by Kyle Baxter
Luc added, “I barely know him, but Joel never struck me as being someone who does things he does not want to do.”
Astrid leaned closer in her seat. “Your young man has a good job in New York, a career of sorts, and some money in his bank accounts. He could have left you any time if he wanted, but he didn’t. He knew you and wanted to be with you even before he knew who you were.” To Freddie’s curious eye, she finished, “I did my research.”
Freddie sat quietly for a long moment, taking that in.
“Your Highness, you don’t just love people for who they are. Sometimes you love them in spite of who they are. You love all of them. He saw your failings and still loved you.” Luc fidgeted in his seat and continued. “But I do agree. He isn’t suited for this life, but that’s only half the problem.”
Frederick looked over at him. “What is the other half?”
“You aren’t suited for this life either,” Luc said. “No more than your friend is.”
“That’s very true.” Freddie gave a sharp little chuckle. “Karl accused me of not giving enough time to my duties because of Joel, and he’s right. Partially. The truth is, I’m not interested in being prince—crown or otherwise. I never was. I don’t care about the things I should care about in order to do a good job. I just don’t. Our country needs a good, strong, capable leader, and that is not me. Being with Joel brought that into sharp relief. He is where I want to be, but he doesn’t belong here, in this life. I got a clear example of that when I watched a friend of ours belittle him. It was vile.”
“I guess now is the right time to show you this.” Astrid pulled a folder out of her briefcase and handed it to him. Frederick opened it and found pictures of him and Joel eating together, walking together, and holding hands, then a grainy still from CCTV footage of him entering the Sonne Hotel late at night.
“A contact at a newspaper warned us,” Astrid said. “Those were to go on their front page.”
Freddie blanched. “No, they’ll hound Joel and his family.”
Astrid took the folder from him. “Don’t worry. We squashed it.”
Holding a hand to his chest, Frederick let out a long breath. “How?”
“I bought the paper.” She waved a hand dismissively. “But we also had to promise the reporters a bigger exclusive and soon.”
“Like what?”
“I have no idea.” Astrid looked out the window as Paris passed by the limo. “This is at least the fourth such story we’ve buried in the past two weeks—”
“But—”
“Let me finish, bitte. This is the fourth story. One will break eventually. It will come out. We could weather the scandal if your heart was in it.” Astrid looked at him with kind eyes. “But as you said, this is not you. It never will be. Karl was born for this. You and Alois were not. Now, I have no doubt you could learn enough to soldier through and even excel. I’ve read your military history. That is what you do: you excel. But you would never be happy. I am your sister. I love you and I want you to be happy. I knew you were happy with Joel, and when it came to your studies? I just thought you were being immature or lazy. But you are neither of those things.”
“Not true. He is very immature at times,” Luc said.
She patted Frederick’s leg. “I am sorry. I wish I’d realized earlier how unhappy you were.”
Astrid’s words were a breath of fresh air, and Frederick gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.” Reaching over, Frederick playfully jabbed his right-hand man. “You’re absolutely correct. I’m really not suited to this.”
“You’re a good man,” Astrid said. “You just won’t make a good king, at least not a happy one. And I’d rather you did what you wanted and be happy than be our king and be miserable. But what is there to do about it? Karl passed up the crown, and I cannot take it. You are all that’s left.”
Frederick leaned back and stared out the window. That was the question. What do I do?
Chapter Thirty-One
Still Hurting
Joel trotted down Rue Saint-Honoré toward the Louvre. Turning, he raced down the Rue des Pyramides, passing the statue of Joan of Arc. Have to come back and see this! He crossed the intersection, narrowly dodging a car. He was frantic and late for his meeting with Mariah. But it was not his fault. Caty kept him too long at the Hermès store.
Slightly fitting, because he was meeting Mariah at the Hermes statue in the Louvre. He hoped the line to get in was not too long. They purposefully came later in the day to avoid the crush of the crowd.
