The Princess I Hate to Love

by Iris Morland

  “Love is a risk that’s always worth taking.”

  “You sound like a greeting card now.”

  My father smiled. “Maybe, but it’s true. That’s what I asked you about Niamh. If you love her, you’ll do anything to keep her.” He added softly, “Don’t drive her away for a throne and a future that can’t love you back.”

  “So I should simply abdicate and let Connor Gallagher sit on the throne?” I shook my head. “No, I will never let that happen. I will never let the royal family fall into his hands.”

  “You might not have a choice.” My father rose and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Take it from me, son: duty might seem more pressing, but it won’t keep you warm at night, either. Love, though? It will.”

  I stared off into the distance. “Does Mother even love you? Or has she ever loved you?”

  “In her own way, yes.”

  “That’s enough for you?”

  “It has been, but I hope you’ll have more than that. I hope that you’ll have all the love that your mother and I didn’t have in our lives.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  In desperate need of keeping my mind off of the disaster that was my marriage, I randomly decided one morning to go riding. I hadn’t spent much time with any of the horses in some years, as my princely duties took up more and more of my leisure time.

  I’d always enjoyed riding as a child. After the debacle when I’d ridden off and gotten lost for hours as a child, though, I’d stopped riding. It had soured the sport for me, and then life had taken hold and I’d stopped entirely.

  My mare, Juliette, nickered softly as we started down the lane that led to a trail that meandered through a forested area five kilometers outside Saint Henri. It was a beautiful, late summer day. With the dappled sunshine following just me and my horse, I could almost imagine everything was fine.

  I could almost imagine that my wife was speaking to me. That there weren’t dozens of stories, online and in print, about those titillating photos of her bare breasts. That there weren’t other stories about how my parents were shunning Niamh (untrue), that I was shunning Niamh (ridiculously false), or that Niamh was considering going back to the United States (status: unknown).

  I kicked Juliette into a canter. My thighs burned, reminding me of how strenuous riding was and that it’d been a while since I’d done it. I’d probably be bow-legged tonight, I thought wryly.

  The trail meandered through the forest, eventually reaching a tiny village that was known for its vineyards and wine tastings. It was an idyllic place, somewhere you could almost believe was untouched by modern technology. I was surprised when my phone still had service there.

  The locals recognized me immediately. One of the most famous winemakers came to greet me outside his restaurant, beaming.

  “Your Highness, we are honored to see you here of all places!”

  “Is there a place I can leave my horse?”

  “I can have it taken care of, sir. Please, come inside for a wine tasting. I have a new merlot that I’m certain you will love.”

  A young man took Juliette toward a nearby stable—horses weren’t uncommon methods of transport in these parts—and I followed the vineyard owner into the restaurant. It wasn’t yet open, so there was only staff readying for dinner later that day.

  The vineyard owner, who told me his name was Francois, brought five different wines to try. I was sipping the third one, a delicate white wine that was especially floral in its scent, when I heard a commotion outside.

  Francois bustled over. “What could that be? I hope it is not Gerard again. His wife has kicked him out of the house so many times now that we’ve lost count. He always comes here afterward, usually barefoot and sometimes without even a shirt on.”

  “His wife kicks him out without letting him dress?”

  “Well, she often throws his clothes and shoes outside along with him. Sometimes they land in the mud.”

  The commotion continued, the voices getting louder outside. “Sounds like a bad deal for Gerard,” I said.

  “The last time his wife threw him out, he’d brought home a—” Francois cleared his throat. “Well, not a woman you’d want your husband to bring home. Apparently, the police were called because his wife tried to set the bed on fire with the two lovers in it.”

  My lips twitched. “What an upstanding citizen he is.”

  As I wondered if Gerard had gotten caught again with another woman, I heard a man yelling in English. Most notably, English with an Irish tinge. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  And then Liam Gallagher, angry, sweaty, and as big as a bear, burst through the entrance to find his prey: me.

