The Spare and the Heir

by Carol Moncado

  Was that how it should be?

  When her father attended functions with her mother, he always stayed a few steps behind. Esme had always thought it had more to do with the state of their relationship than any form of propriety. Her mother was also queen. Esme wouldn’t be for some time to come.

  But she would be.

  Though not of this country.

  Would Gabe behave the same way in Sargasso? Would she want him to?

  As she focused on the woman’s words enough to make the appropriate responses, she found herself missing Gabe’s presence. He wasn’t far, but it was too far.

  Since when did she like him enough to miss him?

  He’d been worming his way into her life. Could he already be worming his way into her heart as well?

  Surely not.

  They finished a brief tour of a portion of the building and were led into a banquet hall. Chairs scraped back as the women gathered stood and greeted Esme and Gabe with polite applause.

  Esme was seated in the center of the head table situated on a raise dais, as she expected, but she couldn’t see Gabe. She finally found him at a table on the floor, several tables back.

  She turned to Mrs. Garfield. “Pardon me. I don’t mean to appear rude, but could you explain the seating arrangements to me?”

  Mrs. Garfield launched into an explanation about how those seated at the head table were the members of the board as well as representatives of their smaller local groups.

  Esme held up her hand to stop the monologue. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood my question, or perhaps I wasn’t clear. Can you tell me why my husband, the other half of the special guests listed on the sign outside the door, is seated where he is? Perhaps I should join him so as to not upset your seating chart here at the head table?”

  “But the head table is always women only. This is a women’s society after all.” The woman was as indignant as anyone Esme had ever seen.

  Esme raised an eyebrow. “Be that as it may, perhaps you might reconsider your marketing of the event in the future, especially should you invite newlyweds.”

  Mrs. Garfield muttered something that might have been an apology but likely wasn’t.

  Two hours later, after giving a speech she’d barely read the night before and rubbing elbows with women who made snide remarks about Gabe on a regular basis, Esme found herself grateful to be in a darkly tinted SUV for the ride back to the resort where they would spend the night.

  “I’m sorry about that.” She told Gabe, her head falling back against the headrest.

  “For what?”

  Gabe seemed to have shaken off whatever bothered him before the luncheon and sounded genuinely confused.

  “The way you were treated. It wasn’t right of them to invite you and put you as an honored guest then seat you off to the side at an afterthought of a table. I know what Mrs. Garfield used as her excuse, but that doesn’t make it right. Some of the comments I heard weren’t very kind. I hope none of them would say such things in front of you, but I’m afraid they would.”

  “That group always treats me that way. My father is treated somewhat better, but only with my mother. My grandfather is because he’s the king. They’re a bunch of old biddies with nothing better to do than judge things they know nothing about.”

  “It’s not right.”

  “No. It’s not. But what can you or I do about it?”

  “Not accept another invitation unless it’s much more clear what behavior we’ll tolerate.” She sent a text to Judy. “I wouldn’t anticipate many invitations anyway, with your move, but if we do get one, we need to be clear about it.”

  Silence filled the back of the vehicle for a long moment. Gabe clasped her hand and gently squeezed. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” It was only right. If they invited both of them and billed the event as the couple, then it should be treated as a joint event.

  “For being you.”

  “I don’t know how to be anyone else.”

  “But you do. Here, you’re just Esme, though still a princess and fully aware of your place in the world. At the luncheon, you were a poised representative of your country who apparently knows how to put snooty women in their place tactfully. At the museum, you were a friend to children as they explored their new wonderland.”

  “They’re all me, Gabe.”

  “Just like there’s different versions of all of us, but especially those of us in the public eye,” he went on as though he hadn’t heard her. “There’s the Gabe the world sees in the footage on CelebGossipNewz or the Gabe who eats the favorite meals of others without ever complaining. There’s the Gabe who stood in front of the world and vowed to spend his life loving you.”

  The way he said it tugged at her heart strings, though Esme still didn’t open her eyes again. “But which is the real Gabe?” At least she knew it wasn’t the one on the gossip shows. Probably.

  His exhale was so strong, she could almost feel it.

  “I’m not sure I know anymore.”

  * * *

  The SUV was silent for the next few minutes. Gabe thought about saying something, though he didn’t know what.

  “Why don’t you take pictures with women?” Esme spoke first.

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ve noticed when we’re greeting the public, you’ll let women take pictures of you and even smile for them, but you only take pictures or selfies with men or children or grandmothers.”

  “It’s a policy I made with myself when I decided it was time to grow up,” he explained. As he told her the reasoning, she just listened. Her head remained leaned back against the headrest, and her eyes stayed closed.

  “I appreciate that, though I don’t know that you need to go that far at an event like this. If you’re at a dinner at a restaurant, especially if I’m not also in attendance, then that might be different.”

  “Then maybe I’ll consider it, at least at public events like that.”

  The SUV turned onto the resort property and came to a stop a moment later near the front entrance. They each went out their own side. As he caught up to her near the revolving door, Gabe rested his hand on her back.