The iconic glass pyramid entrance to the museum lay ahead. The line was not too long, but his eyes were pulled back to the street and the SUV parked there. Four men clad in black with walkie-talkies, obviously security. They took cues from another man, tall and patrician-looking. His stomach dropped; it was Luc.
His eyes darted around as worry snaked through him. Frederick was here—somewhere. He could hardly breathe. To be so close . . . But word would get back to Karl, and that might end his father’s business deal. Joel was still determined not to be responsible for that. We can’t be seen together.
Joel got in line with the people streaming into the pyramid. He crouched to avoid being seen. “Sorry,” he muttered to curious stares and fumbled for the little proper French he knew. “J’évite un amour.” Several people nodded and, giving him a slight smile, clustered around him to help form a barrier.
Through their bodies, he watched Frederick and Astrid exit the museum. His heart leaped into his chest. It was hard not to watch Freddie; he moved with such purpose. It was harder still not to call out to him. It hurts so much. Tears welled up. It’s not fair.
Astrid followed behind him, and they climbed into the black SUV. After a moment, Luc climbed in after them.
Taking a deep breath, he stood back up to his full height as the truck drove off, down the street. Within ten minutes, he made it inside and rushed through the long halls to meet Mariah. She still waited by the statue of Hermes and gave him a quick hug.
“Your ex was just here,” she said sharply.
He grunted. Whatever Frederick was, he was not an ex. They weren’t together long enough to be anything, really. But he did not correct her. “I saw his security detail outside.”
“He had a panic attack,” she said.
“Is he okay?” He wrapped his arms around himself. It was everything he could do not to run after him. But he didn’t; he couldn’t. Damn this life.
“Yes, his sister and I talked him through it.” She looked down at her feet. “He’s having a rough time of it.”
“Why was he even here?”
She reached over and smacked his shoulder. “He was looking for you, numbskull.”
“Ow.”
The crowd moved around them, but he just stood there. He looked at the statue. Joel owned a miniature reproduction of this Hermes; it sat on a shelf in his living room in Brooklyn. The original was amazing and wondrous, so life-like he expected it to move at any moment.
He wished he could share it with Freddie. Their discussions at the British Museum flitted through his mind and he cried softly. There was a pit in his stomach and an ache in his heart.
“What did you say to them?” They discussed something like this happening. Freddie’s tour was mirroring their own, at least for a little while, and he prepared for it.
“Like you asked, I told him to go away and leave you alone,” Mariah said. “I may have added my own flourish . . . I wish I didn’t have to. I like them, both of them. They’re our friends.”
“I know, but it’s better for both of us.”
Mariah rolled her eyes. “He followed you across Europe. He likes you and you like him.”
“No, he did not follow me. He’s on a tour. But you’re right. I do like him, but it isn’t real. He’s a fairy-tale prince and I’m a guy from New Orleans. We’re from two completely different worlds.”
“So what?” Mariah moaned. “Those worlds can meet. You saw Harry and Meghan.”
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“Jury’s still out on that one.”
“You’re such a bitch.” She slapped his shoulder. “Tell me the real truth. Tell me why you’re letting him go and not fighting for him.”
“There are a number of reasons,” he said. He was not going into them again, not in the museum with his sister. “But bottom line? I’m scared.”
“Everyone’s scared, Joel.”
“Mariah, I’m thirty-three years old. Every relationship I’ve been in has been a disaster. I fall in love and lose myself. It happened with Seth. When he left, I was devastated. And then he found someone else in a month and I was devastated all over again. Let’s face it: I have lousy taste in men. I met Freddie on a layover. He ended it when we got to Etreustein, and maybe that’s where it should have stayed—ended.”
It scared him to say that out loud, to lay bare all his fears and insecurities. What to do and what to feel about this thing with Frederick was a daily battle. Some days he was determined they would wind up together, again. Somehow. Other days it all seemed impossible, like the odds against them were stacked too high. Today, the latter won out.
I’m a mess.
“But you love him.” Mariah reached over and adjusted the scarf around his neck. “And you look so cute together.”
