by Caroline Lee
He glanced down at her, and smiled ruefully as he went back to his clockwork cycle of watching the sails, the water, the pennant, the lines, the boats around them.
“I just meant, with the bet and all, if we don’t win, it’s alright.”
The bet the bet the bet the bet.
Cass’s heart was pounding in her ears, and she hadn’t taken a full breath in at least a minute. “What?” she choked out again, hating that she sounded like a broken record. “The bet?” her voice was unnaturally high.
He didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll admit I wasn’t paying too much attention yesterday to Hans, but I’m pretty sure he said something about the runner-up getting to choose the charity the winner donates the money to. I seem to recall Hans Jensen once set up a charity for breeding those small fluffy dogs.” Pennant-lines-pennant-sails-boats. “I don’t remember why they needed a charity, though.”
Cass swore her heart actually stopped beating for a second before restarting at a more frantic pace. She slumped back against the bench and tried to remember to breathe, even just shallow breaths.
Great googly-moogly. Kristoff wasn’t talking about the bet she made with Britta…he was talking about the bet he’d made with Hans. The only problem was that she hadn’t been paying attention yesterday—she’d been too busy glaring daggers at Britta and feeling proud-as-hell that Kristoff had his arm around her instead of the other woman.
“So…” she began cautiously, picking apart her vague memory. “If you win, you have to donate the money to whatever charity he says? And it might be that one—the yappy dog one?”
He shrugged, and made a minute correction to the wheel, his eyes on the pennant above. “I have no idea about that last part. But yeah, I think that might be what I agreed too when we shook hands” He flashed her a quick smile. “I’ll admit I was thinking more about getting you alone, back here on my boat.”
She had no choice but to grin at that. It seemed as if they’d both been distracted.
If she had been paying attention yesterday, she would’ve realized what was going on. With his little wager, Hans had literally hedged his bets. If he lost, he’d be able to make Kristoff—a royal prince—donate the prize money to his pet—pun intended!—charity. If he won, his sister would get to date said royal prince.
The Jensens would win, either way.
Cass groaned, and dropped her head into her hands. What should they do? If Kristoff won, his charity would lose the money. If he lost, Britta would get him. Oh my Thor, this is a mess.
“Hey.” Kristoff nudged her with the side of his foot. “Hey, sweetheart, it’ll be alright.”
“How?” she wailed against her palms.
“It’ll be fine,” he repeated. “I’m not going to give this less than my best—you know that, right? And if we have to donate the money to his charity, that’s okay too.”
She risked a peek up at him. “But Enriching Children…the camp you wanted them to build for the kids up in the mountains?”
He shrugged, his attention skipping around. “It’ll be fine, really. I’m a prince.” He flashed her another smile…one she recognized as his attempt-to-appear-trustworthy smile. “I’ve got plenty of money, and if I have to donate to them directly, I will.”
But if he did, if it came out that he really was a philanthropist, he’d be hounded and bothered. To Cass, to anyone else, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. But to Kristoff, who wore ratty shorts and rebuilt broken Jeeps and walked around barefoot…it would be.
If the public knew who he was as heart, he wouldn’t be free to be that person. He’d have to become someone else—someone who went to charity functions and made nice with dignitaries and whatnot.
No, Kristoff had come up with this plan to make sure he got the money to Enriching Children, and who knew if there’d be another chance. The winner’s pot needed to go to that charity.
Which meant Kristoff had to lose.
And there was no way he was going to do that, not on purpose. She knew him—knew him well. He didn’t do anything less than his utter best at anything. He gave it his all—threw himself into each new challenge 110%.
The way he was eying the Jensens’ boat as their bow pulled even with the Älskvärd’s stern told her that he wasn’t going to let them win. Kristoff was determined to give this race his very best, just like everything else he did in life.
Well, shit.
“Hey, Cass!”
His call broke through her worry, and jerked her attention to him. He was frowning up at the pennant.
When he glanced at her and saw he had her attention, he jerked his head. “Take the wheel. I’m going to go check on the jib, see if we can coax a little more speed out of my baby.”
Cass glanced over at the Jensens as she moved up beside Kristoff. Britta was definitely smirking, probably already thinking about the things she’d like to do to Kristoff.
“Why are they gaining on us like that?” she asked, almost frantic.
Kristoff stepped away, to let her settle once more behind the wheel. “Hans’ boat is almost a meter shorter than the Älskvärd. It means we’re still in the same division, but he’s lighter, a little less draw. I’m going to see if we can compensate.” He pointed to the group of pleasure boats gathered to watch the race off their port. “Keep an eye on them, and just stay pointed towards the finish buoy. I’ll be back before we get too close.”
Cass nodded and took a deep breath. “Got it.”
And she knew what she had to do.
The next several minutes were tense. Cass’s world narrowed to the feel of the wind against her cheek, the flow of the water ahead of her, and the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She ignored the spectators’ wild cheering as they flashed by on the shore, and tried to block out the knowledge of how quickly the Jensens were pulling even.
When their bow passed the Älskvärd’s stern, where Cass was standing at the wheel, Britta waved mockingly, and Cass forced herself to breathe.
