At least the ones Icanbe done with. I won’t rat my sister out because it isn’t her fault he showed up in my safe space and went in for a hug. Itisher fault, however, for shoving me into his arms then shipping me off onto yet another date I don’t belong on withPrinceFinley Andersson. Like I’m a puppet on her crazy strings. But I will have that conversation with her later and tell her I’m finished with the switch and help her make a plan to be truthful with him.
Finley isn’t family, though, and I have zero qualms about untangling his little web of lies. If he really wantsLucy,then he will have to be honest with her. The same way I’m going to make her be honest with him.
“Where would you like to go for lunch?” Finley’s voice is scratchy and nervous; his long fingers are paler than usual as they clutch his steering wheel. I look longingly back out the window as we merge onto the highway.
“Books and Beans,” I reply. At least he has the decency to ask where I wanted to go since he practically kidnapped me this afternoon.
Okay, I know that’s not true, but I’m a little frustrated at the moment. I wanted to spend my afternoon with a murder mystery, tea, and Frizzle while Grandma Netty and Lucy gossiped about the town’s latest happenings.
If we go to Books and Beans, I can sip tea. Salvage a fragment of this day.
He doesn’t respond, so I sneak another glance. He keeps side-eyeing me, our glances awkwardly catching.
I sigh. “What? Is that not acceptable for you?”
“No, it’s—” he clears his throat. “What I mean to say is yes, it’s very acceptable, and two, I’ve never had a woman actually tell me where she would like to go. You are something else, Lucy.”
I cringe at his use of my sister’s name. I want to shout, “I am not Lucy! I am Lorelei! Free me from this madness!”
But instead, I flip the script. “Just checking,Your Highness.”
His grip on the wheel is further secured as he presses his lips into a tight line. I celebrate my small victory with a suppressed smile and the crossing of my arms.
It feelsgoodto allow myself to be frustrated without making excuses for someone… and to show it for once. A lot better than bottling it in and shoving it down to keep the peace. Hopefully I’ll get it all out before confronting Lucy (whom I find it hard to be mad at because she’s such a sensitive soul) and Finley will assume it’s because he didn’t tell me about his status. Then in a few days,Lucy can reach out and apologize for overreacting and they can be on their merry way.
Happily ever afters and all that romantic mumbo jumbo.
“I guess you want to talk about it now,” Finley says, though it sounds more like a question.
Not really. I just want to go home and let you have this conversation with my sister.“It would be better to talk in a private vehicle than in a coffee shop where ears can overhear.”Duh.
“Right.” Silence envelops us, only the quiet rumble of the engine and tires on asphalt. I angle myself towards him as much as I can while buckled in.
“So start talking,His Royal Highness,Prince Finley Andersson of Korsa.” I can’t even attempt to hide the contempt in my voice. Not because he’s a prince or that he withheld the information, but because I. Am. Not. Lucy. My emotions are becoming a cloudy haze that’s getting harder to wade through. The switch labeled “functioning human” is in mid-flick. So much for becoming unstuck. The messy situation has been like quicksand to my sanity.
He inhales, and I swear I can see a glisten of sweat coating his forehead. Then again, he has unnaturally great skin. Lucy’s probably jealous of his fair, glassy complexion.
“My name is Finley Folke Andersson, and I am the second-born son to King Erik and Queen Sylvia Andersson, the ruling monarchs of Korsa.”
Tell me something I don’t know…
“And what is a prince doing galavanting around Juniper Grove, Mississippi, anyway?”
Hadley said because he wanted to carve his own path and life. He also said he was interested in Lucy when she told him about her before he moved down here.
“Please do not panic, and please do not presume that I’m asking your hand in marriage,” he begins, and my breath hitches. He doesn’t give me time to react. “While I’m the second-born, my brother Johan, the crown prince, is sick, and he will formally abdicate his position in three months, which means I will become the crown prince of Korsa.”
I don’t realize we have parked in front of the coffee shop, but Finley doesn’t turn the car off. He does, however, unbuckle his seatbelt and pivot, pegging me with intense, pleading blue eyes. I’m still stuck oncrown prince.Chills run down my spine as a wave of lightheadedness washes over me.
Lucy! Dang it.
The knot in his throat bobs up and down. “Furthermore, my father’s reign will come to an end in less than a year. I was home celebrating his fifty-ninth birthday, which was the day before I left to come back here over a week ago. Our Laws of Succession state the monarch must retire from his position on his sixtieth birthday.”
What does this have to do with marriage? And again, why is a crown prince, who will be akingin less than a year, wasting time in Mississippi?
My stomach continues to rumble like tea coming to a boil, and now I think I’m the one sweating. He opens his mouth, but I interrupt. I need him to get to the point. “I don’t understand whyyou’re here trying to date my—er, me, when you are about to become king.”
Shifting eyes and nervous swallows churn my stomach like thick butter. He closes his eyes, his shoulders rise and fall. Then the future king fixes me with a crystal blue stare as if he is analyzing my soul. “I cannot take the throne as a single man. The Laws of Succession state the ascending monarch must be married.”
