The Wicked Prince

by Wood, Vivian

  I swallow, looking down at my latte. “That does sound like a sticky wicket.”

  She smirks at me. “You are actually the only person who probably knows better than I do, Margot. Tell me, has anything come of your insane crush on Stellan yet?”

  My eyes widen. I blush furiously. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  She shakes her head at me. “Oh, please. Ever since the second you laid eyes on him, you’ve been making this face at him. Like this.”

  She angles her face and flutters her lashes. I make a disgruntled sound.

  “Uh! No. I am not like that!” I protest.

  “Oooh, you are too!” she cries, laughing. “Talk about a couple that just seems like they are bound to slip up and end up banging the hell out of each other…”

  I feel my face heat. “Pippa…”

  She studies me for a second, then grins. “Oh. Oh! I think you already did slip up! You did, didn’t you?” She throws her head back and cackles. “I was right!”

  “Oh my god,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Okay, so Stellan and I finally did it. So what?”

  “Umm… yeah, that’s not good enough. I’m going to need details. Was it great? Where did you do it? And how did you guys leave things?” She spreads her hands out over the table. “Tell me everything.”

  I groan. “Please don’t make me."

  She snots. “Dish.”

  “Ugh.” I run my fingers through the curls in my hair. “Okay. Umm… yes, it was great. We went to a little coastal house in Norway for the weekend and we…” I pause, screwing up my face. “We did everything we wanted to do for a full twenty four hours, on every conceivable surface. And then…” I shake my head. “I thought we left things on a good note, but then he just stood me up today, so…”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “Who knows?”

  Pippa leans forward. “Do you think he got in his own head? In my experience with Stellan, duty is his weakness. If he spends too long thinking about how he wants to do something but is duty bound to do something else… he ends up doing the un-fun thing. It’s just how he is.”

  “Well… it doesn’t really matter. I am not exactly chomping at the bit to get involved with all the crap that comes along with trying to date Stellan. He is great, but…” I shake my head. “The whole ‘requirements to date a royal’ thing doesn’t sound like I’ll like it. I’m all about smashing the patriarchy and breaking through glass ceilings, not reinforcing them.”

  Pippa gives me a look. “You might say that. But what does your heart have to say?”

  I give a humorless chuckle. “My heart says what I tell it to say, period. End of story.”

  “Does it? Tell me, how do you get your heart to listen? That’s one of the things that I struggle with constantly.” She pouts.

  I shift in my seat, not entirely comfortable. “I don’t know. You just do.”

  Her lips lift. She raises her latte to her lips, sipping it coolly. When she sets it down, she eyes me.

  “I think you are full of shit.”

  “What? Why?”

  She shrugs. “I think you just haven’t given yourself enough time to consider whether you are a complete lovesick fool or whether you’re just dabbling. Dipping a toe into Stellan’s pool to test the waters.” She smirks. “I’m willing to bet you’re the former.”

  “Well, I call bullshit on you not being in love with Lars! It’s complicated? I just bet it is, Miss Welch. I think you love him and you’re just not willing to say it out loud.”

  “Ah!” she says, making an outraged sound. “I could say the same for you!”

  “No, no. You and Lars share a history. Stellan and I were born under two totally different moons in two completely different solar systems. Okay?”

  Pippa’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think so.”

  My phone buzzes. I reach for it, checking the screen. Then a warm feeling rushes over me when I read the words.

  Sorry about today. Got held up. Meet me at seven tonight? Wear cocktail attire.

  There is no signature, but I know who it’s from. I smile as I respond.

  Just give me an address.

  When I look up, Pippa is surveying me knowingly.

  I turn red. “What?” I ask, putting my phone away.

  She rolls her eyes. “Don’t pretend like that wasn’t Stellan. You are so easy to read, it’s crazy.”

  I sigh. “All right, it was Stellan. Happy?”

  She reaches across the table, catching my hand. She looks me in the eye. “Yes. I am.”

