"So am I," I tell her, pulling her in for a deep kiss. "So am I."
She kisses me back and our lips and mouths begin to move with hunger and urgency, a sharp current of need running through my body.
"Let's go to your new room," she says to me, getting to her feet and holding her hand out.
I take it.
We head upstairs.
* * *
A few days later I call in a favor to Matilde.
The day after that, a man shows up at the palace door holding a small cat carrier.
I suppose I should have cleared this all with Aksel first but oh well.
“What the?” Maja says, turning around and holding the carrier. “Orlando, is this for you?”
I put my finger to my mouth. “Shhh. It’s a surprise.”
“I’ll say.” She hands the carrier to me and I can see Mokey’s yellow eyes peering at me from inside.
“Hey Mokey.”
“I’m not sure the King is going to like this,” she says with a sniff, eyeing the carrier with disdain.
“It’s not for the King,” I tell her. “It’s for Anya.”
“Then I’m not sure Stella is going to like this.”
“We’ll see,” I say, giving her a cocky grin.
Though most of my confidence is pure bravado. I don’t know if Stella will like this at all and Mokey might be on the first plane back to Monaco.
I do know Stella is in the sitting room, helping Anya with her homework, so my plan is to bypass Aksel and Aurora and go straight to the source. If I could go to Anya without her mother there, even better.
But when I enter the room, everyone is there.
Not just Stella and Anya, but Aksel, Aurora and all their children. The adults are sitting around drinking (minus my baby mama, of course), the kids are flipping through some books and scrolling through an iPad.
And now everyone is looking at me and the cat carrier in my hand.
“Orlando,” Aksel booms. It’s been a few days with him now and he’s still not my biggest fan. “Please tell me you don’t have a cat in there.”
Anya shrieks something in Danish and gets to her feet, running over to me.
“Is this Sir Mokey of Monaco?” she asks, jumping up and down so excitedly that her glasses fall off and she doesn’t even bother to pick them up.
“It sure is,” I tell her.
“Don’t you dare let that cat out of the cage,” Aksel says.
“Oh come on,” Aurora chides him. “You let the girls have a pig. What’s a little cat?”
“Aurora, stop being an enabler,” he shoots back at her.
“I’m allergic,” Stella says but everyone is ignoring her now because we all know she’s not.
I crouch down to put the cage on the floor and hand Anya her glasses. Then I open the cage door.
Anya slips her glasses on and immediately plops down cross-legged on the floor as Mokey pokes his head out cautiously.
She squeals and scoops him up in her arms, cooing over him. Clara and Freja abandon their books and come running over, all of them fighting to see him up close.
I leave them where they are and go over to Stella on the couch, avoiding the death glares I’m getting from Aksel, even though when I sit down next to her, Stella shoots me a Danish death glare of her own.
“Sorry,” I say feebly. “I just figured that maybe Anya would like to meet Mokey.”
“I can’t believe you had him flown up here,” Aurora comments. “That’s really, really sweet.”
I glance at Stella and see her glare is starting to fade, her brow becoming soft.
“I did it for Anya,” I add.
“I know.”
“Which also means I did it for you.”
Her brow quirks up. “Oh, is that how this works?”
“Maybe?”
“You know, she’s not going to let that cat leave.”
I nod. “I know. That’s why I thought I would give Mokey to her.”
“What?”
“What?” Aksel repeats, sitting up straighter. Aurora elbows him.
“Orlando,” Stella says in a hush. “You can’t give up your cat.”
“I can if it makes Anya happy. Plus, it’s not like I won’t see the cat. At any rate, I wanted to ask you first.”
“How considerate,” Aksel comments dryly.
“I’ll think about it,” Stella says, her attention going back to Anya and Mokey, who seem to be totally in love with each other. She sighs. “Would you look at them? Look how happy you made her.”
But I’m the one who’s happy here. I’m grinning ear-to-ear.
I hear Aksel groan. “You’re going to give her the cat, aren’t you Stella?”
She tries to shrug nonchalantly but she has the most sly smile on her lips. She reaches out and grabs my hand, giving me a grateful look. Thank you, she mouths.
Aksel groans even louder, sinking back into his chair. “This is going to be a long month.”
Chapter 13
Orlando
“Well, well, well if it isn’t the mysterious Prince Orlando,” Francis says as he opens the door to Matilde’s house. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
Matilde pops her head out from behind him and frowns at me. "You are looking good, brother," she says. "Or is it because I haven't seen you in forever?"
"A little from column A, a little from column B," I say, gesturing to the door. "Can I come in or are you both going to stand there like the twins from The Shining, ogling your big brother? I have to admit, it's kind of weird."
Francis rolls his eyes and opens the door. "Come in. Sit down. You have a lot of explaining to do."
I walk inside Matilde's house. Francis used to live here with her—they both moved here when they were old enough to get out of the palace—but now he has his own apartment. It's actually near mine, down by the marina, but I don't see him as often as I should.
Of course, that's one of the reasons why I called them up and asked to meet. I’ve been MIA for most of the month and, as Francis said, I have a lot of explaining to do. They just have no idea what I'm about to tell them.
