The Introvert's Prince

by Caroline Lee

  Some other man’s responsibility. A rush of white noise filled Viggo’s ears and he felt the view in front of him stretch out like a bad movie interpretation of a drug-trip. Some other man’s responsibility. For seven years, he’d relied on Stefan always being here, next door. It was one of the reasons he and Johan had moved into this royal estate, instead of the others spread around the island.

  Some other man’s responsibility. Suddenly, there was the very real chance Stefan wouldn’t be there—Marcia wouldn’t be there. She was beautiful and kind and it was a miracle some man hadn’t already snatched her up. His own brother had tried to, after all! But if she did marry, if she did get custody of Stefan, what would that mean for Viggo?

  He would lose both of them.

  He dropped her hand and straightened, crossing his legs under him like a kid. Johan had urged him to tell his family about Stefan, but with Marcia’s confession—that she’d actually considered marriage as a way to get custody of the boy—the stakes had just gone way up.

  Could he tell his family about his son, only to lose him when she married? No, no, he couldn’t.

  Viggo forced himself to breathe, forced his voice to sound as normal as possible when he asked, “And what kind of man would your father approve of?”

  She shrugged, craning her neck to keep Stefan in her sights. “My father is ambitious. He had grand plans for Rebecca, but she was vivacious and beautiful. When he was left with me, he made it clear I was his second choice.”

  At Viggo’s scoff, she flicked her gaze to him once, then back to the boy, smiling softly. “No, it’s okay. I know he’s not a very nice person, so I’m not hurt. There was a time—when I was engaged to Prince Alek—that he was almost kind to me.”

  “So…a prince,” Viggo said slowly. “Your father would approve of a prince as a husband, and let you have custody of Stefan?”

  She was distracted. “Assuredly. He was thrilled when your brother suggested marriage, even though it was obvious we were ill-suited. There’s no higher marriage options, after all, than a pr—Stefan!” She scrambled to her feet. “Stefan, come back here! You’re too close to the cliffs!”

  On the far side of the field, the boy skidded to a stop, and looked around. He was getting awfully close to the rocks which marked the steep drop-off down to Solrig Bay, but he’d probably been too engrossed with following the drone to notice.

  When he looked over and saw Marcia standing, he waved happily to her, and began running back towards them, the controller carefully held in front of him and the drone following behind. She gave a little sigh, sounding relieved and opened her arms to the grinning boy.

  He barreled into her, and she sat down hard with him in her lap, laughing the whole time. Something deep in Viggo’s chest clenched. How could he let these two go? He’d been so selfish, expecting them to always be nearby. But now there was a very real chance he could lose them if he didn’t act.

  “Whatchya talking about? Were you talking about me?” Stefan grinned up at the two adults, his bottom two teeth missing. “You were, weren’t you?”

  “Of course,” Marcia teased. “There’s nothing more important in the whole world.”

  “That’s not true! Today’s your birthday, so you’re more important today!”

  “Oh, so there’s only one day in the whole year I get to be more important? Thank you.”

  The boy giggled. “Only one day. Cake day!” He shifted in her lap so he was looking at Viggo. “I made her a drawing. It was the best drawing.”

  She nodded seriously. “I’ve decided to frame it—I love the way you drew me holding the flowers. They were beautiful.”

  “They’re balloons, Mara.”

  She nodded seriously. “That’s what I meant to say, balloons.”

  Viggo didn’t bother hiding his smile. His son’s lack of artistic ability had nothing to do with the way his hand was formed…he’d inherited his father’s inability to draw a straight line.

  Stefan handed the controller to Viggo, and he pressed in the appropriate command to bring the drone in for a landing. While Stefan was watching, he absently asked, “What did you get her, Viggo?”

  Marcia was quick to object. “Oh, not everyone needs to get me presents. My picture from you was just perfect.”

  The little boy shifted off her lap until he was sitting on his knees in between them. He always looked as if he were about to spring into action, but now he was looking anxiously from Viggo to Marcia.

  “Friends get each other stuff for their birthdays. Viggo always gets me cool stuff for my birthday, even though I’ve never had a party. He’s your friend, Mara, so he’s gotta get you something.”

  She began to object again, but Viggo was already nodding. Her lips slammed shut when he took her hand again.

  “He’s right, Marcia,” he said softly. “Friends get each other presents.” He took a deep breath and met his son’s eyes, so like his. “And I’m going to give your Mara what she wants more than anything else.”

  Stefan’s grey eyes went wide. “What’s that?” he whispered.

  Viggo squeezed her hand. “You.”

  When he turned to her, Marcia’s eyes were just as round as her nephew’s. They were mesmerizing, a pale blue circling the iris with a darker ring around the edge. He felt as if he were falling, falling forward into them.

  “Prince Viggo?” she asked, uncertainly.

  She so rarely addressed him directly that he had to smile, hearing his name on her lips. Sure, she might be shy, but when she turned the full power of those eyes and that mouth on a man, he could damn well forget his intentions.

  Not this time, though.

  “Will you marry me, Marcia?”