  I pull a face. “Do you want to walk with me back to that dress shop? I need something to wear tonight.”

  She grins. “I can’t think of anything that would make me happier. We need to put you in something that is so hot, it’ll melt Stellan’s tie right off his body.”

  Giggling at Pippa’s description, I down the rest of my latte and then head to do some shopping.

  Chapter Thirty

  Stellan

  I pull at my tie, wishing like anything that I could loosen it. But this little gallery opening is as fancy as they come. My black suit and tie just make me one of the crowd.

  I take a sip of the old fashioned I ordered at the bar earlier, scanning the gallery for the hundredth time. Margot is running late.

  If she’s coming at all, that is.

  And I’m standing here, uncomfortable in my suit jacket, fending off the general public. I sigh aloud and make myself focus on a large framed photo photograph that’s displayed on the wall.

  Somehow she sneaks up to stand beside me. When I notice her standing there, looking thoughtfully at the art, I take a step back.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mumble. “You look…”

  I trail off. She’s wearing a short-sleeved, floor-length dress that is just a shade or two darker than her neon pink hair. Although the dress doesn’t show any cleavage or legs, it’s so tight that it looks like she was sewn into the damn dress.

  She runs a hand through her hair, giving me an uncertain smile. “I hope that sentence ends well.”

  I nod slowly, trying to unglue my eyes from her tits and ass. “Uh huh.”

  She cocks her head. “I’m guessing you’re not secretly mad at me, then?”

  “What?” I glance up and meet her deep blue eyes, puzzled. “Why would I be?”

  She shrugs one shoulder, coming close to me. One corner of her mouth turns up. “I didn’t know what to think when you didn’t show up today.”

  Casting my gaze out over the gallery, I squint. “Ja. My grandmother changed my itinerary unexpectedly. Apparently, no one thought to inform the press office.”

  “Ah. Is everything okay?”

  Her eyes are on me. Probing me. I glance down.

  “Ja. My grandmother is just reminding me of my duty to the country, I guess. Nothing for you to be concerned about, Margot.” I sigh, smoothing my face into a pleasant expression. “Let us talk about other things. The art, for example. I thought you would like the exhibition.”

  She arches a brow, then swings her gaze to the wall. A large photo of a busy Bombay market hangs in front of us, the image colorful and busy. While she looks at it, taking a little step toward the canvas, I look at her.

  Margot really does look beautiful this evening. Her dress rustles a little as she leans forward, then she looks at me, her dark blue eyes crinkling with humor.

  “Do you have any idea who this photographer is?”

  I screw up my face. “No. This is a benefit for the Copenhagen Contemporary Museum. I just thought that you would appreciate this particular room, that’s all. You know. It’s the same kind of art that you do.”

  Her lips curve up. “It’s very nice.”

  I cock a brow. “There seems to be a but waiting in the wings.”

  “But nothing.” She comes closer, standing beside me and sliding her hand into the crook of my arm. “Is this okay?”

  I look down into her face, my mouth kicking up. I hope that no one looks at the two of u
s standing so close and assumes that we are guilty of exactly what we are doing… but then again, I don’t really care. Not when she’s so close.

  “Ja,” I say softly. Bending down, I whisper in her ear. “Your dress is really killing me right now. I’m imagining that it would look so nice on my bedroom floor.”

  “Stellan!” she admonishes me. Then her lips twitch. “I guess you really aren’t mad at me.”

  “You wouldn’t be here if I was.” I straighten up as one of my father’s cabinet comes into view. “Ah, shit. There is a man over there that I would rather avoid, if I can. Let’s keep moving.”

  Margot lets me guide her into the next room, which is just more of the same thing. Light gray walls, with photographs centered ten feet apart. I flag down a waitress and get her a glass of champagne.

  For her part, she seems to pay less attention to the art hanging on the walls than the glamorous people in fancy dresses and swanky suits strolling around. She’s unusually closemouthed, which makes me even more curious.