"Here, sit, want a beer?" Matilde asks as she pretty much shoves me down into her couch. I sink into the cushions.
"It's barely noon," I tell her.
"So? Do you want a beer?"
"Of course."
"Me too," Francis says, sitting down in an overstuffed armchair across from me. The two of them bought it from some antique shop in Nice, the only royals I know who like to go antiquing. It's not a large house but Matilde has managed to cram every single corner of it with vintage pieces and heirlooms and bric a brac from all around the world. There are also Turkish rugs and Danish tapestries, lanterns from Nepal and bronze statues from Malta, plus a load of pottery and woven bowls from various places in Africa. It's a cool spot and being here I always feel a little more grounded. But that's Matilde's way, too.
"Beer?" I question, looking Francis up and down. "I thought you were watching your figure?"
"Fuck that," he says. "I've turned over a new leaf. If a man can't handle me with a beer belly, he can't handle me at all." He puts his hands on his stomach and jiggles his stomach around. He has put some weight on lately but I think it suits him and he carries it well.
"Cheers to that," Matilde says, juggling three beers as she comes out of the kitchen. She hands us both one and then sits down on the couch beside me, tucking a leg under her, her gauzy hippie skirt flowing over most of the couch.
I hold out my bottle and they reach out and clink against it.
"Cheers," Francis says. We all have a long draw from the bottles and then he clears his throat. "So, Orlando, what made you call this meeting of the Monégasque monarchy?"
I smirk at that. I love alliteration. "I haven't seen you guys in a long time."
"And why is that?" Matilde asks. "For the last month, every time I've asked where you are, you've been in Copenhagen."
"I've come back a f
ew times," I protest feebly.
"So what is so interesting about Copenhagen?" Francis asks with a twinkle in his eye. "I've talked to mother and father about you and they keep saying you're there to learn about rally driving from King Aksel? And I don't know how they're buying it but we're not buying it."
"You've been seeing Princess Stella," Matilde says. "I thought she lived in England, though. Have you really been in Copenhagen?"
"I have. And she happens to live at the palace now, too."
"Why?"
I sigh. "It's a long story."
"Does this long story have something to do with all the explaining you owe us?"
I nod slowly, taking another gulp of my beer. Even though I've spent most of the last month living with Stella in Copenhagen, flying down here on the weekends to make sure I'm seen with Zoya or at public events, the pregnancy thing is still something I'm getting used to. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love being there for Stella and seeing how she's progressing, I love being so involved. But Amalienborg Palace is its own little bubble and every time I step out of it, I'm met with the reality that the rest of the world has no idea what's going on.
Which is why I finally found the guts to tell my siblings the truth.
More than that, I need their advice with what to do about Zoya.
Because she needs to know the truth, too.
And this is going to hurt.
"Spill it," Matilde says. "We don't have all day."
"Well, I do," Francis admits. "Not all of us have Skype meetings with their charities in Zimbabwe."
"Mali," she corrects him. "Though Zimbabwe is a prospect."
"Look, the longer we talk, the less Orlando has to talk," Francis says to her and then he jerks his head at me. "You heard what your sister said, spill the beans."
"Okay," I say, taking in a shaking breath. The twins exchange a worried glance. I guess I'm not normally nervous like this, especially around them. "I have something I need to tell you, that very few people know about."
Another glance goes between them. Then they both look at me with prompting eyes, in unison. Their twin shit can be very persuasive sometimes.
"Here goes," I say, finishing the rest of my beer and putting it down on the coffee table with a clank. "I've been seeing Princess Stella."
"Not shit, Sherlock," Francis says.
"Let him finish," Matilde hushes him while delivering an elbow into his side.
"I've been seeing Princess Stella and things have grown pretty serious between us. And when I say they've grown, I mean it."
They stare at me blankly.
I go on. "Grown as in, she's growing a baby. My baby. She's pregnant with my baby."
"Noooooo," Francis exclaims after a moment, his hand at his chest.
"Oh my god," says Matilde, her dark eyes going round as saucers. "Oh my god. Orlando! Are you serious?"
"Oh, I'm serious.”
“This is a big deal!”
“This is a very serious, crazy, complicated, fucked-up deal."
"I'll say," Francis says, shaking his head in awe. "Wow. I mean, wow. Okay so give us all the details."
"How far along is she?"
"Do you know the sex?"
"What does the King think?"
"Does she look pregnant?"
"Do you think the kid will learn French or Danish first?"
"Oh my god," Matilde says softly, after all of that. "Have you told Zoya?"
I wince at that. "One thing at a time."
I go on to answer all their rapid-fired questions, the ones I can anyway because honestly I have no idea what language the kid will speak (I'm guessing Danish) and no we don't know the sex yet.
Also no...I haven't told Zoya.
"What are you going to do?" Matilde asks. "I mean, obviously you do have to tell her and soon. I just don't know what you're going to say."
"Yeah, what are you going to say?" Francis asks.
I shake my head. "I have no clue. I figured I'd tell you and then you would give me advice."
