by Karina Halle
I never really had the heart to tell Aksel that it wasn’t the case at all. Our mother was always very distant with me. Cold. It didn’t matter that he was going to be king one day and I was second to the throne. It’s just the way she was and I guess I wanted Aksel to think there was something special about me. I don’t know. Sibling stuff can be fucked up.
It was our father that spoiled me a bit, really played up his “little princess,” whereas he was very brutish when it came to Aksel. You can really see how that affected him as he got older and why it’s taken so long for him to open up to people and stop being such a grumpy bastard.
I’m not sure what my excuse is, though. Not that I’m as moody as Aksel is (though ask me again in a few months), but I’ve definitely got some “mommy” issues to work through. Having a mother that would rather hug the wall than hug you can do a real number on you.
Maybe that’s why I’m so clingy with Anya, I’m so afraid I’ll make the same mistakes my mother did. I never want my daughter to not feel loved and supported. The thought of her thinking she doesn’t have my love absolutely terrifies me.
And that’s one reason why this pregnancy is so scary. What if the attention I give the baby makes Anya think I don’t love her anymore? What if I don’t have enough love in my heart to go around?
I let those thoughts dwell in my head as Maja and I enter the hospital.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asks me as we get to my mother’s floor. “Or do you want me to go in there first?”
Because Maja is my mother’s sister and was very close to her, she still visits her once a week, bringing flowers and freshening up the place. My mother doesn’t know who she is the majority of the time but that doesn’t stop Maja. She always says, “what if?” What if she recognizes her again? What if her brain comes back to the present?
But then she says that even if she never comes back again to the here and now, and Maja is always a stranger to her, she’d still come. She believes the heart will always recognize the heart of someone it once loved, even if they don’t know it. The heart speaks its own language, deep, poetic and often foreign to us all.
I’ve lost my nerve. “You can go in first,” I tell Maja, gesturing to the door.
I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say, I just feel like my mother needs to know what’s happening to me. As rigid as she was, she really was a good grandmother to Anya.
Maja goes inside the room and I wait around the corner in a sitting area, reading a magazine from a haphazard stack on the table.
Not just any magazine.
Hello Magazine.
And guess who is on page two?
No, not me (thank god) but Prince Orlando.
It’s a picture of him and Zoya outside the Monte Carlo casino. They’re standing on the red-carpeted steps and he’s holding her hand while they both wave to the crowd.
My heart sinks.
Like it actually hurts, like someone’s taken it from my chest and put it in a vice.
With shaking hands I read the article. The picture was taken at Matilde’s African literacy gala a month ago. After he, well, knocked me up. There’s no reason for me to get upset over this photo. I know they aren’t together and I know that this all happened before he knew I was pregnant.
But it doesn’t stop me from having these delusional feelings.
I’m jealous of Zoya, even though I shouldn’t be.
Not just her body or her hair or, more importantly, her legendary plays on the tennis court. I’m jealous that she gets to be with him. Even if it’s fake, she’s the one who gets to go home with him every night. Hell, she’ll probably be the one to spend the rest of her life with him.
That won’t be me.
That can never be me.
You don’t even want that, I tell myself. You don’t even know him.
But I can’t tell myself that lie anymore.
I do know Orlando.
And more than that, I’m starting to form some very real, very complicated feelings for the man. Feelings that I’m too afraid to dissect any further.
I hear the door close down the hall and look up to see Maja exit. I tuck the magazine back in the pile.
“How is she?” I ask, quickly getting to my feet.
Maja is smiling, which is rare. “She’s time traveling again,” she says, her eyes glinting with happy tears. “She knows me. Thinks I’m six years old and we’re at our parent’s cottage by the lake.” She pauses to wipe away a tear. “But she won’t know you. It’s not that time yet.”
I nod. “That’s okay.” I grab my aunt’s hand and give it a squeeze. “I’m glad she knew you in some point in time.”
“Me too,” she says. “Okay, go in. I would be quick though. The memory seemed to have tired her out.”
The funny thing is, before I saw the article with Orlando, I knew what I was going to say. What I needed to talk about. Rant about.
But the moment I step inside the room and see her sitting in her chair by the window, all of that disappears. It seems kind of inconsequential now to bring up my problems, especially when she thinks she’s a young girl again. I’m just some stranger complaining about being pregnant and asking her for advice about a man, advice that she would never know how to give.
My mother turns her head and looks at me. She doesn’t smile anymore—the damage from the stroke won’t allow that—but her eyes at least seem a little sharper than usual.
“Who are you?” she asks. She’s not scared, just curious.
“I’m friends with Maja, your sister,” I say to her, slowly walking over to her. I stop a few feet away and my heart shatters some more when I look at her. Every time I see her, I realize it’s not just her mind that’s betraying her, but her body. She’s aging so fucking fast.
“Maja?” she asks and then tries to think. “Oh yes,” she says after a moment. “Tell her I’m mad at her for pushing me in the lake. She should watch her back.”
“I’ll tell her that.”
