by Iris Morland
The closed window made me feel confined. Or perhaps it was that I was having to have this conversation with my mother—again.
“There have been reports of rumors circulating online about my true parentage,” I said as I stared out the window. “Apparently, the rumors have increased since my marriage.”
My mother, sitting across from me and sipping tea, merely shrugged. “When have we not had rumors floating around about us? That’s nothing new, nor nothing to worry about.”
“Perhaps, but rumors have a way of becoming truth online if you’re not careful.”
My mother didn’t seem concerned. She’d never been one for technology. She disliked computers, and found the idea of social media distasteful. Although she was hardly in her dotage, she preferred to act as though the world wide web simply didn’t exist.
“Considering these rumors are fairy new,” I continued, “it means that my father-in-law could very well be the one behind them. Seeding them in places online where they would gain traction.”
“Goodness, you make it sound like it’s a virus.”
I laughed darkly. “It is, in a way.” I moved away from the window to sit across from my mother. Since the dinner with her, I hadn’t spoken to her. She’d stayed in her wing of the palace, while Niamh and I stayed in ours.
For the past week, I’d almost believed that Niamh and I could live in our own little bubble. That nothing could destroy the small bits of happiness we were creating together.
“My dear, you seem so tense. Have you been eating? You seem thin,” my mother said.
If I’d lost weight, it was because my wife was insatiable. Nothing like a lot of hot, sweaty sex to burn calories.
“I’m fine.”
My mother remained unconvinced, but she was too polite to say so.
“Look, I would like to hope that these rumors online will just disappear, but it’s smarter to be ahead of the game than trying to clean up an explosion. Don’t you agree?”
“Are you saying you’d like to address these rumors publicly?” My mother’s face had paled.
“Not yet, but it might come to that. The palace team is doing what it can to quash the rumors as best it can, but it might very well be a losing battle. I’m saying we should be prepared for the worst, while hoping for the best.”
I took a deep breath. I felt my skin grow clammy. I wished that Niamh were here to distract me. She’d make some quip, some silly joke, and my mood would lift instantly. But she was currently at her French lesson and had other lessons the rest of the day. We wouldn’t see each other until dinner that evening.
“Can you tell me who my real father was? I’d rather know now than find out some other way.”
My mother suddenly seemed pathetically small, hunched in her chair, her face drawn. Although she was only in her forties, she looked ten years older at that moment. I realized that she had more silver in her hair than even six months ago.
What had this revelation done to her? I’d been so caught up in my anger at her concealment that I’d barely stopped to consider what she was feeling. Although my mother had been hands-off with me, she hadn’t been a bad parent. For a royal, she’d been almost loving.
“Are you certain you want to know?” she said.
I nodded.
She sighed, setting her empty cup down on the table next to her. She was gazing out the window, staring at the rain, as she began to tell the tale of my father—my real father, the one whose DNA I shared but I’d never even known existed until this year.
“His name was Gaspard Richard. I was eighteen when I met him. I’d been sheltered most of my life; I’d attended an all-girls boarding school until I graduated, so I’d had little interaction with boys. Or men.” My mother smiled a little. “Your grandfather, he wanted me to marry someone he chose.”
Although my mother wasn’t a royal, she was still a blue blood, with a lineage as old as the Valady line.
“That summer after I graduated from university, I met Gaspard. He was ten years older than me. Handsome, charming. I went to a club with my friends, and he was there alone. I was shy, you know. I didn’t want to go to a club, as my father would disapprove. It’d always been easier to just do as he said. Besides, I preferred to stay inside with my books.
“But Gaspard, he saw me. He didn’t notice my girlfriends, who were all more sociable than I was. They knew how to flirt with boys. I had no idea what I was doing. Soon enough, Gaspard and I were inseparable.”
“I’m assuming Grandfather broke you two apart,” I said.
My mother nodded. “When he found out we’d been dating without his approval, he was so angry. He threatened to cut me off completely. Your grandmother, she agreed with him. She said I would never be allowed to be around the family again if I chose to stay with Gaspard.”
She wrung her hands, and I could see a red flush on her cheeks. “Without my parents’ support, I had nowhere to go. No money, no real skills. I’d never used a credit card or opened a bank account. How would I find a job, get a flat? I would be adrift.
“Gaspard told me he’d support me. But when I found out I was pregnant, he disappeared. He left a note saying he’d moved to Greece. That convinced me that he’d only wanted a bit of fun. I’d been stupid, naive, thinking we were in love.”
Her gaze was hard now. “You look just like Gaspard, you know. When you were born, I hoped you wouldn’t, that you’d favor my side of the family. Of course, fate wanted to play a bit of a joke on me.”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Do you hate that I look like my real father?”
“Hate? If I hate anyone, I hate myself.” She reached over and cupped my cheek, the touch strange yet oddly welcome. “You aren’t your father, of course. You’ve forged your own path.”
My mother went on to tell me how she’d met Prince Étienne when she was already in the early stages of her pregnancy. He’d been kind to her, and after a friendship had blossomed between them, she’d confessed that she was pregnant.