Francis scoffs incredulously. "Listen, brother, I can give you advice on the best places to eat in Paris and Lisbon, I can tell you that you need to start incorporating a little more color into your wardrobe, and I can tell you that reality TV is the best TV. But I can't give you advice on how to break the news to your fake Russian girlfriend that your Princess mistress is carrying your baby. That is way beyond my pay grade."
I glance at Matilde, my brows raised hopefully.
"Nuh uh," she says. "This is something you have to figure out on your own. All I know is that you need to tell her. Right away. Soon Stella will be showing and people will wonder. And beneath it all, Zoya is your friend. She deserves to know and will be hurt when she finds out you've been keeping it from her."
"Maybe because she's my friend, she'll understand?"
They exchange another glance, this one unreadable.
"You're going to have to break up with Zoya," Francis says. "Unless you want to have this baby a secret forever, which, as we all know, isn't what you want and isn't a very Orlando thing to do. You're going to have to break it off. Get together with Stella. Hopefully marry her. At least in the end, father will be ecstatic because you finally have an heir, hopefully a boy, but I bet he could rewrite that rule too. You know he's never really cared whether it came from Zoya or not. It was always about the fate of the country."
"And the fate of the country is in your hands," Matilde and I imitate our father in unison.
I lean back into the couch, feeling mentally exhausted. Who knew the truth would be so damn hard?
"I don't think Zoya is going to take it very well," I admit.
"You don't say," Francis comments with a wry smile. "If I were you, I'd wear some padding. Make sure to hide all her tennis rackets before you spill the truth."
I let out a dry laugh. He's right. She's going to freak the fuck out. But I'm not so much worried about that as I am about hurting her. I don't want to put her in any danger, I don't want her to think that I don't care about her, because I do. It's just my responsibilities have changed now and I have changed with them.
Shit. This is going to fucking suck.
"Where is Zoya now?" Matilde asks.
"At home."
"With Sir Mokey of Monaco?" asks Francis.
"No, he's been relocated. He's living in Denmark now."
"Wow. The cat moved in before you did."
"Orlando." Matilde places her hand on my shoulder. "Go home. Tell her now. Get it over with."
I give her a pleading look that says, do I have to?
But I know I do.
I thank my sister for the beers, give both of them a hug and then I'm getting in my car (a black Ferrari, which I'm starting to think might need an upgrade if I'm going to fit a baby seat in there), and zipping across the length of our tiny little country all the way back to my penthouse. It takes about twenty minutes so I'm back home before I'm ready. Times like this, I wish the country was a lot bigger.
The lift whisks me up to the penthouse in seconds and I spent a good minute standing outside the door, gathering my courage.
I finally unlock it and step inside.
I can hear commotion from the kitchen and see Zoya standing there with a big butcher knife in her hand.
That can do so much more damage than a tennis racket.
"Hi," she says brightly and uses the knife to point to the table with a roast chicken on it that's been hacked away at. "I got us chicken for lunch." She puts her other hand on her hip and stares at the poultry with disappointment. "Unfortunately, they've thrown away the heart and the liver and the gizzards."
"Yes, so very unfortunate."
"Back at home we would never waste such things," she says, shaking her head at me, as if this is my doing somehow. "You don't know how to appreciate the best parts of the bird."
"I guess I need to work on that."
She frowns at me. "Are you okay?"
"I need to talk to you
."
"Sure," she says uneasily.
"I need you to put the knife down and come with me," I say, jerking my chin to the door.
I swear the grip on the knife tightens for a moment. She's such a fighter.
"Okay." She reluctantly puts the knife beside the chicken carcass and follows me out of the room, to the sitting area.
"Sit down," I tell her.
"I don't want to sit down." She folds her arms across her chest and stands up straighter, almost matching my height. Oh shit, she's already acting like this is the start of a heated match.
"Okay, then I'm going to sit down," I tell her but I actually just go stand behind the armchair and brace myself against it. I figure putting some distance between us can't hurt.
"What's going on Orlando?"
"I need to tell you something. Something that maybe I should have told you sooner but I just wanted to make sure how things were at the time. Where I stood."
"You're in love with Princess Stella," she says matter-of-factly.
I swallow uneasily. I haven't told Stella that. I haven't even told myself that.
But I know the answer is yes.
"Yes, " I whisper. "I'm in love with her."
This is the first time I’ve voiced it and hearing the words aloud makes me realize how much it’s true.
It’s true.
“You love her.” The severity of her features melts a little. "I'm happy for you," she says softly. "Really. You deserve to know what love is like Orlando."
"I loved you, you know."
She shakes her head. "No. You didn't Orlando. And I didn't love you either. Maybe it was love at the time, for the people who we were at those moments. It was love in the only way we knew. But in time, your heart grows as you grow and you learn a new capacity for love. The love I feel for Emily surpasses all of that. It's worth everything. I know the love you feel Stella eclipses anything your heart has felt before, including for me. And that's a beautiful thing."
"She's pregnant," I blurt out, ruining her poetry.
She stares at me for a moment, frowning. Her mouth opens and she finally says, "What? She's pregnant?"
I nod. "I found out a few months ago."
"What? And you're only telling me now?"
The Royal Rogue Page 16
