uncomfortable.
Ruben bent over the old woman’s shoulder on his way to his own seat, pressing a kiss against her soft, wrinkled cheek. “Agathe.”
“Good morning, lazy boy.”
He clapped a hand to his chest, feigning pain. “Lazy? Me? How could you say such a thing?”
“You are late,” Agathe sniffed.
“Yes,” Demi said. “So sit down, Ruben, please.” She reminded Ruben of the staff at the Trust corralling younger kids with a rictus-grin. “I thought we could have this little meeting to, ah, collect ourselves! Get our house in order. You know, since—“
“Since Ruben dived into a shit show and dragged the rest of us along with him,” Hans said darkly.
There was a slight pause. Agathe looked aghast. Cherry appeared to be fighting a smirk. He wanted to kiss that smirk off her face. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be glaring at Hans.
“No,” Demi said, dealing with Hans on her own. “I was going to say, since we want to be at the top of our game for the ball next month.”
Ruben sat up straight. “Ball?”
“Yes,” Demi sighed. “You didn’t check your emails?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Really?” She asked sweetly. “During that two hour flight yesterday?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Demetria.”
With a sigh, she let it go. She knew how much he hated fucking balls. And soirées. And garden parties. And—
“Harald is holding a ball to introduce your fiancée to society. He expects you at the palace within a week of the event, to get Cherry settled in.” She said these words matter-of-factly, as if they were actually true. As if Harald cared about things like settling people in. More like he wanted ample time to tear Ruben apart. “So we have about three weeks to prepare. If this is going to work...” She looked at Cherry, who looked back with an arched brow and lifted chin. It was vaguely terrifying and unfairly attractive.
Demetria seemed to agree, because she snatched her gaze away and began shuffling awkwardly at the papers sitting in front of her. “If this is going to work,” she repeated, “you two need to pass as a couple. Harald is very observant—which you already know, Ruben, but it bears, ah… at understrege?”
“Emphasising,” he offered.
“Yes! Emphasising.” She threw Cherry an apologetic look. “I read better than I speak.”
“You speak beautifully,” Cherry murmured. And then, God damn her, she smiled. Dimples and everything.
Demi blinked, slightly dazed. Was Ruben mistaken, or was his stalwart assistant actually blushing? He looked at Hans. Hans, his bad mood momentarily forgotten, looked back at him with raised brows.
He wondered if Cherry was capable of ton
ing down her charm, or if she just exuded it like a rose exuded scent. Then he remembered how frosty she’d been on the flight over and decided she could definitely turn it off when necessary.
But if he asked her to be less devastatingly lovely around his assistant, she’d probably kick him in the shins.
“Right,” Demi muttered, shuffling through her papers. He had no idea why paperwork would be necessary for this kind of thing, but Demi loved paperwork.
“Well,” Agathe rasped into the silence. Her youthful smoking habit had never quite let go. “This is very exciting, but I think not so related to me. It is breakfast time. Ruben, you want to eat?”
If he said no, she’d force feed him anyway; she had that determined gleam in her pale eyes, the kind she got whenever he’d been travelling or ‘working too hard’ and she was convinced only steak and plenty of vegetables could possibly reinvigorate him. Luckily, he was actually pretty hungry. So he said, “Yes, please.”
“Good. Demetria, Hans, have you had breakfast?”
“Oh, sorry, Agathe,” said Demi. “I have. And I’ve got a lunch meeting anyway…”
“I am fine,” Hans rumbled.
Unusually, Agathe appeared quite pleased by that fact. “So just Ruben and you, Cherry?” She asked. “What do you like to eat, min kære? We have eggs and bacon or we have ah, the cereals, or something else? Pastry?”
Cherry pursed her lips in thought and tapped a pink tipped finger against her chin. She looked like a fantasy, even though the pose should have seemed ridiculous. Or at least vaguely pretentious. Finally she said, “I bet you’re an excellent cook. And I’m not picky. I’m happy to have whatever you’d like.”
Agathe’s wrinkled face split into a wide grin as she stood, smoothing her hands over her apron. “Vidunderlig! I’ll start breakfast. Ruben, be good, ja?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”
“Hm,” she sniffed, clearly dubious. But she hurried from the room anyway.
“So,” Demetria said brightly. “Moving on. I’m sure that the two of you will get to know each other very well, rattling around this house, but—“
The Princess Trap Page 8