  There was bound to be someone around with a camera, plus he wanted to.

  Much like the resort he’d stayed at in Sargasso, this one had a private elevator to their suite.

  At least he knew there wouldn’t be a woman waiting for them this time.

  He was wrong, though it was only Judy. She pulled Esme aside while Gabe went to the other bedroom that was being used as their wardrobe and dressing room. Despite the presence of Judy, he changed into a pair of pajama pants and a soft shirt. He was off the clock for the day as it were, even if his wife wasn’t quite yet.

  Rather than bother them, he went to the other bedroom and flipped through until he found a local sports network. The sofa was far more comfortable than the one in his quarters at the palace, but it didn’t have a footrest. Maybe he could pull a chair or low table closer.

  He’d basically only seen commercials when Esme walked in, closing the door behind her. She flopped onto the bed as Gabe muted the sound.

  “Everything all right?”

  She gave him a thumbs up. “Days like this can be draining, that’s all. I’m ready for a little down time before we do it all over again tomorrow.”

  “I understand that. What do you want to do for the next couple of hours? Watch another of your HEA TV movies?” It wasn’t Gabe’s first choice, but he’d do it to spend time with his wife.

  “I don’t mind watching a movie or a show, but we don’t have to watch something sappy. Anything else you’ve wanted to watch?”

  “Nothing in particular. I’m sure we could come up with something or see if there’s any games in this place?”

  “Like a board game?”

  “Sure. Or even a deck of cards.” Gabe sat up and looked around. “Usually there’s one packed with my things.”

  “I don’t play poker.” Esme pushe
d up onto her elbows. “I don’t even know how.”

  Gabe walked toward the dresser where he knew a few of his personal items would be. “If you ever want to learn, I can teach you, but we don’t have to play poker. We can play Blackjack, gin, war, cribbage, go fish, or 52 card pickup.” He turned to grin at her. “I don’t recommend the last one though.”

  “Which ones don’t require betting?”

  He opened the top drawer and picked up the deck he’d known would be there. “We don’t have to bet anything. We can keep points or not or do some kind of truth or truth kind of thing, since I doubt either one of us would be up for a dare.”

  “Then pick one?”

  He tilted his head toward the door. “Why don’t you go change into something more comfortable? If we kick everyone out, we can play out there, or we can stay in here.”

  She picked her phone up and sent a text. “Judy will bring me something. I’ll change in the bathroom, and we can play in here.”

  Esme flopped back down on the bed until a light knock sounded on the door. She started to sit up, but Gabe told her to stay where she was.

  He took a small stack of clothes from Judy and carried them to the large, well-appointed bathroom.

  She hadn’t moved.

  Gabe held out his hand for her to grasp and helped her up. While she changed clothes, Gabe shuffled the cards and found a pen and a notepad.

  She came back out in a pair of flannel pants and her own Games of the Sargasso Sea t-shirt.

  “What game are we playing?” she asked as she pulled her hair up into some sort of sloppy ponytail.

  “Blackjack.” He set the cards on the bed and pointed toward a pile of pillows against the headboard. “Get comfortable.”

  “I don’t bet.”

  “No betting. Whoever’s closest to twenty-one gets a point. When one of us gets five points, he or she gets to ask the other one a question. The question must be answered honestly.”

  “Okay.” She looked skeptical as she settled against the pillows. “What if I don’t want to answer?”

  “You can pass a question, but not two in a row without forfeiting something.”

  “Forfeiting what?”

  Gabe shrugged. “It’s up to the asker, but nothing too out there. No stripping or dangerous stunts or anything like that.”

  Esme actually snorted. “That wouldn’t happen anyway.”

  “Which is why we’re taking it off the table to begin with.” He shuffled the cards again. “Do you know how to play?”

  She nodded. “I think I do. The goal is to get the closest to twenty-one without going over.”

  He gave them each two cards, flipped face up. There was no point in keeping what they had secret. Esme had eleven. Gabe had nineteen and knew he wouldn’t take any other cards. She hit, twice, and ended up with twenty-three.

  After giving himself a point, he dealt again. This could take a while, but hopefully by the time they finished, he’d know his wife better.

  12

  The drive back toward the palace after two days in another city gave Esme a chance to catch up on some correspondence that she needed to do despite being on her honeymoon.

  Gabe did some as well.

  They stopped for an unannounced lunch at a seaside bistro. Gabe held her hand as they walked through smiling and nodding at their fellow patrons. Esme saw several phones being used surreptitiously. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any reporters close enough to figure out where they’d stopped and be outside when they left.

  Whispers followed them, like they always did, but something seemed different this time. Esme couldn’t be sure what it was.

  Lunch was delightful. The card game two nights earlier had broken the ice as it were. Conversation had remained light, just as the questions had during the game, but at least there was conversation.

  What there had not been much of was time alone, and that was fine with Esme. They had slept in the same bed the whole time they were in Auverignon, though Esme didn’t remember ever actually touching in the middle of the night.