Maybe this is okay. Maybe Britta and Hans will win fair and square, and everything will be okay.
Except she would’ve lost Kristoff.
But still, if that’s the way the universe intended it…
But Kristoff was still up at the bow, tightening lines which couldn’t be controlled from the computer screen, and the finish-line buoy was coming up fast. And the Jensens’ pulpit was still a good five meters behind the Älskvärd’s.
Holy pitootie, Kristoff was going to win. He was going to win, and in doing so, lose what mattered most to him.
He had to lose this race. And in doing so, lose what mattered to Cass.
With only slight hesitation, she reached out and pressed a code into the computer screen of the Assisted Trim System. Cass met Britta’s shocked expression just as she pressed “implement”.
The mainsail began to furl, and the Älskvärd immediately lost momentum. The Jensens’ boat seemed to surge ahead, crossing in front of the finish buoy with almost two boat-lengths between them.
From the bow, Kristoff’s angry “What just happened?” rang out.
Cass winced as she heard him stomping back towards her, but she kept her attention on the furling sail, the jib—now luffing as most of their forward momentum had stalled and she hadn’t bothered to compensate—and the crowd of boats on the other side of the finish buoy.
“Cass?” His voice was gentler this time, but she could still hear the accusation in it.
That’s when she realized there were tears streaming down her face. She’d done it. She’d thrown the race for him, so he would get to decide which charity received the winner’s pot…but in doing so, she’d lost the man she loved.
Without looking at him, she offered a half-hearted, “Whoops.”
“Whoops?” He repeated, then again, incredulously. “Whoops?” He pushed her aside, his fingers stabbing at the computer screen, furling the sail and bringing them in under engine power. He bypassed the crowds and headed towards his marina, obviously
just trying to get away from everything. “Whoops,” he repeated yet again, in a whisper.
“You know me…” she shrugged. “Clumsy.”
He took a deep breath and looked over at her. “Not on board, you’re not. You’re a sailor, Cass.” He lowered his voice again. “Now, what happened?”
The gentleness in his gorgeous grey eyes almost undid her. Cass turned away from him, looking out over the Bay, the tears streaming down her face. And refused to answer.
He wouldn’t know how hard it had been to give him up.
CHAPTER TEN
“Kristoff? Are you in there?”
The banging on the cabin door broke through Kristoff’s maudlin thoughts, and he turned away from the porthole he’d been staring out of for the last twenty minutes. He considered ignoring Mack’s call, and hoping his brother would go away, but when the door handle rattled, he sighed in defeat.
“No,” he called out. “Go away.”
From the other side of the door came his brother’s snort of laughter, but the younger man pushed inside anyhow. “Found you on the second try.”
“How?” Not that Kristoff really cared, all things considered. He didn’t really care about anything anymore…
Mack closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, his hands in the trousers of his tuxedo. “With us still moored, there’s only one side which offers a view of the bay, and I knew you’d be moping somewhere where you could see the water.” He nodded towards the porthole. “So I started checking the private cabins.”
Kristoff just grunted at his brother’s ingenuity, and turned back to the view. Mack was right; he did feel more comfortable staring at the water. “Why are you here?”
“Mom sent me.”
“Really?”
“Well, no. When Doct—sorry, Pops, showed up with Cassandra, and it was obvious she’d been crying, Mom said—and I quote—‘What has that son of mine done now?’, so I figured someone had better track you down. You came on board with all of us, after all, but disappeared.”
Kristoff didn’t say anything. He just kept staring. He had come on board the royal yacht with his family, as was traditional…but slipped away before the official photographs started. He hadn’t felt like celebrating, after all, and since Alek had declared the yacht would stay moored tonight, because of the security concerns, Kristoff didn’t even have the comfort of the Baltic around him.
Mack didn’t take the hint. “Of course, she could’ve been talking about any of her sons, but you’re the one Cassandra has been hanging out with lately. You’re the one who partnered with her today…”
He trailed off, obviously fishing for a response or a hint at what had happened. When Kristoff didn’t answer, Mack kept poking.
“I guess it’s no surprise she’s been crying. You lost today because of her, didn’t you? You’ve never lost, but you take someone like her on board—someone so clumsy—and she cost you the race.” He sighed. “It’s really no surprise, I guess. She’s awkward and bumbling, and I’m guessing she tripped and fell and brought down the sails at the last minute. Someone like her—”
That’s it.
Kristoff whirled on his brother. “Someone like her? Someone like her?” He couldn’t stand to listen to Mack—or anyone—disparage Cass that way. “Someone like her is sweet, and funny, and smart as hell.” He advanced on Mack, one finger pointed at the younger man’s chest. “She’s gorgeous, and yeah, Cass might be a little clumsy on land, but not on the water. She’s—she’s—fun, and—and—”
He was so furious, he was running out of words. And his stupid brother just stood there, hands in his pockets, leaning up against the door like he was glad Kristoff was pissed off.
Mack’s smirk grew. “Don’t forget charming.”
“What?” Kristoff sputtered.
“Charming. Cassandra is funny, sexy, smart, and charming.”