  “You,” said Liam, growling like I’d imagine a mother bear would growl if you got near her cubs. He approached, his finger pointed at me. “You.”

  “Liam, for the love of God—” Liam’s wife Mari flew in behind him. Her red hair was surprisingly disheveled. I’d never seen her look anything but immaculate for the week they were here attending the wedding.

  I rose. Francois fluttered back to me, and I told him in French, “It’s all right. He’s my brother-in-law.”

  Francois looked at Liam then looked back at me. Then he just said in a whisper, “Godspeed, Your Highness.”

  I could feel the gazes of the waitstaff on all of us. I approached Liam slowly.

  “Olivier,” said Mari, shoving at Liam and failing, “I’m so sorry about this. I told Liam we could wait for you to return, but he refused.”

  “I wasn’t going to sit all day drinking tea, waiting for this arsehole to come back.”

  “What have I done now? You’ve been here all of five minutes,” I pointed out.

  “What have you done? Are you bloody serious?” Liam’s expression turned grim. “You promised me that you’d keep my sister safe. But you failed. And you’re just sitting around, drinking wine, not a care in the world. Did you even care what’s happened to Niamh? Or was it just par for the course around here?”

  A cloud of red passed over my vision. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You have no fucking idea what we’ve been through lately, what she’s been through.”

  Liam folded his arms across his chest. “Enlighten me. Tell me what you’ve done that proves to me you’ve been a decent husband.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you. Jesus Christ.” I shook my head, incredulous at this man’s audacity. “Your sister is an adult. I doubt she’d be happy if she knew you flew all the way here to meddle in her relationship.”

  “My sister is young and she’s my sister. I’ll always protect her.”

  Mari said, “I told him this idea was stupid, coming here. But when he insisted, I came along to make sure he didn’t do anything totally stupid.”

  “I’m not sure even you could prevent him from doing something stupid,” I said wryly.

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. Fucking hell.” Liam went to the table where I’d been wine-tasting and slugged back one glass after another. “Is there any whiskey in this place?”

  “It’s a vineyard, you dumbass, not a distillery,” I said.

  Liam scowled. “You really have a death wish, don’t you?”

  “Liam, you can’t murder your brother-in-law.” Mari heaved a sigh, turning to me. “I’m sorry. I really did try to stop him.”

  “You were just as pissed as me. I distinctly remember you saying that you’d love to run Olivier over with your car,” said Liam.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Is everyone in Niamh’s family wanting to murder me?”

  “I can’t believe Niamh herself hasn’t murdered you.” Liam was stalking around the restaurant. Waitstaff hurried out of his way, one girl turning as white as a sheet as she scurried into the back. Another waiter made the sign of the cross. Considering the dark look in Liam’s eyes, I couldn’t blame him. He did look rather demonic.

  “How did you even find me?” I asked.

  “We followed you.” Liam picke
d up a bottle of wine from the bar and then went behind it to search for a bottle opener.

  “Christ, the security lately has been abysmal,” I muttered. Then I looked at Mari; she had spatters of mud on her ankles. She was also wearing a skirt and heels.

  “Did you walk all this way?” I said.

  Mari sighed. “I made Liam give me a piggyback ride for most of the way. He also owes me a new eyeshadow palette for putting me through all of this. Actually, he owes me more than one. Maybe three.”

  When she shot her husband a glare, he looked a little cowed. “Whatever you want, princess.”

  I snorted. Clearly, Liam was only as terrifying as his wife allowed him to be. I had a feeling if she demanded it, he’d kneel down and kiss her feet. It said a lot that he wouldn’t listen to her in this instance. He must really, really want kill me.

  Normally, the thought that someone wanted to kill me would scare me. But this entire tableau was so absurd that I could only find it darkly amusing.

  Poor beleaguered Francois was watching this ridiculous scene in abject horror. When Liam failed to find a bottle opener, he slashed the bottle open with a knife, spilling the red liquid all over his hands and the floor.

