by Caroline Lee
She’d hurried to get changed and take her hair down, but now that she was ready for bed, she couldn’t imagine sleeping. Instead, she was sitting on the couch in her suite, her knees drawn up and tucked under her chin, waiting.
In her favorite comfortable green flannel PJs.
When the knock came at the door, she jumped in surprise. Not that she hadn’t expected him, but she realized she was terrified. Viggo was such a gorgeous man, with so much experience, and she was was…well, she was just herself.
Luckily, he didn’t wait for her to call out permission to enter, because she couldn’t make her voice work. Instead, he poked his head around the door, and when he saw her sitting there staring at him with wide eyes, he smiled and stepped into the room.
He was wearing a pair of flannel pants and a plain black t-shirt which seemed to define his chest instead of hide it. He carried a bottle of wine and a plate with some cheese and grapes on it…and he was barefoot.
That last detail, more than anything else, gave Marcia the courage to straighten, to lower her feet to the floor as he placed the platter beside her on the couch. She stared at the snacks, not sure if she could manage to eat anything with her stomach in knots as it was.
“Want some wine?” Viggo had already crossed to a cabinet which held an assortment of glasses, and was working to uncork the bottle.
Wine. Wine sounded nice. “Yes, please,” she managed to croak out.
He smiled again, but it didn’t feel mocking. Instead, he poured them each a glass and moved back to sit beside her. Their fingers brushed when he handed her one, and the warmth which spread up her arm at his touch was comforting.
When he sprawled on the other end of the couch, across the platter of cheeses, he seemed content to just relax. Like he wasn’t expecting anything from her. More than anything else, that helped her get her heartbeat under control.
She sipped the wine. “What a day, huh?”
His little snort of laughter sounded tired. “Yeah. I can’t believe…everything.”
“You mean, that you finally told your family about Stefan?”
“I mean that I got married. But yeah...” He nodded thoughtfully down at his wine. “Yeah, that feels good too. It felt…right. You know?”
She gripped her wine glass in both hands. “Yes, I do,” she said quietly.
She’d moved in the same circles as the royal family for her entire life, and like every unmarried girl in the kingdom, had imagined marrying one of them, even if she was her father’s quieter, simpler daughter. But with Rebecca gone, Father had pushed her into the spotlight, trying to catch one of the princes’ eyes. And when it had worked, when Crown Prince Alek had proposed an informal engagement, Father had crowed.
But Marcia had cringed. Alek was nice—although too serious—and certainly handsome, but he wasn’t the Magnusson prince she’d wanted.
Now, it seemed like fate had intervened, and she was married to the man she’d dreamed about for years. He was correct; it had felt right, to be there today, surrounded by his family. Not as Alek’s fiancée, but as Viggo’s wife.
With Stefan there and laughing so joyfully, it had been everything she’d ever wanted.
“I was pleased your family accepted me so readily,” she said, still not meeting his eyes.
Viggo shrugged. “Mom was the one I was concerned about.” His lips tugged upwards. “I was a little worried she’d be disappointed I got married without her. But I never doubted she’d approve of my choice…” He reached for a piece of cheese. “Which just goes to show that moms have some kind of freaky sixth sense about their kids.”
Marcia began to smile, but it faded. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
He sat up and moved the platter, placing it on the floor so he could pull one leg up underneath him. “I know your mother died years ago, but you’ve been the best mother Stefan could’ve hoped to have, Marcia. You’ll never know how grateful I am for that.”
In her heart, she’d always thought of Stefan as her son. But she hadn’t let herself consider that, since his real parent had been living right next door.
Viggo shifted again. “You know, when I was dating Rebecca, you were just a kid. I barely noticed you.”
Marcia nodded. She’d always been the overlooked sister. Besides, she’d been sixteen to his and Rebecca’s nineteen, so it was no wonder he paid little attention to the vivacious woman’s kid sister.
He took a deep breath, and reached to touch her knee. “But you were the one who found a way to send me that letter, telling me she was pregnant. And you were the one who kept me updated on her pregnancy, who kept my son safe from everything she was getting into. And you were the one who sent me photos of him when he was an infant.”
She smiled, thinking of those early days, the two of them texting one another on private phones, hoping no one found out. They’d been like spies, with the most wonderful secret between them.
“Then, later, you were the one who held Stefan at her funeral, who found a way to sneak me in to meet him. You were the one who suggested Johan and I move into this property, to be next-door to you. You…you became my friend.”
In one move, he placed the wine glass on the table behind the couch and scooted closer to her. “Marcia, besides Johan, you’ve been my best friend. You know me better than some of my brothers do, the real me, I mean. You saw that—I guess my mom saw that too. But I mean…” He shrugged, and stared down at her flannel-encased knee. “I don’t know what I mean. I just wanted you to know that you mean a lot to me. You’ve meant a lot to me for a while. And…” When he took a deep breath, his shoulders expanded to fill that shirt in the most wonderful way. “And I couldn’t have chosen a better mother for my son.”
Well, goodness.
