by Romy Sommer
nearness is having a similar effect on me.
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She swallows and takes a half step back. Her eyes flicker unconsciously down to my chest
then back up again. “I appreciate that you’re trying to be a gentleman this morning to prove
something to me, but you really don’t have to.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything, and I most certainly don’t feel like a gentleman right
now.” I reach out to cup her face, and her lips part.
Then she shakes her head, as if trying to convince herself of something, and steps away, out
of my reach. “I’m flattered, but we’re due downstairs for the champagne breakfast, and you’re
leaving in a few hours.”
“I don’t have to go. I don’t want this to end yet, and I don’t think you want it to either.”
Her eyes narrow, and her tone is sarcastic. “Oh look, there’s your privilege showing again.
Want, want, want… that’s what life is all about for you, isn’t it? Do what you want, when you want
- and who you want - without any thought for anyone else. Well, those of us who live out there in the real world don’t have that privilege. We don’t get to act on every whim because there are real life consequences. You’re supposed to be leaving for Erdély in a few hours. If you break your
promise to your family just so you can get laid one more time, you really are a first class douche.”
For a moment, she sounds just like my sister, and then a lightbulb pops in my head. Jemmy
said something… my sister’s right; I really can be dumb sometimes. “Why does it have to be
either/or?” I pause, watching as Khara’s indignation turns to hesitation. “Come with me.”
She opens her mouth, then shuts it again. “I can’t come with you. You’re going there to
work.”
I shake my head. “My visit can’t be an official one until the formal succession
announcement is made.” Uncle Lajos was crystal clear about that. “I’ll be going as just another tourist. Come play tourist with me.”
“I’m supposed to be going with Max and Phoenix to Waldburg for the rest of the week.”
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“In its glory days, Erdély was a centre of culture and art. There’ll be more frescoes and
churches and history there than in Waldburg.” I close the distance between us again. “Do you really want to be a third wheel on Max and Phoenix’s honeymoon?”
“But-”
“Enough with the excuses. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel this attraction.”
She meets my gaze. “Of course I feel it, but that doesn’t mean I have to act on it. Chemistry
doesn’t last.”
“Nothing lasts. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it while it’s there.”
She turns away. “I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know my decision after breakfast.”
#
I make the walk of shame back to my room, not bothering to avoid the kitchen porter
delivering breakfast trays to one of the rooms, or the housekeeping assistant polishing the gilt portrait frames. I don’t care who sees me coming out of Khara’s room half-dressed in last night’s clothes. I want to shout it from the rooftops, like a lovesick teenager. This feeling’s new too, but at least this one I enjoy.
As soon as I’ve showered and dressed, I head downstairs to the breakfast room. It’s already
packed with people; the bride and groom, tired and smiling, Max’s entire family, plus a handful of palace guests.
Khara is already seated beside Phoenix, with Claus and Rebekah on her other side. She
barely acknowledges my entrance, though I know she’s as hyper-aware of me as I am of her. Her
back stiffens, as if she’s trying to be on her best behaviour.
I grin. This is going to be fun.
There’s a selection of mimosas and bellini cocktails on the buffet, but I can’t face alcohol
just yet, so I pour myself a cup of proper filter coffee.
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Max joins me, reaching for one of peach bellinis. “You left the party early last night,” he
says, giving me the side-eye. Did he see me and Khara on the dance floor last night? Probably. He also probably noticed that we both left around the same time.
“It wasn’t early. It was sometime after midnight.”
“Exactly. Are you all packed up and ready to leave?”
I haven’t even started packing, and the charter plane János, my uncle’s private secretary, has arranged for me is scheduled to leave in just a couple of hours. But even though I made a
commitment to my uncle that I’d travel today, I can’t think about leaving. Not without hearing Khara’s decision. Not without Khara.
The thought of going anywhere without her, the thought of not seeing her again, of not
touching her again, is a physical ache. Yes, I’m behaving like a spoiled brat with a new toy, but I can’t seem to help myself.
So I simply shrug in answer. Max gives me another side-eye then moves away to take a seat
at the table. I follow more slowly, pausing behind Khara’s chair, and I lean forward to kiss her neck, right above where I left that hickey.
She goes still. So does everyone around us.
As if nothing just happened, I continue moving around the room to the empty seat beside
Max.
“I make that two weeks and four days.” Max looks at his new wife. “You owe me a hundred
Euros.”
I splutter. “You took a bet how long it would take us to…?”
Phoenix grins cheekily. “I have to admit, I was sure Khara would cave much sooner.”
Khara still hasn’t moved. Then she chokes out a laugh, releasing all the tension in the room.
“You were that confident in Adam’s seduction abilities?”
“No, I just thought you two would be good together. But I didn’t realise you’d be so pig-
headed you’d take this long to see it.” Phoenix sighs. “Max called it.”
