by Holly Rayner
Shameful tears sting my eyes. I don’t want to face Greta, but I have to. I’d be a despicable person to not at least apologize to her.
“Your Majesty,” I start as she closes the door, “I’m so sorry.”
She folds her hands in front of her, the corners of her mouth pinching. She looks more hurt than angry, and that’s worse. It’s better when someone yells at you, because then you feel justified to yell back at them. But when you’ve hurt them and all they do is stand there and quietly accept it, that’s a knife to the heart.
Greta stoically looks at Max and me, as if there’s one last secret hidden somewhere on our faces and she’s working on ferreting it out.
“I was wrong,” Max says, his head hanging.
“We should never have lied,” I say. “But Max and I are in love, and we intend on staying married.”
“That is correct.” Max pulls me into the side of his chest.
Greta’s eyelashes flutter. “Is that true?”
“It appears to be,” Sacha says. “I didn’t want to believe it myself at first, but observe the way Max looks at Poppy. Have you ever seen him so happy?”
My face warms, and, feeling Max’s gaze on me, I turn my face to his. His eyes are soft and full of admiration, and I immediately grin.
The world could be up in flames all around us, and he’d still be able to make me smile.
“I’m happy to hear that,” Greta says. “We have long feared that Max would never find anyone.”
Max makes a face. “Come now, Greta.”
She remains solemn. “Oh, yes.”
“You don’t have to worry anymore.” I lock my arms around Max’s torso. “I’m not letting him go for anything. I want Max in whatever way I can get him, royal or not. That being said, I don’t want to create problems in your family.”
Greta hesitates, weighing my words. I’m worried what I’ve said isn’t enough, but I also don’t want to say too much and ruin this apology altogether, so I hold my tongue and wait.
“I appreciate you not wanting to create problems for us,” she tells me, “and I accept your apology. However, I am sure the king does not.”
My stomach drops.
“Where is he?” Max asks, cutting a glance at the door. “We sent word that we came to see him.”
“He is in his study,” Greta says. “He will not be joining us.”
I close my eyes.
He won’t even come out to let us try and explain ourselves?
Crud.
“We came here to speak specifically to him,” Max says, each word clipped.
I tighten my fingers around his hand and open my eyes to catch his gaze. At my imploring look, he softens and takes a deep breath. He knows losing his temper will do no good. Especially when Otto’s absence isn’t Greta’s fault.
It’s ours.
“We thought about leaving Stromhaer,” I say, “but we can’t. Not with things so wrong between us all.”
The possibility that since I’m such a new member to this family Greta does not consider me part of “us all” crosses my mind, but I gather my courage and stand up straight.
“I have lost both my parents,” I say, “and I know the things that go through a person’s mind once they realize they’ll never have their mom or dad to call up for advice or gripe to again.”
Greta bows her head. “Yes,” she murmurs, “I too know the feeling.”
“You can talk to Father,” Sacha says to her. “Make him see. He always listens to you.”
Her lips purse. “I am afraid this time it is different, Sacha. I already told Otto that he was too quick to judge and that we should restart the conversation.”
“And?” Max presses.
“He would hear nothing of it. When your request to see him came, he told me to deny all visitors and retreated to his study.”
“He’s angry,” Sacha says. “He will come around.”
Greta’s breath catches. “It is more than anger.”
My throat aches, and I bite into my trembling lip. We’ve hurt Otto badly.
Or, Max has hurt him. He likely sees me as nothing more than an opportunist. A stranger who wants a piece of the royal family, like millions of other people on Earth.
Otto and Max need to make things right. Or they at least need to try.
But Otto won’t talk to his own son.
“Can I go in alone?” I ask, blurting out the question before I allow myself time to wonder if it’s a good idea.
Greta’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “You want to do that?”
My heart is a hammer against my chest. “Yes,” I say with courage I don’t feel.
“Really?” Max sounds as surprised as his stepmother.
“Maybe he’ll talk if it’s only me in there.”
I have no idea if that’s true or not, but I need to try something.
Greta nods. “It is worth a try… Yes. Follow me, then. Boys, you stay here.”
Max doesn’t let go of my hand.
“It’s not a good idea,” he says, scowl deepening.
“Why?” I ask. “We need to do something, and maybe hearing the story from an outsider is what will work.”
He twists his lips. He doesn’t like it, but I can tell I’m convincing him.
“Do not allow him to push you around,” Max says. “And tell me if he tries to.”
“Of course.”
I have to toss that little white lie out there. I’m definitely not going to run and cry to Max all because his dad is rude to me.
Drawing my shoulders back, I follow Greta out the door, steeling myself for whatever’s to come next.
Chapter 23
Poppy
Our footsteps echo in the polished, marble hallway. Greta takes me down several turns, and I recognize the bathroom near which Sacha confronted me.
My insides ache at that memory. Deep down, I always knew what Max and I were doing was wrong, but I didn’t allow myself to fully acknowledge it until we were caught. Until that point, I allowed myself to be seduced by the bonuses of the arrangements. The freedom. The money.