  Her eyes widened, but that was all Viggo got to see of her reaction before she turned at Stefan’s gasp. The boy knelt there, his good hand gripping his special hand and both of them covering his mouth, as his wide grey eyes flicked back and forth between the adults.

  It was only because Viggo knew him so well that he could see the hope and fear in the boy’s eyes.

  When Marcia's attention stayed on him, Stefan focused his gaze on her. Neither of them said anything, but Marcia spent an indefinite period of time—eons at least—staring at the boy. Viggo knew she was considering, calculating, that clever mind of hers working furiously behind her serene expression.

  For the first time in a long while, Viggo was terrified. How many times had he propositioned a woman? Countless. But this was the first—and only if he had anything to say about it—time he'd actually proposed to one.

  Because, to his complete surprise, he really, really wanted to marry Marcia. Johan’s nagging that morning had been about his claiming responsibility, but Viggo suddenly saw it in a different light; he’d been living a lie for the last seven years, had become someone he wasn’t just because that’s what the media wanted.

  He didn’t want to be The Playboy Prince anymore. He wanted the chance to hang out with his son all the time, to help raise him to be a better man than Viggo was. If that meant bringing Stefan to the media’s attention as his custodial son, then Viggo swore he’d do his best to minimize the harm that spotlight could do. He suddenly knew he wanted that challenge, that responsibility.

  He wanted the chance to just sit and talk about little things with a woman—to not have to worry about appearances or dance moves or the next drink or charming line. He wanted a wife, and looking at Marcia studying his son, he knew she was the right choice. She wasn’t anything like his usual women, but she was his friend, and he knew they’d get along just fine.

  It occurred to him, despite having known Marcia socially most of her life, and knowing her rather better during the last seven years while they were co-conspirators, he wasn't sure what she was thinking. What she was going to answer….

  So it was understandable that he breathed a huge sigh of relief, and smiled broadly, when she finally nodded at her nephew, turned her serene gaze on Viggo, and said merely, “Yes.”

&nbs
p; CHAPTER FOUR

  Oh my God oh my God oh my God.

  She was doing this. She was actually doing this.

  Marcia paced in the private courtroom, trying to work through the ramifications of this decision, and doing her best not to hyperventilate. Was she really about to marry Prince Viggo Magnusson? The man she’d had a crush on for years? And the father of her soon-to-be son?

  Was this the right choice? She’d get custody of Stefan, that was certain. After yesterday’s life-altering picnic date, she’d confronted her father again, ostensibly to thank him for the perfect strand of pearls, which she’d already donated to Enriching Children’s upcoming silent auction and gala. When she asked if a prince would be an acceptable choice for a husband, Father had laughed cruelly and agreed: “If you can talk one of those idiots into marrying a mouse like you, I would happily sign the cripple over to both you!”

  Her father’s hurtful words had been the final push, and she’d known she would go through with her agreement to marry Viggo. So when he’d texted her last night and asked if she’d meet him at the courthouse with Stefan this morning, she’d agreed.

  She was getting married to The Playboy Prince, and she was terrified.

  No, no. This was the right move. The best choice for Stefan. She wouldn’t be separated from the boy she loved as her son, and Viggo would be able to have a normal relationship with him too. Even if she and Viggo weren’t compatible—and how could someone like her possibly be compatible with a man who enjoyed partying as much as Viggo?—they could live together amicably for Stefan’s sake.

  Maybe this marriage was what Viggo needed, too.

  It was certainly what she needed—Stefan would finally be away from his grandfather, and she’d be with him.

  But it was impossible to know what the future would bring. She told herself a leap of faith like this was best left in the Almighty’s hands, but somehow she’d gotten stuck on the first part of the prayer: Oh my God oh my God oh my God.

  Marcia had been so intent on her worries, she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone in the room, and squealed when someone grabbed her hand. Her head jerked up at the same time Viggo tugged slightly, pulling her off-balance. She stumbled against the back of the bench he was leaning against, but couldn’t be angry when he offered her that adorable half-smile of his.

  “You were making me sea-sick, going back and forth like that.”

  He didn’t look at all nervous. He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing and was pleased about it. That little charming smile really was heart-melting, wasn’t it?

  Oh my God, my palms are probably sweaty.

  “This really isn’t going to be so bad, Marcia, I promise.” He shrugged slightly and glanced down at their joined hands. “I mean, I know I’m not exactly a prize, and I can’t imagine I’d be your first choice of princes. Mack is probably more your style, but he’s pretty into Gloria lately, and I—” He frowned, and cut himself off, before glancing back up at her from under his lashes.

  Was he—? Was he embarrassed?

  “I just mean…thank you for saying yes,” he said softly. “I know it’s not what you expected, but thank you for giving me a chance to prove I can—that I’m not a complete—I mean…” He shrugged. “Thank you.”

  Had she thought him heart-melting before? Marcia had to resist the urge not to gather him in her arms and comfort him like she would Stefan.

  He’s not a hurt little boy. In fact, with that smile and disarming attitude, he could be very, very dangerous.

  To her heart.

  Marcia cleared her throat. “I was flattered, Viggo. Really I was. I’ve always—” Wait, no need to spill secrets. “I mean, we’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah. Friends.”