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Khara shakes her head, as if denying we’re good together, though we both know that’s a lie.
We are absolutely bloody marvellous together, and I can’t wait to do it again. Slowly, she raises her gaze to meet mine, and her eyes are hooded and hungry. Yes, we’re good together, and we both
want more.
The hum of conversations start up again. We’re no longer the centre of attention.
“Have you decided?” I mouth to Khara.
She nods, just once, and my heart leaps. Yes!
“Decided what?” Phoenix asks, and I curse her for reading my lips.
Khara clears her throat. “I won’t be coming with you to Waldburg.” She doesn’t look at
Phoenix. Her gaze is still focused on me. “I’m going to Erdély. With Adam.”
“You’re leaving us early?” Phoenix asks. Since she’s still looking at me, Khara doesn’t see
the look of triumph in her friend’s eyes. I reach under the table to kick Phoenix’s shin, and she looks contrite. “I hear it’s a great place for outdoor activities,” she says conversationally. “Hiking, kayaking, camping.” She glances at Max. “Perhaps we should plan a holiday there sometime.”
Then she looks at me, her meaning clear. She expects to come visit me there when I make it
my new home.
I shake my head. I’m not committing to anything.
A footman circles the table, offering fresh drinks, and I take a mimosa, the sweet-tart taste
refreshing. Khara sticks to plain orange juice, I note. Since this is a celebratory breakfast, there’s cake.
“It’s a Baumkuchen,” Rebekah says, as slices are offered around. “A multi-layered honey
&n
bsp; and almond cake that’s a tradition at German weddings. It’s a gift from my café in Waldburg.”
The café where Phoenix was working when she met Max. Or at least, that’s the official
story. But I remember something Khara let slip… she was there when they met. This is her first trip outside the US. Which means that Max and Phoenix met for the first time in the States. In Vegas.
Why keep that a secret?
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“Cake for breakfast! I could get used to this.” Phoenix laughs and casts a coy look at her
new husband. “Perhaps we should get married more often.”
It’s that coy look that slots everything into place. What’s the one thing Vegas is best known
for after gambling? I glance at Khara for confirmation, but she refuses to meet my eye.
Bingo! Max and Phoenix were married in Vegas. Which means they were already married
before she arrived in Waldburg. Before he became Archduke. I laugh out loud, earning a few odd looks.
They’ve been married for at least a year already.
#
I’m used to using my trust fund to seduce women. Expensive gifts, first class travel, the best champagne… But since all those things are more likely to remind Khara of the huge disparity
between our lives, I can’t pull any of my usual tricks. I cancel the charter plane and instead book us two seats on a regular scheduled flight into Graz, Austria’s second largest city, which is the nearest airport to Erdély. It’s a small plane, and there’s no first class or even business class, so for more than an hour and a half I’m forced to fold myself into a cramped seat.
We left Neustadt amid a rain storm, but arrive to a Graz that’s bathed in golden evening
light. When we finally leave the small airport it’s early evening already, and we’ve missed the last train of the day to Erdély, so we take a taxi to a hotel the taxi driver recommends - an art hotel with minimalist decor which overlooks the river. I’m not sure what I expected of the town, but it’s charming, with cobbled streets and quaint Baroque mixed in with ultra-modern architecture. The hotel is a short walk from the historic city centre, so after we check in we wander hand-in-hand through the streets, taking in the sights on our way to dinner. This city is surprisingly hipster, full of trendy coffee shops and art galleries.
To reach our restaurant we take a glass-roofed funicular up the side of the Schlossberg, the
hilltop fortress overlooking the city. We dine on a romantic cliff-edge terrace, above the rooftops,
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with the city lights spread out like a carpet beneath us. I only whip out my credit card to pay when Khara slips away to the ladies’ room.
“That was certainly different from our first lunch together at the Landmark Café,” she says
as we walk down the 260 steps carved out of the stone cliff to the square below.
“Yup. This time you didn’t have your nose stuck in a book all the way through the meal.”
“I was avoiding you,” she admits ruefully.
I laugh. “I guessed.”
“And you aren’t trying to impress me with your wealth now.”
“Nope. I’ve found a much better way to impress you.” I pull her to a stop in the middle of
the crowded square, tucking my hands into the back pockets of her jeans to pull her close. Then I kiss her, and the crowd of rowdy tourists and students parts around us, laughing and cheering. Loud music thumps from a nightclub, and a distant siren cracks the night, but it’s nothing more than a blur. My whole world is this woman who tastes of caramel and the local blue gin. When she sighs against my mouth I cannot get her back to the privacy of our hotel room soon enough.
#
The train journey between Graz and Erdély is only an hour and a half, winding through lush
countryside; mountains and woodland and - once we cross the border into Erdély - a surprising
number of vineyards. Khara spends most of the time glued to the view outside the windows while I catch up on work emails. I have to admit, though, that the scenery is stunning.