“He told me he’d marry me,” she said. “He wanted to protect me. And, I think, he’d fallen in love with me. Well, you can imagine how ecstatic your grandfather was. He said yes for me, although I wanted to say yes, anyway. Étienne would take care of me and the baby.”
I stared at her, trying to understand. “Why would Father agree to raise another man’s baby? When he needed an heir of his own? That makes no sense.”
“Love doesn’t make a lot of sense, my dear. Étienne loved me. He wanted to marry me. And he persuaded me that no one need ever know you weren’t truly his son.”
She explained that her courtship and marriage to Étienne had been quick enough that, upon my birth, I was only six weeks early—at least as far as the public knew. In actuality, I was two weeks late.
“Why did you keep Gaspard’s letters?” I said.
“Ah, those letters. When that silly clock disappeared, I wondered if someone had discovered the letters inside it.” She shot me a wry glance. “But no, it was simply my silly son, who’d pawned it after he’d bet too much one night.”
“I wouldn’t have pawned it if I’d known.”
“Of course not. You didn’t know. That’s another reason why I should’ve been honest with you.”
I took her hands, staring at her wedding ring on her left hand. “Thank you for explaining,” I said finally, because I didn’t know what else to say.
She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “I love you, Olivier. I hope you know that.”
“I do.”
I found Niamh in one of the gardens with the quartet of cats. After our encounter in the closet, Portia had returned to Niamh’s bedroom, one kitten at a time, as if she’d decided the hole in the wall was no longer up to her standards. Niamh had neglected to mention at the time that she’d used more than one can of tuna to lure Portia back into her clutches.
That had been two weeks ago. The kittens hopped and ran around the garden as Portia watched attentively. They w
ere mostly squeaks and fur at the moment. When one tried to pounce on my foot and began to gnaw on my shoelace, I picked it up. It squealed in annoyance.
“How can something so small be so loud?” The kitten mewed and began to gnaw on my finger. I winced; those tiny teeth were sharp.
Niamh smiled. “Have you never been around babies? They’re loud as hell, human and cat.”
I set the kitten down, and it tottered back to its siblings. They began to play or attack each other. I didn’t know enough about cats to know the difference.
“I’ve never even held a baby,” I said, shrugging.
“You mean people don’t hold out their babies to you to get an adorable photo? I don’t believe it.”
I sat on the stone bench next to Niamh. “That’s not really a done thing here.”
“Probably smart. It’s kind of weird handing over your kid to some politician or celebrity that you’ve never even met.” She eyed me closely. “You look depressed. Who did you sentence to be drawn and quartered?”
“Capital punishment was outlawed in Salasia almost a century ago.”
“Cool story, but not what I asked.”
Niamh just waited. I rolled my eyes, which was something my mother hated but I’d found myself doing after marrying Niamh. Next I was going to find myself walking around with kittens in my pockets and doing dramatic readings of romance novel sex scenes. She’d already regaled me on three different occasions.
“I found out who my real father is,” I said.
“Well, shit. No wonder you look like somebody died. How do you feel? And more importantly, who was he?”
How did I feel? The question annoyed me. It didn’t matter how I felt. What mattered was that no one else found out about Gaspard. I had no say in what had happened, no say in my genetics. What was the point of wallowing in something I couldn’t control or change?
I told Niamh the little bit of information my mother had given me. She listened attentively, not even noticing when one of the kittens began to pounce on her feet.
“So he’s probably still alive?” asked Niamh.
“I don’t know.” And I don’t really care.
Niamh could hear the unspoken words. “Look, I’m not going to tell you that you need to find him. That’s your choice. But maybe there’s another side to the story.”
I thought of her own father. “Or the story is actually true.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t regret finding my da. Is he a jerkface? Yeah. I wish he weren’t. I wish he’d had some plausible reason for why he’d abandoned his family, that he’d gotten lost at sea and had lived on a deserted island all this time, with only a volleyball as a friend.”
“A volleyball?”
“Um, Castaway? Tom Hanks and Wilson the volleyball?” She sighed. “Have you ever watched a movie, Olivier?”
“That technology has yet to reach Salasia,” I said wryly.
“I guess I’m just saying I kind of know how you feel, in having a dad you don’t know. Is it worth finding out the truth if it hurts?” She put her palms up. “That’s what you have to decide.”
“Finding my biological father, meeting him…” I shook my head. “It would make all of this too real. Besides, keeping that kind of thing from reaching the public would be difficult. Too many people could leak it.”
I’d been speaking in a low voice the entire time. It was unlikely we’d be overheard in this enclosed corner of the garden, and few of the staff could understand more than rudimentary English. But it didn’t mean I should be reckless, either.
Niamh’s mouth had tightened, but then the tension melted away. I could tell the wheels were turning inside her head, and I longed for her to tell me what she was thinking. Then again, I might regret asking. Is it worth finding out the truth if it hurts?
“What are you thinking?” I asked. When she hesitated, I said, “Please.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Please? Well, how could I resist?” She reached down and picked up the black kitten. Stroking its fur, she said, “Every time you talk about keeping your secret, it reminds me that you married me solely for that reason. And then I want to punch you in the face, even as my heart hurts because you’ve told me something that hurts you. It’s confusing and annoying.”
