I could answer her honestly. I could tell her I feel like a pawn in a diplomatic chess game. That the idea of marrying a virtual stranger feels like yet another part of my life being scripted for me, just as it has been since the day I was born.
But I barely know Astrid. She may be pretty and sweet and totally disarming, but I’m not about to expose my fears and doubts to someone I hardly know.
So instead, I stick to the party line.
“I think this is the best thing for both of our countries, and therefore for us. Duty first. Always.”
She nudges my arm gently and giggles, a light tinkling sound that echoes through the room. “That’s not an answer, Fred, and you know it.”
“Perhaps we should spend a little more time together before we get into such deep conversational topics,” I suggest.
She shrugs. “That seems fair to me.”
I lead through the echoing halls to the west wing, where her rooms are situated not far from mine.
“I’ll try very hard not to embarrass myself in front of your parents,” she says, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress as though attempting to erase the paw prints.
Given everything I’ve witnessed in the last ten or so minutes with her, I’m not convinced that’s even possible.
I simply nod as we reach the door to her suite and gesture for her to enter. “Take the time you need to change. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.” She hesitates, her hand on the doorknob. “You know, you have a total tell when you’re worried.”
“I do?”
“Your face gets a little crease right here.” She gestures between her eyebrows. “It makes you look rather handsome and distinguished actually.”
If I were the blushing type, I might blush at the compliment. But I amnotthe blushing type, so instead, I stammer out a, “Thank you. I think.”
She grins at me. “You’re welcome, Fred.”
I want to correct her, tell her that my name is Frederic, not Fred. But it feels wrong to do that. She’s so warm and friendly and easy-going, even if she’s somewhat erratic and prone to inappropriate behavior.
We can have that conversation once she’s met my parents and we’re alone again.
She opens her door. “Thanks for not being angry with me about the glasshouse and the dogs.”
“I…er, it’s fine,” I reply.
Since when did I find it difficult to form words?
She disappears into her rooms, the door clicking shut behind her, and I release a long breath as I press my fingertips to my temples.
What have I gotten myself into?
I make my way back to my private study and find Tommaso already there. He rises to his feet, looking concerned. “Did you find her, sir? I had no success, I’m afraid.”
“I did. She was in the glasshouse.”
His look of surprise is only fleeting. “And how did the meeting with her go?”
I consider his question. HowwouldI summarise meeting a woman who removes her shoes in a greenhouse,befriends palace dogs, and asks me about my personal feelings?
“She’s unique,” I say.
“Unique in a good way, sir?”
I chew my lip. The truth is, I don’t know yet. One thing I can say for certain is her behavior isn’t exactly regal. But on the other hand, she’s so refreshingly unencumbered by protocol andthe right wayof doing things. She’s her authentic self, with no apologies.