It’s only when we reach the quaint station in the main town of Arenberg that I discover the
flaw in my plan. By arriving unannounced, we have no transport to the palace. I hardly imagine we can hail a taxi and ask the driver to take us to the palace’s front door. I’ll have to phone the palace to send a car for us.
We step out onto the pavement, where tables from the station’s café spill out into the
sunshine, and I look around at the town which could one day be my home if I say ‘yes’ to Lajos. It’s certainly picturesque. The buildings clustered around the square in front of us are multi-coloured,
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some part timber-framed, and all painted with intricate folk patterns. It’s also very provincial. There isn’t a single building over three or four storeys high.
“It’s beautiful,” Khara murmurs, her voice awed.
I’m less impressed.
I glance towards the taxi rank, where a queue of cars waits, and notice an Uber pick-up sign.
At least some modern day conveniences have made it past the ring of mountains.
A car pulls up at the kerb, and the driver jumps out, gesticulating towards us. He’s middle-
aged, tall and long-limbed, and he speaks in rapid Erdélian, too fast for me to understand, but I catch my name.
“Yes, I’m Adam Hatton,” I answer. Though Uncle Lajos assured me this is an easygoing
place, I have no idea what local sentiments are like towards the royal family.
To my intense relief, he grins and switches into English. “You need a lift to the palace? I’m
going that way.”
I do not plan to jump into a stranger’s car, but before I can politely decline, Khara gives the man a bright smile. “Thank you, that would be lovely.”
“American?” He beams back at her. “We don’t get many Americans here. I’m István. I run a
bar in town, next to the court house.”
“Khara.” She shakes the man’s outstretched hand, then I reluctantly help him load our bags
into the boot. He insists we sit in the back, as if this were a taxi, but since he then spends most of the drive weaving in and out between other cars and pointing out various landmarks, all the while looking over his shoulder to chat to Khara, I wish he hadn’t.
“That way is the town of Veldes, which was a popular spa during Victorian times.” István
takes his hand off the wheel to indicate the way. “Visitors came from all across Europe. There’s a new luxury spa resort. You should visit it while you’re here.”
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We leave the town centre, passing office buildings, a school house and a small hospital.
That’s when the palace becomes visible. It stands on a hill overlooking the Arenberg valley, against a backdrop of forested hillside.
Khara gasps and leans forward in her seat. “Is that it? It’s a real fairytale castle!”
Unlike Neustadt’s elegant Baroque palace, this is a 19th century, Neo-Gothic castle,
complete with steep roofs and at least a half dozen turrets. The lower floors are made of stone, the upper floors are timber-framed.
The road becomes a single lane winding through a residential neighbourhood, with chalet-like
houses on one side and meadows of grazing sheep on the other. We pass through tall iron gates that stir a vague memory from my childhood, and sweep up the driveway. István drops us at the foot of the grand stone staircase that leads up to the front door, and unloads our suitcases. Then he shakes our hands, invites us to stop by his pub, and is off down the drive, tooting his hooter in farewell. I head up the stairs to ring the doorbell. This is so far from Westerwald’s formal dignity that I can’t quite wrap my head around it.
At least the d
oor is opened by a butler dressed in a formal black suit, who looks like he’d
belong just as easily in Hatton Manor. He ushers us into a drawing room, a bright, sunny room with French doors that open onto the wide terrace overlooking the meadows separating the palace from the town. When he leaves us alone, I blow out a breath. This was a seriously bad idea. What the hell was I thinking dragging Khara off to this backwater?
We wander around the room, pausing to look at the display of photographs on the carved
stone mantel. They’re almost all of Nick. There’s one of us, taken years ago at a polo match. “My cousin,” I tell her.
“And the other man in the picture?”
“My friend Charlie.” I set the frame back down and turn away. She looks at me strangely, as
if I’m a puzzle that needs to be solved.
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When the door re-opens, I expect to see János, but it’s my aunt Sonja. She hurries across the
room, arms open in welcome. “Adam, thank you so much for coming!”
I give her a hug.
“I’m sorry we missed you at the wedding,” she says. “We didn’t stay for dinner, for obvious
reasons. But I’m sure you were busy anyway.” She spots Khara, who is hanging back shyly. “You
brought a friend - how lovely!” Sonja crosses the room to Khara, who stands awkwardly as if
wondering whether she should curtsey. I give a subtle shake of my head. Our family have never
stood on ceremony.
“This is Khara Thomas. Khara, my aunt Sonja.”
They shake hands, and Sonja invites us to sit, then rings for refreshments. “Your uncle will
be with us shortly. He’s in a meeting with the trade commission.”
She pats the seat beside her for Khara to sit, and Khara throws me a nervous glance as she
moves to perch on the edge of the antique, gilt-edged sofa.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” she says.