The kitten was purring like a little engine, its eyes closed in pure bliss. I traced a finger down its silky head, marveling at how soft it was.
“It wasn’t just about the throne. It was about…” I struggled to find the words. “My family. This legacy. And yes, it was about holding onto what I’d believed was my birthright.”
“I can understand being loyal to family, at least. I’d do anything for my brother Liam, and for my nieces. Even marry an arrogant, too-rich prince and have torrid sex with him in a cleaning closet.”
“The torrid sex in a closet was never expected but certainly appreciated.” I reached out and squeezed Niamh’s hand. “Do you miss them?”
“Every day. I miss being able to take my nieces to the park or telling my brother to shut up because he keeps lecturing me. I miss my aunt and uncle. I even miss Washington State and the US. I’d probably cry going into a Walmart at this point.”
“I would also cry going into a Walmart,” I said, deadpan.
“Someday I’ll take you to Dick’s in Seattle and get you a burger and fries that’ll change your life.”
“I’d like that.”
I leaned forward and kissed her. The kiss deepened, desire blooming, but then there was a squeaking noise from the kitten on Niamh’s lap. Before I could lean back, it sunk its claws into my inner thigh and began to climb perilously close to my cock and balls.
I let out a loud shout that scared the kitten into digging its claws even more into my thigh. Niamh was laughing, trying to unhook the kitten, but only making it hold on harder.
“For the love of—get it off of me!” I said.
“I’m trying, stop moving, you dope!” She finally caught hold of the kitten and placed it on the ground, Portia taking it by the scruff to inspect it.
My thigh was stinging, and I half-expected to have blood dripping down my trousers. Niamh leaned forward to inspect the damage, which put her mouth where the kitten had just been.
And because I was human, my body reacted accordingly.
“Mercedes didn’t tear your pants, at least.” When she looked up, she was smiling in wry amusement. “Are you getting a boner, husband? I’m trying to check your wound, you pervert.”
“I’m aware,” I groused.
She patted my thigh, making me wince. But when she said, “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” I forgot all about kittens, claws, and complicated marriages.
Chapter Twelve
I waved a hand in front of Niamh’s face. “Are your eyes really closed?”
“Yes! I swear they’re closed.”
I took her hand, leading her forward, anticipation making me nearly giddy. I’d been racking my brain to think of something that would make Niamh happy. Although she seemed happier than when we’d first married, I could still see that she missed her family, her friends, her country.
“Okay, a few more steps,” I said.
“Why do I smell motor oil?”
I nearly huffed in exasperation. Leave it to my wife to ruin her own surprise.
“Open your eyes,” I said.
Niamh opened her eyes, blinking for a few moments as she took in the scene before her.
“It’s a car,” she said slowly.
“Very good. Now, can you tell me what kind of car it is?”
She rolled her eyes. “I bet I know more about it than you do.” She took a tentative step forward. “Can I…?”
“It’s yours.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re not seriously giving me a Bugatti. You’re fucking with me. This is some prank show and Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out of the trunk—”
I pinched her lips closed. “It’s not a joke. I wanted to give you a gift. You once told me how you�
�d loved to work on cars, but that you’d stopped. I want you to start again.”
She was so shocked that she didn’t even bat my hand away. She just kept making soft oh sounds as she stepped toward the Bugatti.
Although I was hardly an automobile expert, it was a beautiful specimen. A billionaire from Dubai had gifted it to our family a few years ago, and it had just sat in the vast garage, cared for on occasion but otherwise gathering dust. I’d made certain it was buffed and shone so brightly that it was nearly as reflective as a mirror.
I pulled out the key. “For you,” I said.
Niamh took the key, her lower lip trembling now. “I can’t believe you got me a car.”
I had to admit, I hadn’t expected her to nearly burst into tears. I felt a moment of panic. Had I screwed this up? Had I chosen something terrible?
“I didn’t get it for you,” I said hurriedly. “We had it sitting in the garage, so I thought someone might get some use out of it.”
“You’re giving me a car that belongs to the royal family? Oh my God!”
Expecting her to throw the key in my face, she instead launched herself into my arms, kissing me with a loud smack. It took me a moment to let the tension drain from my body.
I tilted her face up. “You’re happy, then?”
She nodded. “So happy I could throw up.”
“You already did that once. You almost ruined one of my favorite pairs of shoes.”
“Ha ha, thanks for the reminder.” She went to the car, just brushing her fingers along the hood. “Oh, she’s a beauty. I’ve never seen this car in real life. There were only a dozen ever manufactured, did you know that? It has fifteen hundred horsepower. Your regular car has maybe one hundred fifty.”
She could’ve been speaking an alien language, for all the sense she made in that moment. But as she looked over every centimeter of the car, got inside it, and revved the engine, her eyes lighting up, I felt my heart squeeze. It was somehow both joyful and painful at the same time.
I leaned through the driver’s window where Niamh sat. “Let’s go for a drive, then,” I said.