  “I can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking,” I say.

  She breaks away from her hawk-eyed gaze over the gallery patrons and flushes. “I guess I’m just… absorbing. I had never considered before today that maybe people just live like this. The parties and galas, the freshly pressed suits and fancy dresses…”

  “You realize that you are wearing a ballgown, do you not? You’re actually a little bit better dressed than almost everyone else here.”

  She gives me a tiny glare. “This is a rented dress, Stellan. I’m definitely Cinderella in this scenario, trying to fit in at the ball.”

  I smirk. “Do you have singing mice to dress you?”

  “No, but I’ve got Pippa.” She rolls her eyes. “I just… I’m wondering if all billionaires and millionaires are so… hands off. That’s what I was thinking, to answer your question.”

  “Ah. Well… in my family, the answer is definitely no. My mother is very active in her charitable work, most of which involves spending a lot of time with HIV and AIDS patients. My sister Annika is really devoted to working with the NATO peacekeepers. She’s gone for a month at a time, advocating on their behalf. Finn spends a good deal of time working with refugees in Spain and Portugal. Anders is worried about feeding the entire world…” I shake my head. “Everyone that I know has their causes that they support and work toward.”

  She frowns. “But not you?”

  “Uhh, no. I mean, I have events like this. I’m a major patron of so many museums and I sit on the board of tons of charities… but when it comes down to it, I just have the crown to worry about. Trust me, it’s plenty.”

  Her eyes meet mine briefly before she glances away. “I see.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Do you?”

  She nods, screwing up her face briefly. “Actually, yeah. I can imagine that it’s an all-encompassing thing. As it should be, I guess. I mean… in the United States, we have the president. And they have to be on call twenty four hours a day, seven days a week while they’re in office. I can’t imagine that being the king of Denmark is any different… and that’s for life.”

  Making a face, I nod. “Ja, that’s about the size of it.”

  She squeezes my arm. “Wanna get out of here for a while? I mean, as long as you are avoiding people…”

  I smirk. “I can give you about half an hour. Then people will start to notice my absence, I think.”

  She grins, mischief lighting her eyes. “Take a walk on the wild side, Prince Stellan. Be bad.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please. Nobody does bad the way royals do it, okay?”

  “Mm.” Her eyes dart around the room, spying a partially hidden door. “Let’s see where that one goes.”

  I let her pull me along after her, slipping out the door and into the shadows of the museum after nightfall. Margot slides her small hand into mine and pulls me down the hall.

  I would be lying if I said that feeling her warm skin against mine wasn’t as exciting as our escape from the gallery benefit. I try to remind myself that I can’t actually like this girl… I shouldn’t even be here, letting her pull me into a darkened gallery.

  But I don’t do anything to stop her. I’m not entirely sure I could if I wanted to. She turns the light switches on, a spotlight falling on her and throwing her into profile.

  She glances at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Pick a painting.” She motions to a couple of paintings. “And look at it for a minute. Then tell me how it makes you feel.”

  “You had me sneak away from the party to critique art?” I ask.

  Margot cocks her head, tugging at my elbow. “It’s important to look at things and process how we feel about them. Art is all about making that process happen in a safe space. Sometimes what you see intentionally invokes emotion; sometimes it’s a more…” She pauses to find the right word. “Internal process, I guess.”

  She pulls me over to one painting. It looks vaguely familiar. It’s small, probably only two feet by three. Hanging in a simple silver frame, it’s an enormous field of what looks like wheat, all in oranges and yellows. There is a lone figure cutting the wheat in the far corner. Overhead, a light green sky overshadows the mountains.

  “It’s… nice, I guess?” I say, tilting my head to take it in from another angle.

  Her lips curve upward. “I recognize the painting. It’s called Wheat Field With Reaper. Look, look how everything is yellow, yellow-green, orange-yellow, gold… There is a man working over here. And he is just surrounded by these dry, thirsty colors. I look at all that and I wonder at how hot it is… I can’t quite make out the detail of the man’s face, but I see him laboring all alone. It’s sort of serene, I think.”