“That’s…” She cleared her throat. “That’s possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. But Rebecca was the one…”
He winced. “I know! I know. But she and I…I mean, I only went out with her a few times, you know? She was the one who set me on this partying path, and after we split I kept it up for a while. But after your letter, after seeing what that lifestyle was doing to her, I…I backed off. The media had already nicknamed me by then, and I had a role to play. But I watched what Rebecca became, and I knew I didn’t want to live that way.”
“Really?” she said dryly. “You’ve done a good impression.”
“Exactly.” His smile was wry. “It was an impression which kinda became the truth. It was what everyone believed—that I was this playboy—so I started believing it too.”
“You’re telling me you’re not a playboy?” She raised a brow. “You haven’t been seen with a different girl on your arm each weekend, sometimes more than one?” She sipped her wine, challenging him.
He just laughed. “No, no, that’s true. But, you want to know a secret?”
Thinking about Stefan, Marcia’s lips tugged upwards. “Why stop now?” The two of them had kept each other’s secrets plenty of times.
“I might’ve looked like a real player, but…” His tongue flashed over his lips. “But, uh…I wasn’t. You know. With them.”
She burst into laughter. “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” She placed her wine glass beside his and shifted to look at him straight-on. “You mean to tell me you’re not the playboy, not really?”
“I took those girls to dinner, yeah? And we went to parties. But I always took them home after.”
She was still chuckling incredulously. “And so, what? You’re not going to try to tell me you’re a virgin, are you?”
“Well, no.” Viggo managed to flush and roll his eyes at the same time. “It’s pretty obvious I’m not, yeah.” He jerked his chin towards his son’s room. “But that whole experience taught me to, uh…to be careful.”
Marcia was glad she’d put her wine down, because she might’ve dropped it at that point. Viggo Magnusson, The Playboy Prince, was telling her he…well, he wasn’t.
“So…” She cleared her throat
and folded her hands in front of her, trying to pretend the answer didn’t matter. “How many ladies would you say you’ve, um… taken home?”
He swallowed, and leaned forward slightly, meeting her eyes. “Five.”
“Five?” she burst incredulously.
“Five. Total. Swear to God.” He lifted his right hand. “I’m not going to name names, but—”
She held her hands up in front of her, palms out. “No!” And then she began to chuckle. “No, I don’t think I want to hear names. I can’t believe I’ve been jealous of all these women for so long, and now…”
“Wait.” He grabbed her hands in his, and even though the position was a little uncomfortable, Marcia didn’t want to pull away. “Wait,” he repeated. “You’ve been jealous? Of them? Why?”
She rolled her eyes slightly. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re gorgeous and so confident, and they all got to—to—well, to be with you.” It was getting difficult to meet his eyes. “To touch you,” she finished in a whisper.
He didn’t say anything for a long while. He just stared at her. It was impossible to read what he was thinking. Marcia found herself blushing, but that was nothing new. No, it was the realization she’d just made a complete fool of herself which was the new experience.
Finally, he cocked his head to one side. “So all this time, you’ve been thinking the same thing about me as I’ve been thinking about you?”
That was so far from what she’d been expecting, a laugh burst out of her. “I seriously doubt that, Your Highness.”
“No, wait.” He shifted until his knee was pressed against hers, and they both leaned against the back of the couch without losing their hold of each other’s hands. “For years I’ve been watching you, watching the way you were with Stefan, and thinking That’s who I want. You’re beautiful, Marcia, and I know you don’t like to be the center of attention, but I gotta tell you that there’s been many times you’ve been the center of my attention.”
Her eyes had gone wide. “Why?”
“Why?” he repeated, then chuckled. “I can’t believe I have to explain this.”
“Please?” she whispered.
“Fine. Fine. I’ve been thinking about kissing you for years. About doing more than kissing. Is that explicit enough?”
She was sure her cheeks must match her strawberry hair by now, but she nodded primly, as if this were a normal conversation…and not one she’d always dreamed of.
“Well, I’ve been dreaming of the same thing.”
They were both leaning in now, their faces closer together, their voices a whisper.
“And that kiss today in the courtroom?” he asked softly. “What did you think of that?”
No hesitation. “Not nearly long enough to make a decision.”
“Agreed.” His eyes skimmed over her face. “What should we do about it?”
She swallowed, not believing her boldness, but knowing it had something to do with the tantalizing scent of whatever cologne he was wearing. “We should try again.”
“Longer this time?” His gaze was focused on her lips.
She nodded. “Just to be sure.”
“Sounds good to me,” he murmured.
The kiss…the kiss was everything she’d dreamed of, and more. It seemed like time stopped for her, but the pulse pounding in her ears told her that wasn’t the case. She was still very much alive and he was alive and they were both hot and his tongue, Oh my God, his tongue…
When he finished up the kiss with several small nips at her lower lip, she realized she’d somehow ended up on his lap. And she didn’t mind at all.
He was breathing as deeply as she was, but when he raised his eyes to meet hers, he was grinning.
“That was…” He raised his brows. “That was…”
She forced herself to shrug. “I mean, it was alright. We might need more practice.”