I sit down across from her and give her a warm smile. This isn’t about me right now. It’s all about her.
“What else would you like to tell me, Liva?”
I sit back and I listen.
Chapter 12
Orlando
Two months later
“How long are you going for?” Zoya asks as I slide my diplomatic passport into my down-lined jacket. Though the weather is still mild here in Monaco, I’ve heard November is fucking freezing up in Denmark.
“I’m not sure,” I tell her. “Maybe a week. Maybe more.”
“What will I tell people when they ask?”
“Tell them I’m seeing a friend.”
“What did you tell Penelope and your father?”
“Same thing. Seeing a friend.” I hesitate. I decide not to share the next part, what I really told them when I said I was going to visit King Aksel in Denmark. I told them that I wanted to talk to Aksel about rally driving, since Monaco is famous for the Grand Prix and that perhaps a Monégasque rally driving team wouldn’t be a far stretch.
But I also told them that I wanted another royal’s opinion on marriage. Made my parents think that I was going there to get advice about proposing to Zoya, about getting a ring and planning a wedding, anything that would buy me some time.
All complete lies, lies I would normally share with Zoya.
But the lies now feel as sticky as the truth.
I haven’t told Zoya about Stella yet.
I’d like to say I haven’t had a chance but the truth is I wanted to wait until I figure out what I want to do. What Stella wants to do.
It’s been two months since I saw Stella on Cyprus.
Two very long months of me checking in with her every single day.
Wanting updates on how she’s doing.
Wanting to be a part of her life.
Two months of not knowing where we stand with each other.
When we left each other in Cyprus, I said that I would b
e there for her every step of the way and I still am. I just don’t know where the steps are leading us. In seven months, she’s going to give birth to my child.
Will I be there?
Or will I hear about it via text? Or, god forbid, the news?
When she discovers the sex of the child, will I know? Or is that a surprise?
Do I get to hear the name?
Do I get to choose the schools?
Do I get…anything?
I won’t if things continue the way that they are. As it is, it seems like she’s going to have the baby, keep my involvement a secret, and maybe I’ll see the child every now and then. The child will never know I’m the father. I’ll have to keep that truth buried deep in my soul. And I’ll go on with Zoya, marrying her and having children of my own, children I have no doubt I’ll love deeply, but will be so different from the one I have with Stella.
Because what I have with Stella…that’s maybe the most real thing I have.
I may have not spent that much time with Stella in total but we’ve talked every single day for almost three months straight. All that “I don’t know you” bullshit is over. I know her. She knows me. And I don’t just want this baby with her, I want her too. Body and soul.
So I’m going to Copenhagen indefinitely. At least until we come up with a plan.
I want to be a part of her life, of the child’s life, and that’s exactly what I aim to do.
“Are you in love with her?” Zoya asks as I grab my suitcase in the hallway.
The question nearly knocks me down.
“What?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“With Stella. Are you in love with her? I mean I don’t care either way. I’m happy for you if you are…”
But Zoya doesn’t look that happy. It’s not that she looks jealous, it’s just that she looks worried. And I can’t blame her.
“I’m not in love with her,” I tell her. Though my words sound weak, they’re true. I’m not in love with Stella. I’m in something with her and I don’t know what that is, but I keep that part to myself.
Zoya narrows her eyes at me thoughtfully before swinging her hair over her shoulder. “Honestly, Orly, it’s fine. I have Emily. You deserve to have someone too. And I really like Stella. I think she’d be good for you.”
“I’m not in love with her,” I say again. There’s more conviction in my voice this time.
“Oh.” Her brow quirks up. “So she’s just a friend?”
I swallow uneasily. “You know it’s more than that.”
“I know. It’s much more. I’ve seen how you are with booty calls and casual sex. You don’t go back repeatedly. You don’t spend all day on your phone. You don’t stare off into space for most of the day. And you certainly don’t masturbate to them every night.”
“Hey, you mind your own business there.” If I was the type to blush, I probably would. “Shower time is private time.”
“I am minding my own business. You’re the one who is horribly loud when he comes. My god, it’s like listening to some strange animal mating.”
“It’s the acoustics,” I grumble. “Speaking of animal,” I say, grateful for a segue. “You sure you’ll be okay with Mokey? Remember if you go away, you can just call Matilde and she’ll take care of him.”
She looks over my shoulder at Mokey who is curled up on the top edge of the sofa and sleeping. He’s gained a lot of weight in the last two months and doubled in size, but he’s still pretty cute and is acting more and more regal every day. He’s the family mascot now.
“You don’t have to worry about us. We’re like two pees in the toilet,” she says proudly.
“I think you mean two peas in a pod,” I tell her. “That’s the English expression.”
She shrugs. “You have your saying, I have my own. Just keep in touch, okay?”
“I will,” I tell her and give her a quick kiss on the cheek.
I’d only told Stella yesterday that I wanted to come by and see her, as well as finally meet her daughter, brother, and sister-in-law. I’d expected that we’d make plans for later in the month but to my surprise she sounded as eager to see me as I was to see her.