“Mariah, I’ve only known him for two weeks. I can’t be in love.”
“Bullshit.”
“You know what? Sometimes love just isn’t enough,” Joel told her. “Love doesn’t make all the problems go away or magically make everything better. As much as I care about him, I just can’t see where it goes. He belongs in that castle on a mountain in Etreustein. And they need him there. I really don’t belong there—at all. I need to accept and embrace this for what it was: an affair. It was just an affair.”
Mariah leaned against his shoulder. “So what are you going to do? Mope around for the rest of the trip?”
“Maybe.” He stuck out his lower lip, and she reached up and tweaked his nose. They laughed and she stood up.
“You know what? I’m going to tour the Louvre with my big brother and then next week we’ll go see the Parthenon. You can do your moping later.”
He let her pull him to his feet and drag him around the museum. They ate and talked and gaped at the exhibits for the next few hours. Her excitement buoyed him along, but after he saw Freddie and Astrid, his heart wasn’t in it. At some point, they left. He wasn’t sure when, but it was dark.
He barely remembered the cab ride back to the house, where he climbed into bed early. Between the sensory overload of the Louvre and seeing his prince, he was overwhelmed and exhausted. Sleep did not come easily though; he tossed and turned in bed, thinking about his prince. Finally, he got up and went to the window. Pulling a chair up to it, he looked out into the night. He stared off to the east, where Etreustein lay.
❖
“You’re being so boring, Joel,” Caty grumped at breakfast when he announced his plan to stay in his room all day. “I wanted you to go with us. Who will I talk to?” The family was going on a day trip to Versailles, and he . . . he was having trouble working up the energy for it. He just wanted to stay home.
Mariah rolled her eyes. “Could you be more oblivious? Joel’s in pain.”
“Yes, I know. We all know. Everyone knows,” Caty said with a sigh. “But all he does is sit in his room. It’s not healthy.”
“Caty, leave your brother alone,” Mom said and then gave him a little nod.
His father barely spoke to him. Even if he didn’t blame Joel, it must grate on him. To come so close to having a deal and then be threatened with it all going away? Well, Joel was not going to be responsible for that. Even if his father wouldn’t ask, he’d avoid Freddie. It wasn’t meant to be anyway.
Keep telling yourself that. It’d become his mantra, but it wasn’t helping.
After noon, he took a bottle of wine, went downstairs, and sat in the garden to text his roommate. The house faced the Avenue des Champs Elysées—it was nice staying in a royal house.
Larry: Caty has a point.
Joel sipped his glass of Etreustein Pinot as he typed.
Joel: I know.
Larry: • • •
Larry: I think you two just need to talk, like in the same room. Is there any way you can get some time with him away from the eyes of the world?
Joel: I doubt it. He’s in Italy atm, on his Grand European Introduction tour.
Larry: How do you know that? Are you following what he does?
Joel: NO, but it’s in all the papers. Word leaked about him being at the shelter during the attack—but not about me being there—and now he’s the #HeroPrince. The media LOVES him.
Larry: Do you resent that?
Joel took a long sip of his wine before responding.
Joel: Maybe.
Larry: K
Joel typed furiously.
Joel: I feel jealous of the whole world. They get to have him and I don’t. There’s a photo of him and Miss Perfect the Duchess at I don’t know the Italian parliament? They look PERFECT.
Larry: Yeah, I saw that. They really do.
Joel: NOT helping. :-(
Larry: • • •
Larry: Sorry, but ignoring the truth is not healthy. Yes, they look good together. They’re like a stock photo of a royal couple. THAT MEANS NOTHING. She’s a family friend. He loves you.
Joel: He doesn’t. He can’t.
Larry: Why not?
He sat his phone down on the end table for a few minutes and thought about it. He couldn’t tell Larry the truth: that Karl threatened his father’s deal. They were staying in a house owned by the Crown, and he was sure everything they did was observed by security. His confession to his mother aside, Joel would keep quiet, toe the line—at least until he got home.