I feel my head dropping lower with every step. It’s a complicated situation. Half of the reason I agreed to be a fake fiancée was for the adventure, and I don’t regret that part. It’s not thoroughly thinking the choice through that eats away at me.
Oh, well. I made my bed. Time to lie in it.
Greta stops in front of a closed door. “This is Otto’s study,” she says softly.
I can’t swallow away the lump in my throat, no matter how hard I try.
“Oh,” I croak. “Thank you.”
“Good luck,” she murmurs softly, and though there’s a rueful smile on her face, I believe she means it.
She walks away, and I’m left alone, staring at a wooden door and a mountain of doubt.
It’s the moment of judgment. I want to run and hide, but my dad raised me better than that.
So I knock.
“Enter,” comes Otto’s rumbling voice almost immediately. It makes me jump. I half expected for him to ignore me.
Hands shaking, I open the door and go in.
Before even taking in the room, I curtsy. Straightening up, I see we’re in what might be the smallest room I’ve seen in the palace so far. The walls are dark wood, the shelves full of books, and the chairs leather with high backs. It’s highbrow, but also cozy.
Otto eyes me from behind his desk, hands steepled in front of him. There’s no book or computer nearby, and it makes me think he’s been sitting here staring out the window, wondering how we all got to this awful crossroads.
“Your Majesty,” I start.
He rolls his wrist. “There is no need for that. Sit.”
I pause, hoping I heard right. He’s not kicking me out? He’s inviting me to take a seat?
He gestures at one of the chairs across the desk from him, and I scurry to it.
“I’m shocked to see you here.” He arches his thick brows.
Foldin
g my hands on my lap, I try not to vomit from anxiety. “Thank you for seeing me.”
He only watches me, waiting for more.
“What Max and I did was wrong,” I say.
“Undoubtedly.” His nostrils flare, and his eyes shimmer with hurt. I only catch a glimpse of that, though, because they flick away and he gazes out the window as he continues to talk.
“I understand Max’s desires,” he says. “I was a young man myself once, and I was lucky to marry two women I loved. He is different than me, though. Rebellious.”
“But he loves Stromhaer,” I blurt out. “Do you know that?”
Otto’s jaw flexes. “He has heart, but his capacity for planning is not always at the level it should be. There is the personal matter to all of this, as well. Max is my son, and though you are virtually a stranger, I opened my home to you. Trusted you. The two of you betrayed my trust.”
Before coming into this room, I thought there was no way I could feel any worse, but I was wrong. It’s impossible to sit up straight now that I’ve realized how spineless I really am.
“We shouldn’t have done that.” My voice is raspy. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express how sorry I am for it.”
“Sorry because you did it, or sorry because you were caught?” His words and look are sharp.
“Both. Even if Sacha hadn’t caught us, I would have felt guilty for lying eventually. This whole week I’ve been telling myself this was the right thing to do, but a part of me knew it wasn’t.”
His lashes flutter. “I appreciate how honest you are, Poppy, and I do believe you are right. A lie of this caliber will slowly destroy a person from the inside out.”
I exhale, feeling some relief at that, but I’m still wound tighter than a screw. At any moment, Otto can kick me out of here—and he’d be justified in doing so.
“It was a bad idea,” I say, “not only because of the betrayal inherent in the lie, but because the truth would have come out eventually.” I shake my head, hating myself. “Even if Sacha hadn’t figured it out, I’m sure someone would have.”
“You are right about that.” His chair creaks as he leans forward. “But the blame there falls on Max. He should have known better. As for Sacha, I am proud of him. He cares for his brother greatly, and only wanted to catch Max in a mistake before the repercussions became catastrophic.”
“I know. I just spoke to Sacha. I get that. I can tell how much he loves Max.”
Otto relaxes backward slightly, but he still grips the arm of his chair.
“Sacha is a good man.” My voice trembles from emotion. I’m ashamed. Scared. Hopeful that this can all work out.
“They’re both good men,” I say. “And that’s how I knew I could trust Max. I saw that trait in him from the beginning.”
“And this supposed love?” Otto asks, his voice monotone and unreadable.
“It’s real,” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being. “It doesn’t matter to me that we’ve only known each other a short while. Max is what I’ve been looking for all these years, and I didn’t even know it. We’ve already been through this trial together, and we’ve come out stronger for it.”
Full of a courage I didn’t see coming, I look Otto straight in the eye. “I love Max, and we’re staying together. Nothing will change that. But I hate the thought of a life that his family isn’t a part of. I’ve lost both my parents, and I know what it means to enjoy what you have while it’s there. Your Majesty, I promise you I won’t waste my years with Max. I’ll cherish them with all my heart. And I understand if you want nothing to do with me from here on, but please… if you could consider…”
My eyes sting, and I stop. I’m groveling, and if I continue talking I might make things worse.
Otto blinks slowly. He’s studying me. Thinking.
Or he’s already made his mind up about me, and he’s enjoying making me wait for the verdict.
“I am sorry about your parents,” he finally says. “I empathize greatly with you.” He pauses. “I have already lost one person I love. It would be catastrophic to lose another.”