  I nod slowly, glancing down at her. “I can see that.”

  She gives me a half smile. “It’s by Van Gogh, for what it’s worth. He said it was about death and how he wasn’t scared of dying.”

  “Ah! For some reason, I find that sort of worrisome.”

  Margot shrugs a slender shoulder. “I think the next painting is a Van Gogh too. I don’t know what it’s called, though.”

  We walk over to look at the painting, which is several trees painted against a field of little white flowers. In the back, a river or a road meanders past.

  “Hm.” I study the painting.

  “What does it make you feel?” she asks delicately. “The mishmash of colors on the trees. The oddly… sort of curvy and pointy bark of the trees. The white and yellow and green of this field of flowers… Back here, you see some blue flowers as well.”

  She gestures, wiggling her fingers over the painting. I make a face.

  “I’m really terrible at this game.”

  “Just look for another minute. Let that particular bright shade of green soak into your senses. What does it make you think?”

  I give her a long look, then glance at the painting. “I don’t know. The green is… fresh? Sort of… it has an energy?”

  She lights up. “Yes! It definitely does.”

  Scrunching half my face up, I sigh. “It’s spring, obviously. So it kind of makes me wonder what the same place would be like in other seasons.”

  “It most certainly does.” She grins. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  She looks up at me, her eyes so deep blue, her hair so perfectly pink. Grabbing her by the waist, I pull her against my body and kiss her. I pull in deep lungfuls of her scent, making me horny as fuck and plastering a stupid smile over my face.

  When I release her, she turns pink and bites her lip. “Thanks.” She giggles. “For the kiss, I mean.”

  “Oh, that was strictly for my personal pleasure.”

  Margot rolls her eyes but she has a grin on her lips. “Should we get back?”

  I let her go, following her back into the darkened hallway. But as I go, there’s something in the pit of my stomach… a sensation I can’t quite name.

  It sticks with me for the rest of the night, floating around in my h
ead. I don’t want to name it, so I pretend it isn’t there.

  But it definitely is…

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Margot

  I have a long week. At the newspaper, I have to explain to Anna why I’m not almost done with my article… I haven’t even started writing it, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  Add that to the monotony of the royal routine finally setting in. I arrive in the morning. I spend an hour with Stellan at the palace, more likely than not having intense, gymnastic sex. And then we spend a full day visiting factories, schools, children’s hospitals…

  It’s fun for a few days. And then… it’s work. By the time I get home at night, I’m dead on my feet.

  I can see Stellan getting tired as the week winds down. To myself, I can admit that I’m fairly exhausted too. And yet this is only my third full week of keeping pace with the royal schedule.

  I have no idea how all the Løve family do it forever.

  Luckily, Stellan proposes the perfect antidote to my exhaustion. A whole weekend at a house on the coast, a two hour drive from Copenhagen. We’ll be by ourselves in a mansion…

  Yeah, it doesn’t sound too shabby. I just have to shove down all my working class girl judgments to enjoy it. Without really taking any time to think it through, I tell Stellan yes.

  Two hours later, we are so close to the ocean that I can actually smell the salt in the air. As we pull through the trees, the ocean is just right there, down a sandy beach. I sit up as we pull around to a gray, three story mansion house.

  The second we stop, Stellan is out of the driver’s side. “Look at it!” He points to the gray sea, grinning as he opens the car’s trunk. “I could stare at that all day.”

  I climb out of the car, squinting at the coastline. A gust of wind takes me by surprise and blows up the back of my short black dress. I squeal and smooth my dress down.

  Stellan grins at me. “You might as well get naked, because I plan on being au naturel all weekend.”

  A shiver of excitement runs down my spine at his words. I don’t want him to just assume that I am game for anything, although I mostly am. I shoot him a look. “We’ll see.”