He burst into laughter and wrapped his arms around her. “Wife, if we practice any more, you might kill me.”
The way he shifted under her and winced theatrically told her what he meant, but after that kiss, she couldn’t blush. She was past blushing, when it came to this man.
Except… “I never imagined this would be me, you know,” she whispered as she dropped her forehead against his. “Sitting in your lap, kissing you…in my cat pajamas.”
His smile was gentle as he pulled her against him, settling her carefully in his embrace. “I like your PJs. You look comfy. And I’m comfy here with you.”
They sat in silence a few more minutes, until he took a breath she felt in her chest too.
“I don’t want to push you, Marcia,” he said softly. “This was really sudden, and—and, I mean, I know you didn’t expect what I told you tonight.”
No. In the seven years she’d been his co-conspirator, she’d thought Prince Viggo was a playboy who was ashamed of his son. Then it turned out out he was a sweetheart with a strong sense of family values. In the last twenty-four hours, she’d fallen completely in love with him, hadn’t she?
“So, what I’m saying…” He rested his head against her shoulder, snuggling closer. “I like this. This is nice. Two people in their jammies, cuddling. I could be really happy, just holding you all night.” Another deep breath. “If you don’t mind sleeping with me, I mean.”
Sleeping with me.
“In here?” she asked.
“Or my room. I want you in my room, honestly, but wasn’t sure if you’d want your own space.”
Her fingers skimmed over the corded muscles of his forearm as she considered her words. “I’m your wife now.”
“And I’m glad.”
“I think I should be in your room.”
In one swift move, he’d stood, holding her in his arms. “I agree.”
“What?” She cried, half-afraid, half-laughing. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to my room!” He headed towards the door, but had to stop because he couldn’t use the doorknob. “A little help, please?”
She was laughing in earnest now and helped him navigate the doorway. She didn’t mind at all, being held in his arms. Her husband’s arms. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, forcing herself to relax and let herself be held.
Held.
“When we get there, are we going to cuddle?” she asked
“I’m not letting you go, Marcia.”
“And kiss, maybe?”
He stopped still in the hallway, and stared down at her. “Do you want to? Kiss some more, I mean?” he asked softly.
She didn’t want to play coy. She merely said, “Yes.”
His breath whooshed out of him, and he grinned wryly. “Your wish is my command, wife. Kissing it is.”
Her hands played with the hair at the back of his neck. “And maybe…more?”
Hi grey eyes widened as he understood what she was asking, and his smile grew as he nodded. “Maybe.”
And when he took off running—her in his arms—for his royal suite at the end of the hallway, Marcia laughed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mom was…beautiful.
Viggo blinked in surprise when he realized that, having never seen his mother the way he’d looked at hundreds of other women. Oh, he could appreciate the feminine form in all varieties and ages and outfits, but his mother was…well, Mom.
But when she appeared at the door of the yacht’s small ballroom, dressed in her rehearsal gown of flowy lavender lace, he saw her as a woman. And realized she was absolutely stunning. The way she gripped Alek’s arm told Viggo she was just a little bit nervous, but when she looked up and saw her fiancé waiting at the altar, she smiled.
Beside him, Johan cursed under his breath.
“What?” Viggo whispered from the side of his mouth, watching Mom’s sedate pace down the aisle.
“It’s just…” His twin sighed. “It’s hard not to like the man who makes her smile like that, you know?” he said quietly.
Since Viggo had
been thinking the same thing—no surprise—he nodded. “She looks happier than I can remember.”
“And it’s just the rehearsal. Imagine what she’s going to look like tomorrow.”
Viggo, for one, knew he wouldn’t be standing here tomorrow examining his mother’s expression, not when there was a lady who’s face he’d much rather be watching.
Any time the princes were forced into their formal uniforms, he used it to his advantage—smiling at any ladies in the audience who managed to catch his eye. And there were plenty, because he—and his brothers, to give them credit—looked ridiculously handsome in the neat lines and high collars. While not many state events required dress uniforms, Viggo didn’t mind them, because they’d always netted him a few dates.
A few dates where he got to laugh and dance and kiss a little, but which almost always ended with the lady going home alone. He was a flirt, yeah, but he’d learned his lesson with Rebecca.
But now…
His gaze wandered over the few rows of chairs set out for tomorrow’s audience. Since Dr. Hayes’s sons and Cassandra were standing up on his side of the constructed altar, there only needed to be enough seating for a few aunts and uncles from both sides. That reporter Johan had been hanging out with lately—Tracy—was helping a tech set up video equipment in the rear of the room, and Emma was whispering with Gloria in the second row. Toni and a few other royal bodyguards stood at steely-eyed attention along the walls, and in the back…
In the back row sat Viggo’s family. Marcia’s strawberry-blonde head was bent towards Stefan’s light brown one, occasionally whispering something. The boy was pointing here and there, obviously asking questions, and she was doing her best to answer quietly.
Viggo’s heart swelled at the sight. He’d almost given up on ever having Stefan here with him and his brothers, but she’d made it possible. Marcia had given him the life he’d always wanted, and in such a short amount of time.