  His attention was on their joined hands, and when he began to trace the back of her knuckles with his thumb, she had to tamp down on the shiver of pleasure that trickled through her.

  “So…” What had they been talking about? Oh, yeah. “I think we’ll be a good match. And we each get something out of it.”

  Her eyes flicked towards Stefan, who was sitting on one of the benches, his knees pulled up under his chin, his attention focused on his tablet. Anyone who saw how fast his fingers could fly over that screen as he played that silly skateboarding game wouldn’t think there was anything wrong with his hand.

  The boy had been over-the-moon excited since Viggo’s proposal yesterday, but she hadn’t explained all the legal ramifications. All he knew was that she’d helped him and Elsie—who was sitting on the bench beside him, dozing—pack a suitcase that morning, because he wouldn’t be going home to Lindqvist Manor again.

  And neither would she.

  “I agree.”

  Her eyes snapped back to Viggo, expecting to find him staring at his son, too. Instead, his intense grey eyes were focused on her face.

  “What?” They’d been talking about something important, hadn’t they…?

  His voice was still soft—comforting, caressing—when he grinned just slightly. “I think we’re a good match, and we’ll both get something very special out of it.”

  The way he said it made it very clear he wasn’t talking about Stefan. Was he talking about her? About Marcia being the “something very special” he’d get out of this marriage-of-convenience?

  Her blush was so sudden, she went light-headed.

  He was the one to clear his throat this time, and when he glanced back down at their hands, she realized he was nervous. Or awkward. Or shy. It was hard to define, because she’d never seen him like this. Ever. He was always so confident and sure and suave, that to see him acting like—well, like her—made him seem so much more…

  Approachable.

  And she very much wanted to approach him.

  “I, uh…I have something for you.” He fumbled in the pocket of his suit trousers without dropping her hand. “For the—the ceremony.”

  She was too busy studying him, trying to understand the way this new side of him made her feel, to process what he was saying. “Hmmm?”

  He pulled a small box out of his pocket. “I know it’s customary to give something like this when the arrangement is made, but I went out first thing this morning, as soon as the store opened, and I thought I might as well give it to you now. Better late than never and all that.”

  He was rambling. Viggo. The Playboy Prince was rambling? And staring at her expectantly.

  The look in his eyes reminded her so much of the way Stefan would look at her when he wanted to watch “just one more” cartoon before bed or eat “just one more” piece of cake after dinner. Hopeful, and knowing that Marcia couldn’t possibly refuse.

  And just as with Stefan, she couldn’t help her reaction now; she smiled hugely.

  His entire face—his gorgeous, tabloid-worthy face—lit up. Because of her.

  When he flipped open the small box, her eyes dropped to the ring, and widened. Hesitantly, she reached up with her free hand and removed a gold ring set with the largest diamond she’d ever seen. It was square-cut and had to be fifteen carats.

  It was one of the gaudiest things she’d ever seen, and that was coming from a woman who’d already given away an Earl’s birthday gift.

  Still, it had come from Viggo, who was still staring at her expectantly.

  “It’s lovely,” she murmured as she slipped it on her finger in resignation. She couldn’t meet his eyes, and thankfully didn’t need to, because the door to the small courtroom opened at that point.

  Both she and Viggo whirled, expecting the judge, but instead Prince Johannes strolled in. From her spot on the bench, Elsie muttered something to Stefan, who grunted and kept his attention focused on his game.

  Viggo nodded to his twin, his perpetual almost-smirk settling back onto his lips. “I invited Johan as my witness,” he explained to her. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind?” Marcia smiled at the youngest prince. “How could I possibly mind you bringing your bes
t friend to stand beside you at your wedding?” She tried not to remember that the closest friend she could claim was an employee—the woman who watched the boy she loved as a son.

  A boy who would soon become her son, thanks to the noble offer of the man still holding her hand.

  “Lady Marcia, always a pleasure.”

  Johannes took her free hand—heavy from the diamond ring—and bowed over it, as if they were meeting at a state function. Well, a prince was getting married, so maybe it was a state function. That thought led to another, and her gaze jerked back to Viggo’s.

  “Who else knows we’re getting married? I mean, is this legal? Can you just— Aren’t there laws about royalty marrying?”

  It was Johannes who answered. “Yes, indeed. Viggo and I stayed up late last night researching.”

  “He researched,” Viggo said from the corner of his mouth. “I ate chips and finally beat that level of Ninja Dragon I’ve been stuck on.”

  Johannes kept his attention on Marcia, his expression bland. “He did no such thing. My twin brother has been exceedingly nervous about this whole situation. It wasn’t until we discovered a precedent that a younger prince—not the crown prince, of course—could marry without the monarch’s approval—that he breathed a sigh of relief. That’s when he got out the chips.” When Johannes grinned, he looked remarkably like his devil-may-care twin. “I helped him finish the bag.”

  Monarch’s approval. Marcia kept thinking about that phrase. She bit her bottom lip and glanced at Viggo from under her lashes. When he raised a brow in question, she worked up the guts to ask the implied question.

  “Will she? Approve of me, I mean. Will your mother be angry—”