Larry: He did come after you at the Louvre. Are you mad because he didn’t try hard enough?
Joel: He was the one who walked away.
That was true, at least. He let out a heavy sigh.
Joel: Enough of my BS, tell me about you. What’s going on with YOUR mister perfect?
Larry: Oh, that? That’s over.
When did that happen? Was it new? Joel felt bad. He was so absorbed in his own drama that he didn’t even think about Larry until he needed an ear. He was a bad friend.
Joel: Oh no, why?
Larry: It was days ago. NBD. You know me. I burn hot and fast.
Joel: I’m sorry. I should have been there for you.
Larry: Dude, it’s no big deal. I’m not you.
Joel snorted and sat up.
Joel: What does that mean?
Larry: Like I said, I burn hot and fast. You don’t. You fall and you fall hard. See: Seth. See: your Prince Charming.
It was true and Joel knew it.
Joel: I hate you.
Larry: No, you don’t. Robert says hi, btw. You should call him.
Joel: Tell him to text me.
Larry: You know that old queen doesn’t text people.
Joel hid in his room during the last day. And then the family trip moved on to Italy. Their hotel reservation in Rome was not connected to the royal family in Etreustein, and that gave him some relief. He no longer felt like they were imposing or being watched. Added to that, Freddie’s own European tour moved on to England. That eliminated any chance they might run into him or his sister.
He felt bad about that. Mariah and Astrid got on really well.
The Hotel Campo Di’ Firenze sat on a quiet side street, and Joel was happy for that. A refuge from the bustle of the crowded city, it was still only two blocks from Barberini Square, near the Spanish Steps. Recently renovated, the hotel was pleasant and clean. It wasn’t as luxurious as the royal residence they stayed at in Paris, but no strings came with this one. They were completely on their own.
Joel had his own room, and amazingly, it came with a bottle of Champagne. He was going to wait until the last night to open it. He had a plan.
He had never vis
ited Rome before. Any other time, it would be a dream come true, but now it tasted sour in his mouth. Frederick was not here.
The city was now hot in the day and warm and sultry at night. It reminded him of New Orleans, and he was happy to spend the first day sitting at the window, watching people walk by on the street while he missed his lover. When the wind stirred the trees, he could smell coffee and fresh bread from the delicatessen down the street. But every now and then, it also blew in a rancid rubbish smell from the nearby major thoroughfare. That too reminded him of the French Quarter. Gotta take the good with the bad.
On the second day in the Eternal City, his mother and father took Mariah on a tour of Hadrian’s Villa in Tivoli. He adamantly refused to go along. He met Freddie at the British Museum’s Hadrian and Antinous exhibit, and going to the Villa would be rubbing salt in the wound. No way, no how.
Caty cajoled him into going shopping with her instead. In the morning, in between stores, they hit a spa and got mani-pedis. In the afternoon, they visited the Spanish Steps. Pink and white azaleas decorated the stairway. It was a beautiful day, so they had lattes and gelato at a café in the area; snacking on the steps was now forbidden.
People-watching, he caught a flash of auburn hair and his heart raced. He almost jumped up, but it wasn’t his prince. He sat back in his chair and scowled. Looking up, he caught Caty watching him.
“God, you really are pathetic.” Caty eyed the Superman shirt he was wearing with a raised eyebrow, then took a healthy spoonful of her dessert. “We may need to do an intervention. You’re like one of those women in those old movies, just wasting away.”
Joel chuckled despite himself. “I promise I am not dying of a broken heart anytime soon. I’m just . . .”
She bobbed her head from side to side. “You miss him, and you love him, blah blah . . .” Bending to take a sip of her latte, Caty came back with a light milk mustache. Joel didn’t tell her.
“Yeah . . .” He lined up his cell phone with the edges of the table. He set it there when his jeans proved too tight for him to sit comfortably with it in his pocket. “I feel silly missing him so desperately. I’ve only known him for a few weeks.”