  “Oh my God, the merlot!” Francois wrung his hands. “How could you—!”

  Since Francois was speaking in French, Liam merely raised an eyebrow.

  I sighed. To Francois, I said, “We’ll pay for everything, of course. Please include a cask of the merlot for the palace. I’m sure my father would enjoy it immensely.”

  Francois looked somewhat mollified, but disgust filled his face when he saw Liam drinking directly from the bottle.

  “Monster!” he muttered in French. To me, he added, “Should I call the police, Your Highness?”

  I considered saying yes. Seeing Liam hauled to jail to stew would be amusing, but then again, I didn’t need an additional scandal.

  I shook my head. “I’ll take care of this.”

  I was about to ask my in-laws to go outside, so at least no more merchandise would be destroyed, when my wife entered the restaurant and said, “What the ever loving fuck are you doing here?”

  I honestly couldn’t tell if she was referring to me, to Liam, or even to Mari.

  “Niamh—” I said, approaching her.

  But she only had eyes for her brother. “Did you break that bottle of wine? How old are you again?” She whirled on Mari. “And you got on a plane with him willingly? Without so much as texting me to let me know you were going to show up on our doorstep?”

  Mari grimaced. “I’m sorry, Niamh. Liam insisted. And we scheduled the trip so quickly that it pretty much escaped my mind to text you.”

  “Don’t get on Mari. This is all on me.” Liam rounded on his sister.

  In that moment, I had time to see how similar they looked. Both had dark hair and those blue eyes. But while Niamh was slight and of average height, her brother was tall and muscular. They both had the same stubborn look on their face, though, along with the same clenched jaw and jut of the chin. It was like they were mirrors of each other.

  “Are you all right?” Niamh went to me and threaded an arm through mine.

  I was so surprised that it must’ve clearly shown on my face. Liam’s forehead creased.

  “I’m fine,” I said in French, mostly to piss off Liam. “Your brother makes a lot of noise.”

  “Yes, this is true.” Niamh turned her gaze back to him. “What did you think you were going to do, coming here unannounced? Throw me over your shoulder and take me home?”

  “Don’t protect that sack of shite! He promised me he’d protect you, and look what happened. He should be begging you for forgiveness, yet he stands here like he’s the one who’s been violated—”

  Niamh paled. “Will shut the hell up?” She rubbed her forehead. “You don’t know anything. I told you that you had no right to meddle. How many times did I say that? But you won’t listen.”

  “You’re allowed to have concerns,” I said, this time in English, “but the dynamics of our marriage are between us. Our marriage has nothing to do with you.”

  “Shut up, will you? I’ve known my sister her entire life; you’ve known her for less than a year. I can tell she’s lost weight; she has those dark circles under her eyes that she gets when she’s super stressed.”

  “Gee, thanks,” said Niamh dryly.

  “And I know you didn’t marry her because you loved her.”

  At that, Niamh flinched. I let go of her arm and said in her ear, “Go stand by Mari.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  The moment she moved away from me and Liam, I launched myself at Liam. I punched him square in the jaw, making him roar with fury.

  “You bloody little arse-wipe!” He yelled something in Irish and took hold of me by my shirt collar.

  Although he was taller and bulkier than me, I was faster. I kicked him in the shin and, before he could react, kicked him behind the knee, using his own weight against me. What I didn’t consider was that he’d take me down with him.

  Then we were rolling on the floor, punching, elbowing, scratching, and swearing, the sounds of Mari and Niamh telling us to stop just background noise. We rolled into a table, sending a carafe of wine bottles crashing to the floor.

  Liam landed a punch to my gut; I wheezed, the breath whooshing out of me. Before he was able to get up, though, I managed to elbow him right in the solar plexus. He collapsed like a fallen oak.

  We both lay on the floor, panting, bruised, and sweaty, when Niamh and Mari came to stand over us both.