  They lingered over dessert.

  “Do the looks and whispers seem weird to you?” Gabe asked quietly. “Different than usual?”

  Esme took a sip of her water. “I thought it was just me.”

  “No. Something seems off to me.”

  She could ask Judy if there was some news item that would change the level or nature of interest in them, but she didn’t want to interrupt the time with Gabe.

  When they finished eating and made their way back to the car, a few reporters waited outside. Though they were being held back by security, they were close enough to yell questions.

  “What do you think of your grandfather’s announcement?”

  “Have you spoken to your father?”

  “How do you feel about the news?”

  Esme knew Gabe had no idea what they were talking about. He waved and called out a “no comment” and kept walking.

  As soon as they were seated behind the darkened glass of the SUV, he pulled out his phone. “It’s been on do not disturb. I’ve got about a thousand notifications.”

  “What are they?” She pulled out her own phone, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, except a message to call her mother.

  When he didn’t answer, Esme looked over at him, shocked to see his face nearly white as a ghost.

  “What is it?”

  He stared at his phone for a moment. “My grandfather is abdicating, effective next month.”

  Esme blinked. She knew abdication was more normal in some countries than others, especially as a monarch began to age, but she hadn’t realized Auverignon was one of them.

  “I should have expected it sometime soon, but if I’d thought about it long enough, I would have thought he wouldn’t announce it on the heels of our wedding.”

  How could he not tell Gabe ahead of time? “Does he have health issues that require his attention?” She opened her browser and did a search.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but I’m not always kept in the loop on these things.”

  His tone sounded carefully controlled.

  The main news network for Auverignon’s capital city gave her an article. She skimmed the written version of it rather than watching the newscast. The king, crown prince, and soon-to-be crown prince held a press briefing where the king announced he would be stepping down September 24. A small ceremony would be held in the throne room with a coronation held at a time to be determined in the future.

  There was no mention of illness, just a sentence about how it was customary for the monarch to step down at a certain age, thanks to a precedent set in the mid-1800s. It didn’t explain why the precedent had been set. Most Auverignonians likely already knew. Esme decided she wouldn’t ask Gabe about it, but she would research it later.

  Gabe spent the rest of the trip communicating with his assistant. Esme meant to look up the precedent but found herself sucked into the comments on some of the articles.

  Why wasn’t Prince Gabe at the announcement? Just because he’s second and married to the next Sargassian monarch doesn’t mean he’s not part of the family.

  Prince Player didn’t even comment when he was out for lunch with his so-called wife. Does anyone believe he’s actually in love with her, much less committed to a relationship? I feel sorry for Esme and what she’s going to put up with from him for the next sixty years.

  And a reply:

  At least he’s not our Prince Playboy anymore. Sargasso can have him. Good thing he was second.

  Those comments and others like them hurt Esme more than she would have expected. She wished she could reply to them, set them straight, even if she wasn’t completely certain of him and his commitment yet.

  He certainly wasn’t what she would have predicted a few weeks earlier.

  But she kept her thoughts to herself, even as they pulled through the palace gates and under the portico. No one greeted them.

  Gabe’s shoulders were squa
red and his expression far more relaxed than he really was. The way he gripped her hand told her that much.

  A few minutes later, they were in his suite. As soon as the door closed, his shoulders slumped and he dropped her hand.

  “I’m going for a run,” he told her, walking toward the closet.

  Where was he going to do that?

  “I have a treadmill I can use in the dressing room.”

  Esme hadn’t seen one, but maybe it folded up out of the way. “Let me know if you want to talk about it, or if there’s anything I can do,” she told his back.

  He nodded but didn’t turn around or say anything.

  Since he was in the dressing room, Esme found some of her clothes, took a quick shower, and, after she dressed, went back into his room. Curled up in his chair, she opened her tablet and finally watched the press briefing.

  Some of the shouted questions had to do with Gabe and what he thought about all of it, but none of them answered any questions at all. The press secretary said there would be a chance to ask them later.

  After trawling through more of the comments online, Esme came to one conclusion.

  Gabe was likely better off in Sargasso.

  * * *

  After a couple of miles on the treadmill, going much slower than he would have liked, Gabe headed for the shower.

  The news about his grandfather wasn’t surprising. Every monarch for the last two hundred years had abdicated rather than dying in office - except Gabe’s great-great grandfather, but he’d died of a heart attack at 52.

  The timing of the announcement, and the failure to tell Gabe about it ahead of time, both surprised and hurt Gabe, which shocked him even more. He really hadn’t expected more.

  He was the screw up. Despite his marriage to Esme, he was the one who brought the bad press to the family. He’d been lectured by his father and grandfather at least once a month during his truly rebellious phase. Since it became more of a front rather than his actual lifestyle, the lectures had dwindled as well, though the last one had come right before he went to the resort for the announcement of Darius and Esther’s marriage and daughters.