He shakes his head. “I chose it because it is neutral territory. It also has excellent infrastructure, and it's closer to Elkevik than, say, Turkey or Greece,” he replies, sounding as romantic as… well, as romantic as Prince Frederic.
I narrow my gaze. “Is having excellent infrastructure your most important criteria for a successful honeymoon?”
Becausereally?
“Reliable transportation and quality accommodationare important. And it's important to have a superior communication network, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
It’s like he’s woken up this morning and doubled down on being Prince Frederic.
Where’s the man who couldn’t take his gaze from me at dinner? The man who cracked jokes?
“I’ll admit, I hadn’t given two thoughts to how reliable transportation and communication networks are for honeymoons,” I say lightly. “I believe most people choose a honeymoon destination based on things like romantic sunsets or beautiful beaches.”
His jaw tightens. “That may be the case for most couples, but we are not most couples. Need I remind you that this is an arranged marriage for the mutual benefit of our respective countries, Astrid?”
You do enough of that for the both of us.
“I thought you were going to call me Asti,” I say.
“Asti. Yes. Of course. My apologies,” he says briskly. “Shall we review the timeline,Asti?”
As he says my nickname his face looks like he’s sucked on a lemon.
“Nothing would make me happier,” I reply with only the faintest hint of sarcasm becausecome on. This exercise in military precision seems totally over the top, even for him.
My fiancé, it would seem, is determined to be efficiency itself, and with as much personality as an accounting spreadsheet.
Perhaps Francesca is right. Perhaps he’s keeping his true feelings well and truly hidden behind the Medieval wall he's constructed around his heart.
I just need to find one of those slits for windowsto find my way in.
Wait. Didn’t they use those for showering the enemy with deadly arrows?
He slides the binder toward me, already open at the appropriate page, and then comes to stand behind my chair. His proximity is disconcerting, and I try hard to concentrate on the detailed timeline he’s talking me through. But the dates and the words scramble before my eyes as his scent fills the air around me. It’s a nice scent, woodsy and musky and verymale, for want of a better word.
I get that feeling in my belly I had yesterday around him, the feeling I’ve always had when I think of Frederic. It’s like a swarm of bees, warm and humming, as if something inside me has woken up and is quietly alive. It can’t be anything beyond physical. I mean, this is Prince Frederic we’re talking about here. He may be textbook handsome, but he’s got the personality of a limp rag.
“—and the ceremony begins at two o’clock. The procession will take approximately seven minutes, which accounts for the length of the cathedral aisle and your walking speed. By the way, have you practiced your walking speed for the aisle? I’d like to know what it is so we can ensure you’re moving at 3.5 kilometers per hour.”
“3.5?”
“Precisely 3.5. Anything slower will feel too slow, and anything faster would be unseemly.”
“But I haven’t practiced my walking speed. I just… walk.”
Frederic jots something on a bright yellow Post-it note and sticks it to the cover of the binder.
“What’s that for?”
“It’s a note to ensure we measure your speed and adjust it.”
Seriously?
A thought flashes through my mind. “Speaking of walking down the aisle, I want both my mother and father to give me away.”
He regards me as though I’ve told him to perform brain surgery. “Why?”
“Because this is the 90s, Fred. I want both of my parents there with me.” I almost addright to the bitter end. Luckily, I stop myself before I do.