So at least I’ve got that going for me.
Still, when the private jet lands in Copenhagen and I’m picked up by a tall, wiry gentleman named Johan, I get nervous. The kind of nervous that rarely befalls me, the kind of nervous that makes me crack my knuckles and start smoking. I start doing the former and am about to ask Johan if I can do the latter when I stop myself. I actually need to make a good impression here. I’m meeting her brother, the fucking King of Denmark, and the last thing I need is to show up reeking like smoke. He’d probably declare me unfit to mix with their bloodline and then kick me out on the street.
The car takes me through Copenhagen and to the back gates of the castle. It looks different now, surrounded by low grey clouds and gentle rain. Summer feels like another lifetime.
Yet, when I step into the palace, it all comes flooding back to me.
Suddenly, it feels like it was only yesterday.
“Your Serene Highness,” Maja, Stella’s aunt, says as she approaches me by the door.
“Please, it’s Orlando,” I tell her. “We’re pretty much family now.”
She doesn’t smile. Not even a little. She lifts her chin an inch and says, “Come with me.”
She’s going to be a tough one to crack.
But as I follow her down the hall and realize she’s leading me into the sitting room, where I see the royal family has gathered, I know the toughest nut is going to be Aksel.
“May I present you, Your Serene Highness Prince Orlando of Monaco to King Aksel and the Queen Aurora of Denmark,” Maja announces as I step into the room.
Aksel is sitting in a highbacked velvet chair, dressed in a sharp grey suit, a most formidable impression on his face. There’s stern and then there’s Aksel stern (not to be confused with Howard Stern). With his cutting cheekbones and Viking-esque jawline, he’s not a royal I want to fuck with.
Even his wife doesn’t seem as cute as I remember from seeing her in interviews. I mean, she’s obviously young and pretty but that easy smile that you always see in photos is gone. She’s dressed in a black sweater and black leggings, her hair pulled high off her face.
They’re both staring at me, emotionless.
Silent.
And Stella is nowhere in sight.
I turn around to ask Maja where Stella is but she’s already gone and I’m left alone with the King and Queen of staring contests.
I clear my throat and give them my most charming smile. It didn’t work on Maja but maybe…
“Thank you for having me over, especially on such a short notice.”
Aksel’s eyes narrow.
Aurora tilts her head to the side, seeming to study me.
Okay…
I stick my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels as I look around the room. “Nice digs you got here.” I glance at them. “By the way, when I said thank you for having me over just now, I also meant that for when my family was here. I know you both were gone at the time but I also happen to know we were a major pain in the ass. So, you know. Thank you. And sorry if we drained your liquor cabinet.”
“So you’re the man who knocked up my sister,” Aksel says, his voice booming, his accent refined. “And drank all my scotch.”
“Technically, I’m a prince. But yes, that was me.”
Aurora glances at Aksel, slowly raising her brow. “What do you think? Shall we behead him?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
Aksel nods slowly, steepling his fingers under his chin. “It’s tradition. I suppose it would be easy to dispose of the body this time.”
Aurora finally smiles, a big, almost creepy-looking grin as she eyes me. “You see, Snarf Snarf has acquired the taste for human flesh after your little accident. You’d disappear in a second.”
I open my mouth to say something but feel a presence behind
me.
For a second I think maybe this is the part where I’m beheaded by Danish knights but as I whirl around I see Stella standing there, looking amused, arms crossed.
“You guys, knock it off,” she says to them as she walks past me, giving me a little wink as she goes.
I haven’t seen her in so long it’s almost disorienting to see her in front of me like this.
She looks beyond beautiful. I know that they say pregnant woman have the glow of life about them and she definitely has that, but it’s almost something beyond words. Like the sunset that soaked her skin as we had sex in that Cyprus pool, she’s transcendent and radiating.
Like a star, I think. A shooting star come down to earth.
She’s wearing a long white sweater that goes to her knees and jeans. She looks dressed down and comfortable, her hair in a bun, her lips slicked with gloss. She’s not showing either, not as far as I can tell, which, I have to be honest, is almost disappointing. I want to see her belly. I want to get hit with that jolt, the physical evidence that she’s carrying my child.
She walks over to Aksel and Aurora, puts her hands on her hips and stares down at them. “What are you doing?” she asks them. “Is that how you treat all your guests, let alone royalty? With threats of beheading?”
Aurora tries to keep a straight face but then her lips start to twitch and she laughs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I was just taking the piss out of him.” She points at me. “You should have seen your face!”
“I was serious,” Aksel says gravely. “At least about the scotch and the fact that he got you pregnant.”
“Might I remind you that it takes two to tango, Aksel. Anyway, how about we start the introductions over again.” Stella looks over her shoulder at me and smiles.
Her smile makes my chest ache.
She clears her throat. “Orlando, may I introduce you to my brother Aksel, AKA King Grumpy Old Fart and his wife, Queen Aurora, the Australian Ex-Con.”