Kristoff frowned, his anger easing into confusion. “Yeah. Charming.” He squinted suspiciously at his brother. “She’s perfect. Perfect for me, at least. She’s never so much as tripped on board.”
“Do you love her?”
Kristoff stared for a long moment. Did he love her?
“…Yeah.”
Yes, he did. But…
“But why would she throw the race like that?”
Mack shrugged, and straightened away from the door. “She’s smart, as you said, so I’m sure there’s a reason for it. Was there a reason she might not want to win?”
No. But there’s a reason she might have wanted me to come in second place.
Kristoff closed his eyes on a groan and turned away from his brother, stumbling towards the bunk. He sunk down on it, and dropped his head into his hands.
Was it the wager? Really? Had she made sure to lose the race so he could declare Enriching Children the recipient of the winner’s pot, even if he wasn’t the one who’d won?
She’d known what was important to him, and done what he had no intention of doing; losing intentionally.
“Well, I guess you’ve figured it out. Want to share?”
Kristoff could hear the smirk in his brother’s soft voice, and he snorted into his palms. “No.” Not in a million years would he explain what kind of idiot he’d been, to get into a situation where Cass had to make that decision for him. “No,” he repeated.
Mack wasn’t the one he needed to explain anything to. But Cass was.
“Where is she?” he growled.
His brother, bless him, knew exactly who he meant. “In the ballroom with the rest of the family. She kept trying to sneak off, but Emma is sticking to her, and Pops keeps sneaking her vodka.”
“Cass is drinking?” What had caused that?
But Mack snorted. “In the time it took me to slip away to look for you, I saw her dump two drinks into potted plants. You’d better get up there before she kills a fern.”
Kristoff dropped his hands, and straightened his shoulders. He had to get up there to talk to her.
To take her in his arms, and tell her he understood why she’d thrown the race.
To thank her.
To tell her he loved her.
“If you’re still standing between me and the door in five seconds, I’m going to knock you over.”
His brother’s laughter echoed behind Kristoff as he hurried down the corridor for the grand staircase.
Even though this party was fairly exclusive—limited only to the Regatta winners, the committee, the charitable representatives, and the press—Kristoff had to practically elbow his way past the people packed thickly in the small ballroom.
And Aunt Marina wants to fit a state wedding in here, huh?
There was Lady Marcia, chatting with Alek and a very suspicious-looking Toni. She was probably there as one of the founders of Enriching Children. And plenty of people—even some kids—who looked so uncomfortable in their formal wear Kristoff could tell they were sailors. He recognized the yacht’s captain chatting with one of the winners, and the rest of the crew—obvious in their crisp white uniforms—were circulating throughout the room, at ease since the ship was moored and they weren’t needed on the bridge. Everywhere there were photographers capturing the glitz and the glitter, and Johan was in the corner talking to Emma’s journalist friend, what’s her name. Trixie? Tracy?
And then someone shifted out of the way, and Kristoff saw Cass. She was dressed in a simple blue dress—no sequins or poofs this time—and looking downright miserable, standing between her father and Arne.
Kristoff simultaneously felt as if he’d been knocked in the chest with a boom and as if he were under full sail out on the Baltic: Exhilarated and terrified all at once.
He managed a deep breath, and stepped towards Cass—
And stumbled into a warm body. A warm body with too much perfume, too much hair spray, and not nearly enough clothes.
It took him a moment to untangle himself—made more difficult by the fact the woman obviously didn’t want to help—and stared into the
smiling face of his mother’s wedding planner.
“Hello, Prince Kristoff,” Britta purred, looking like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “It’s good to…see you.”
The way she looked him up and down left nothing to the imagination. He’d seen Viggo look at women that way—like he was measuring them for his bed, later—but they’d never seemed to mind when he did it. When Britta looked at Kristoff that way though, he felt…dirty. Like he was a conquest or something.
He resisted the urge to pull his jacket tighter around him. “Hello, Britta. What can I do for you?”
He tried to edge around her, remaining polite but distant. She wasn’t going for it. If anything, she pressed herself against him even more. Whatever she was wearing under that silky strapless red dress, it wasn’t underwear. He swore he could feel every little knobby bone—she lacked all of Cass’s delicious curves.
“Oh, Your Highness.” Her laugh was tinkling and fake, like the rest of her. “It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.”
Good God, if she pressed herself any closer, she’d be behind him.
Kristoff did his best to back away, to move towards Cass, but Britta followed, plastered against him.
“Would you like to dance, Kristoff?” she purred, rubbing her bony pelvis in what she probably thought was an enticing manner.
“Um…no, not really.”
He was almost to Cass, and his brother had gone off and left her alone. Now all he had to do was get rid of Britta…
“Whoops!”
Britta’s not-quite convincing stumble landed her in his arms, as she grabbed his neck to keep from falling. Kristoff twisted to catch her—although she probably deserved to land on her face after that move—and ended up facing Cass with his arms around another woman.
The bleak look of despair on her face broke his heart.
“Cass? I’m sorry, sweetheart, this isn’t—”
He did his best to remove Britta’s arms from his neck, but the woman was like a limpet; hard and moist and determined. And Cass just looked…accepting. Like she’d expected Britta to end up in his arms.