  Both women looked murderous.

  “Are you done now?” This from Mari. She had her hands on her hips.

  I heard the sound of wailing and realized it was from poor Francois. I groaned, slowly sitting up.

  “Yes, are you done now?” inquired Niamh. She had a smile on her face, but there was no joy in it. “Oh, and look at that: the staff filmed everything. I’m sure it’s already on Facebook.”

  “It’s uploading,” replied a young woman some meters away.

  “Please be sure to tag my husband.” Niamh scowled down at me. “I want everyone to know what a fucking idiot he is.”

  A few people giggled awkwardly. I slowly rose to my feet, my wife making a point not to offer a hand to help me up.

  “Niamh,” I said. I winced, pain shooting through my hand. “Christ, is your skull made of fucking bricks?” I said to Liam.

  He was also standing up now, his lip thoroughly swollen. The sight of it made me smirk.

  “Let’s go, Mari.” Liam tried to take his wife’s hand, but she slapped it away.

  “You two morons can figure out your own way back. Even better, you can both ride Olivier’s horse. Have fun with that.”

  Then our wives left us, broken glass and spilled wine everywhere, and Francois moaning and wailing as he surveyed the damage.

  “I’ll pay for everything,” I repeated. “And then some.”

  “Oh, but dinner tonight, it is ruined—!”

  “I’ll pay for that, too.” I would’ve handed him cash, but the royal family never carried it.

  Liam pulled out his own wallet and handed Francois a stack of Euros. “Sorry,” he said gruffly.

  Francois’s expression lightened somewhat. Then he said to me in French, “So that will be ten caskets of wine instead of one, yes?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Do you know how to ride?” I asked Liam.

  “A horse? Fuck no.”

  I rolled my eyes. I was tempted to ride Juliette back and let Liam fend for himself, but Niamh wouldn’t be too happy about that, no matter how angry she was with her brother.

  And of course, Niamh and Mari had driven back, leaving us stranded.

  “Then I guess we’ll have to walk back,” I said.

  Liam shot me a dark look. “I’m not walking back with you.”

  “Do you even know how to get there? Because if you get lost and s
lowly starve to death in the forest, I won’t be upset about it.”

  “I have a fucking phone.” When Liam pulled out his phone to discover that service was spotty out here, he cursed. And cursed. And then cursed again.

  It would be funny, if I weren’t bruised and if it weren’t still hard to breathe. It would be funny, if my wife weren’t angry with me and probably building a guillotine with my name on it right this moment.

  “We could ask for a ride,” I said, “but considering we just made poor Francois weep, I doubt anyone would be so charitable.”

  Liam turned and began to stalk toward an unsuspecting townsfolk. Before Liam could so much as say s’il vous plaît, monsieur, the terrified man ran in the opposite direction.

  Sighing, Liam just said, “Let’s go.”

  Normally, I wouldn’t mind walking the five kilometers to where my driver was waiting for me, but doing it with my brother-in-law was another thing entirely.

  We were both walking slowly. Liam winced when he stepped on a rock and then growled when he nearly face-planted into a shrubby bush when he tripped over a tree root.

  “Try not to break your neck,” I said, rather jovially.

  “I’ll break your neck, you smarmy bastard.”

  I let the insult pass, even as I imagined punching him again. I rather hoped he would break his neck and I could just leave him here to rot.

  “What did you hope to accomplish, coming all the way here? Because as it looks to me, you’ve only made the situation worse,” I said.

  Liam was silent a long moment. “I didn’t know what I wanted to accomplish. I just wanted to make sure my sister was all right.”

  “So you flew halfway across the world on a whim?”

  “It wasn’t a whim. I did it because I saw all over the Internet what the world was saying about your wife. About my sister. And how photos of her—” Liam coughed. “Anyway, pictures of her were everywhere, pictures that I knew would humiliate her. So I fucking flew all the way here to figure out how the hell this happened.”