by Nina Milne
His eyes opened in protest.
‘We have to get up,’ she explained. ‘Today we have somewhere we need to be.’
‘Where?’ Now alertness had come into play, and his grey eyes watched her.
Holly bit her lip. Part of her wanted to tell him, but another part suspected he’d refuse to go. ‘I’d rather not say.’
Now he too sat up, leant back against the wooden headboard, and a frown grooved his forehead. ‘I’d rather you did.’
Holly shook her head and plumped for honesty. ‘You may not go if I do.’
‘And you want me to go?’
‘Yes.’
A pause, and then he shrugged. ‘Then we’ll go.’
‘Thank you.’ She dropped a kiss on the top of his head and grinned at him. ‘I’m going to get ready.’
‘Lumberjack look or suit?’
‘Lumberjack is fine, and there won’t be any reporters. Or I hope not.’
Now she frowned. Despite promises from the press that they would respect their privacy, April had been correct. Stray reporters dogged their steps. Not many, to be fair, but enough that they had taken to sneaking out through the back door of the hotel en route to quirky corners of Lycander, where they wandered hand in hand, eating ice cream, or savoury crêpes, chatting or walking in silence. But even then every so often she’d been aware of the click of a camera, the sense of being followed.
‘OK. Let’s get this show on the road.’
Swinging her legs out of bed, she headed for the bathroom, trying to soothe the jangle of nerves, her anxiety that she was making a monumental mistake—a massive overstepping of the bounds of their marriage deal.
* * *
Stefan looked out of the window of the official car, watching as the prosperous vista dropped away and the houses became progressively more dingy, the vegetation more sparse and scrubby, the poverty more and more clear. He realised they were headed to the now familiar outskirts—back to the suburb they had first visited, where they had met Sasha.
The car glided to a stop near the nursery, and once again the sheer contrast between life here and in the affluent city hit him anew. Roofless houses, patched over with tin, smashed windows... And yet a community resided here. Children were playing in the streets, looking at the cars with rapt interest.
Cars in the plural... Another car from the royal fleet was parked opposite.
The door opened and he watched with a sense of inevitability as Frederick emerged, flanked by two security men whom he waved away to a discreet distance.
The Crown Prince’s expression mirrored his own—surprise mixed with resignation—and a sense of solidarity sneaked up on Stefan. Seconds later Sunita also stepped out, clad in a discreet dark blue dress. His sister-in-law waved cheerily and Stefan lifted a hand in an attempt at enthusiasm.
‘Why are we here?’ he hissed out of the side of his mouth.
Holly gave him a tentative smile, though her blue eyes shaded apprehensively. ‘You’ll see. Come on.’
Compression banded his chest and the sense that he had been manipulated fuzzed his brain as he considered his options. He could ask Franco to turn the car and rev it out of here. But wiser counsel prevailed—that would hardly back up the impression of brothers reunited. Whilst there were no reporters visible, he was pretty sure this meeting could hardly be kept secret.
A glance at Frederick indicated that he’d come to much the same conclusion, and he headed towards them as Stefan climbed out, no doubt propelled by a prod in the back from Sunita.
‘Stefan,’ he said formally.
‘Freddy.’
Stefan couldn’t resist. His brother had hated being called Freddy as a child, and the sense of being pushed into an awkward position had clearly sent Stefan straight back to childhood. Any minute now he’d find a pram and start chucking toys.
To his surprise, Frederick’s face split into an unexpected smile.
‘No one’s called me that since you left,’ he said. ‘And, for the record, this wasn’t my idea. At a guess, it wasn’t yours either.’
‘Nope.’ Damn right.
‘Then we’ve been ambushed.’ Frederick turned and smiled affably at his wife. ‘Perhaps you want to enlighten us as to why we’re here?’
‘Actually, this is Holly’s show. I am merely her assistant—or accomplice, depending on how you want to look at it. Holly, over to you.’
Holly’s show. The words pulled the band tighter round his chest. Since his father, it had never been anyone’s show but Stefan’s own. Warning bells clanged as he focused on her, watched as she straightened up, pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear and divided her focus between Frederick and himself.
‘This community has been hard-hit. It was already in trouble and the storm made things worse. What you both have in common is a desire to right the wrongs and injustices your father committed and help make Lycander a better place. I thought maybe you could work together on this specific community—use the ideas and strengths you both have. Frederick, I know how much you care about education. And, Stefan, I know of your belief in social housing. Together you could build houses...schools. I know you are doing that throughout Lycander, but perhaps this could be the one place that represents Stefan’s return to Lycander. If that makes sense. What do you think?’
She held her ground in the silence that followed.
Frederick glanced at his wife and Stefan could sense some sort of silent communication in progress. He suspected Sunita was issuing an escape route veto. Well, she had that right. Holly didn’t.
In reality escape wasn’t possible—this community did need assistance and he could provide it. But, right or wrong, the whole scenario didn’t sit well with him. Holly had pushed him onto the moral high ground—was pulling his strings, pushing his buttons. Find the cliché and apply.