I start to sigh in relief, but I hold back. We’re not out of the woods yet.
“I wish to speak to Max and the rest of the family,” he says, rising. “If you would follow me.”
“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Of course.”
The walk back to the room Max is in seems to take twice as long. Otto’s warming up, but what does that mean? He seems very much the kind of man who, despite whatever he feels, would still act primarily according to a sense of honor.
We enter the room and find Max, Sacha and Greta sitting around the coffee table. There’s a pot of tea between them, but no one’s drinking.
The three of them stand immediately, and a long string of curious looks gets passed around. Max’s eyes flash questions my way, and I smile encouragement at him.
Everything will be fine, I tell myself. No matter what Otto chooses to do.
I have to believe that, because if I don’t I’ll fall to pieces.
“Max,” Otto says.
“Yes?” Max stands up straighter.
“Max?” Sacha repeats in a low whisper, confirming my suspicions that their father hardly ever uses nicknames.
“Do you see yourself living happily with the girl who comes from just off exit seven?”
“Nine,” I correct without thinking.
Otto lifts an eyebrow, and my face warms. I start to apologize, but his grin stops me.
“Just off exit nine,” Otto says.
Max comes to me and takes my hand. “I can’t see myself with anyone else.”
My heart must triple in size.
Otto makes a noise of affirmation. “I believe it now. However your marriage came to be, and as unconventional as it is, it truly appears that you love and respect each other, and those are the most important qualities in a partnership.”
“We do,” Max and I say at the same time. We smile at each other, the relief and joy flowing between us palpable.
“Then I bless this marriage,” Otto says, “and welcome Poppy into our family.”
My breath catches in my throat. It’s the words I’ve been praying for, and now that I’m hearing them I can hardly believe it.
“Really?” I ask.
“Yes,” Otto says. “Really.”
Greta smiles wide and clasps her hands, and behind her Sacha nods and grins. Seeing that they approve makes me happier than I thought possible.
Max’s hand slips from mine, and he offers it to his father for a shake. “Thank you.”
Instead of accepting the handshake, Otto pulls Max in for a full-on hug. Max freezes momentarily, but then he relaxes and squeezes his father back.
The two men step apart, and I brush tears from my lashes. I came back to the palace with a purpose, but I knew there was a good chance what I wanted wouldn’t happen, and I’d prepared myself for that.
Now, I can finally enjoy what I’ve been longing to.
A gleeful laugh escapes my lips, and Greta joins in.
“Do you know what this means?” she asks.
“What?” I question.
“It is back to planning the wedding!”
That makes me laugh even more. Max wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses the side of my head, and I sink into his chest. I’m in heaven.
“We will get to the wedding soon enough,” Otto says. “There is much to negotiate there, I am sure.”
“Max?” I look up at him.
He lightly taps my nose. “Did you mean that when you said you wanted a traditional Stromhaer wedding?”
“Yeah,” I say in earnest.
“Do you know what a traditional Stromhaer wedding entails?” Sacha asks.
Everyone waits for my answer, and that has me doubting myself.
“Wait,” I slowly start. “I didn’t just agree to dance around a fire naked and drink blood or anything, did I?”
Otto throws his head back with laughter. “A
Stromhaer wedding is a large affair that is open to the public and broadcast across the world. Other than that, it is very similar to American weddings.”
“Whew.” I pretend to wipe sweat from my brow. “Okay. That I can do.”
“Only if you wish to,” Max says.
“I do,” I promise. “I know tradition means a lot to my new family, and so it means a lot to me.”
The thought of doing something as personal as getting married in front of the whole world makes my heart pound and my palms sweat, but hey, I’m all about adventures. And what could be more adventurous than having an actual princess wedding?
“We will celebrate with drinks,” Otto says.
“This early?” Sacha asks.
“It is Sunday,” his father answers, “do you have somewhere to be?”
Sacha holds his hands up in defense. “I’m not complaining.”
“I will have Erik look in the cellars,” Greta says. “And Poppy, I do hope you agree it’s not too early to discuss your dress.”
“Not too early at all,” I say on a laugh.
She presses a finger to her lips, thinking hard. “The wedding will be here, of course. That is how it is always done. But then there’s the matter of the honeymoon… and the color scheme… that is very important. All other decisions will extend from that first, simple one.”
“We will discuss the honeymoon,” Max says, still holding me flush to him. “Anywhere Poppy wants to go.”
“Hey, no,” I protest. “Where do you want to go?”
He shrugs. “I have been nearly everywhere.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re the only person who could make that claim and have me believe it.”
“If it’s a problem,” Sacha cuts in, “I will pick your honeymoon.”
“Absolutely not,” Max says.
“You do not trust me?”
Max arches a brow, and Sacha purses his lips and folds his arms.
“Let me pick it, Poppy,” Sacha says. “Or else Max will tell you he’s surprising you and the next thing you know you’re sleeping on the sand in a beach town no one has ever heard of. No tent. Sand everywhere.”
“Hey,” I grin, “that sounds kind of fun.”