So it might be. But these people in this community had been pushed into poverty and destitution by the policies his father had instigated. His father had pushed buttons and pulled strings to cause dissension and unhappiness. He knew Holly’s motives were good, that her aim was to help sow accord and not discord, and to achieve help for this place and the people who lived in it. Yet he couldn’t shake the warning buzz in his head, the shades of discomfort.
But that was for later. Here and now, this was a project he believed in.
‘I’m in.’ He turned to his brother. ‘But don’t feel you have to do this—I can handle it solo.’
Impossible to guess the thoughts that were going through Frederick’s blond head, but his face lightened into a smile. ‘Actually, I think this should be a joint enterprise. I know it’s your honeymoon, but do you want to stick around here for a bit and have a look? Bounce some ideas.’
One deep breath and then Stefan nodded. ‘Sure.’
In unison, Sunita and Holly stepped forward.
‘Grand!’ Sunita said. ‘Holly and I will take one car and you boys can have the other. Have fun!’
* * *
Holly paced the hotel room, anxiety edging her nerves as she wondered how it was going—whether this project would bring the brothers together. She wondered if she’d misread Stefan’s body language, the sense of irritation at her perceived interference. Yet she couldn’t regret it.
Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up, tried not be disappointed at the identity of the caller.
‘Hi, April.’
‘Holly. That’s a great write-up on you and Stefan. That should definitely nail it with regard to everyone buying into the two of you.’
Huh?
‘I haven’t heard of the reporter but it’s a fair article—she did well.’
Still not with it, she held her phone in place with her shoulder and pulled her laptop towards her. Pulled up the article April was describing in happy detail.
Oh, hell.
‘April, I
’ll call you back.’
Disconnecting, she sank onto the armchair and started to read.
Love for Real? The Verdict is In.
As all of Lycander knows, last week Prince Stefan tied the knot with Holly Romano, and amid a complicated backdrop of wills and lemons, the big question has been: Are they in love for real?
Well, let’s take a look at some of the evidence.
Exhibit One: The official interview done by April Fotherington—aka wife of Chief Advisor Marcus Alriksson—accompanied by the first official photograph.
Analysis: A little posed, a little formal, expressions a little strained. But who can blame them? It’s hard to pose officially.
Verdict: Are they in love? Possibly...maybe.
Exhibit Two: The televised interview.
Analysis: They talked the talk, walked the walk...until it came to the L question. Then they stumbled, but made a quick recovery.
Verdict: Are they in love? Maybe, baby.
Exhibit Three: The wedding.
Analysis: Definitely looking hot—but who wouldn’t in a dress like that?
Verdict: The jury is still out.
So I undertook a little casual surveillance...
Please note that I made no attempt to breach the privacy of the honeymoon suite itself, but I am guilty of a bit of ducking and diving whilst I followed the newlyweds around Lycander.
And so to Exhibit Four:
Holly’s heart hit her boots as she skimmed the photos.
Herself in the palace gardens, looking up at Stefan, a smile on her lips and love in her eyes. Jeez. She looked as if she thought he was the best thing since sliced granary. Oh, and joy! There was a picture of them in a clinch. She was literally hanging off his lips. But it wasn’t only that photo. The next was the killer. Her hand was on his T-shirt, brushing off a speck of dirt, and the goddamn look in her eyes was one of love.
She didn’t need to read the verdict, but she did it anyway—just in case there was even a sliver of a possibility that she’d got it wrong.
Verdict: One loved-up princess...
So, the best of luck to our new royals. Life gave them lemons and it looks like Princess Holly is going to make lemonade!
Panic strummed every single synapse—how had it happened? This reporter had got it right. Somewhere down the line she’d fallen for Stefan. Fool that she was. He’d made it more than clear that he was no fairy tale prince and she’d been damned sure her fairy tale days were over. Yet somehow she’d done it again—fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her back.
What to do? What to do?
For a start she had to make sure Stefan didn’t so much as suspect the truth. If he saw this article she’d laugh it off, put it down to the light, her acting skills, sexual afterglow...anything but the truth.
Speak of the devil... She looked up as the door opened, braced herself, shut the laptop and rose to her feet.
‘Hi. How did it go?’ Too breezy.
‘It went fine.’
His voice was even—not cold, but not warm, and the glint she’d become used to over the past days was gone. She’d been right—he was mad at her.
‘Good—and I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’ He shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the back of an armchair.
‘I know I forced your hand. I didn’t think you’d go if I’d told you where we were going.’
Even as she focused on the words the truth whirled inside her head, made his coolness hurt more. Love... She loved him.
‘It should have been my decision to make. I don’t like being bulldozed or manipulated. But I do understand that you did it with the best intentions, and Frederick and I had a productive few hours. The community wins...brand Petrelli Princes wins.’
‘That isn’t why I organised it.’
‘Then why did you?’
‘Because I knew you and Frederick weren’t bonding and I wanted to give you a chance to sort it out, to bring you closer together, to show you how much you have in common. I thought you could both let go of the past by doing something worthwhile together now. If you can let go of the past then you have a future.’
She could only pray that he didn’t read the subtext she was seeing herself. Damn it, she wanted a future with this man. Wanted him to decide love was for him after all.
‘The past makes us who we are,’ he said. ‘The past matters—you can’t just let go of it. But you can learn from it.’
‘But maybe sometimes the lessons we learn from it are wrong. Sunita told me that your father pitted you and Frederick against each other; it was Alphonse who fostered the dislike. You and Frederick can overcome that.’
His grey eyes darkened, and bleak shadows chased across them as he shook his head. ‘If it were as easy as that perhaps we could. But it isn’t. In any case, I don’t want closeness with Frederick.’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s not my way, Holly. I prefer to walk alone. I like the control it gives me to do what I want to do without answering to anyone else.’
The certainty in his voice was unassailable, and his words made her heart ache as she began to accept the futility of her love.
But maybe she could make him see reason.
‘You can still have control and be close to others—you would still have choices.’ Deep breath. ‘I know how much seeing your mother suffer must have hurt you, and I know it must feel like it was your fault...that loving you resulted in hurt for her.’
‘It didn’t feel like that. That is what happened. Fact, not feeling.’
‘But all love doesn’t have to be like that. Your mother wouldn’t want you to give up on closeness or love. I know that.’
‘Then she would be wrong. She had one life, Holly. One life—and most of it was miserable because of her love for me. She was chained to an abusive man who used her love for me to humiliate her, to make her life hell. Her love for me gave my father power. Love gives power.’
Oh, God. As her brain joined the dots all she wanted to do was hold him, but as she moved towards him she saw him move imperceptibly backwards and she stopped.
‘And your love for her...it gave your father power over you?’
‘Yes.’ His voice was flat. ‘And he used that power. He made me pay dearly for every visit to my mother. He decided her love for me had weakened me, made me less “princely”. So he devised a regime—a training programme. If I adhered to it, if I achieved his goals, I’d get time with my mother—as well as becoming a real prince, of course.’
The sneer, the bitterness, made her ache even as she was appalled at Alphonse’s actions. It twisted her insides. The image of a young boy, desperately missing his mother, being put through such a regime made her feel ill.
‘But even then he changed the rules. One day the regime was over. I’d failed and my mother was gone. Exiled.’
‘But...why?’ It seemed impossible to fathom how anyone could do that.
‘He’d met his next wife. She wanted rid of Eloise. He wanted it to look as though she’d abandoned me and he was remarrying to give his children a “proper” mother. It worked for him. And love still gave him power—over both of us. My mother went without a fight because she was scared of what he might do to me. As for me, there was nothing I could do—I’d already failed her.’
‘No!’ The word was torn from her, and now she did move towards him—didn’t care if he rejected her. She stepped into his space and put her arms around him. ‘That’s not true.’
But she could see exactly why his younger self had thought that—knew that deep down, despite his adult understanding, he still believed it. His body was hard, unyielding, no trace of the man she’d shared so much passion with, the man who had held her, whose arms she had woken up in these past three mornings.
‘Just like it’s not my fault that my mothe
r didn’t—couldn’t—love me. That wasn’t my failure. I was a child. So were you. You didn’t fail your mother.’
She held her breath, and then hope deflated as he shrugged.
‘Whether it’s true or not isn’t the point. I don’t want closeness. Closeness leads to love. Love is not for me—I won’t give anyone that power again. Hell, I don’t want that power over anyone either.’
That told her. Any not yet formed idea of telling him of her love died before it could even take root. She could not, would not, repeat the past. He was right—the past was there to be learned from.
Her mother, her father, his mother, his father, had all been caught in the coils of unrequited love. It had caused bitterness and misery and she was damned if she would walk that path. Or do that to him. Because if he even so much as suspected she’d fallen for him he would be appalled, and she couldn’t stand the humiliation of that.
She loved him—he didn’t love her. She would not do what her mother had done: hang on for years, becoming progressively more bitter, hoping in perpetuity that he would miraculously change his mind and love her. The only path—the only sensible path—was to walk away. At speed, with as much dignity as possible.
Think.
She couldn’t walk away from their marriage—ironically those vows did bind them for another few months—but she could change the terms of the deal. That was a language Stefan did understand. Because she couldn’t have any sort of relationship with him—not now she knew she loved him.
‘I don’t agree,’ she said simply. ‘Love doesn’t have to give abusive power. Look at Sunita and Frederick. Look at Marcus and April.’
‘That is the choice they have made. It’s not a choice I agree with.’
‘And that’s your right. Just like it’s your right and choice not to engage with Frederick. But you’re missing out. Yes, you won’t get hurt, but you won’t experience closeness either.’ Another deep breath and she forced herself to continue. ‘On that note, I think we need to cool it.’
