Didn't he feel… something?
“Too intimate,” he repeats, as though he’s the robot he’s accused of in the press.
“You know, we look like we’re pretending now.” I gesture at the paper. “They’re questioning our very relationship.”
“I know. We’ll need to take action.”
“Like what? Kiss again?” I tease. I’m feeling bold. This whole thing could blow up in our faces.
He shifts in his seat before he runs a hand through his hair. I’ve rattled him. Could it be because he wants to kiss me again? That he felt the same spark as I did? Or is it because he felt nothing, and the thought of kissing me repulses him?
He’s so hard to read, I seriously have no clue.
“We’ll…err, think of something,” he mutters.
I pull out what’s in my pocket and slide it across the desk to him. “I made you this.”
He eyes it suspiciously. “What’s that?”
“The mixtape I promised you.”
He picks it up to inspect it. “I see.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “Thank you.”
I paste on a smile. “No problem.Save the Best for Lastis track one, and there are a bunch of other songs on there I thought you’d like. Some of my favorites. Everything from Sinéad O’Connor to Vanilla Ice. Something for every mood.”
He looks at me as though I’m speaking gibberish. “I’ll… err… take a listen later.”
A loud rap sounds on the door, but before Frederic has even risen to his feet, King Leonardo, Queen Eleonora, and their respective aides march in as the door flies open.
“Good, you're both here,” the King pronounces as I rise from my seat and dip into a quick curtsy.
“Oh, don't worry about that right now, Astrid. We've got bigger fish to fry, namely what they’re saying in the press about you,” the King says.
“Of course,” I reply, sounding about as meek as I feel.
One aide closes the door, and we all move to the sofas by the fireplace at the King’s bidding.
King Leonardo leans his elbows on his knees, his lips tight. “This isn’t a beneficial situation. The press is questioning the validity of your union, suggesting this is simply a business deal.”
“Itisa business deal,” Frederic says, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. No wonder he looked as comfortable in the photos as a mannequin with trust issues if he insists we’re nothing but a business arrangement.
“Yes, but the press believes that you’re in love,” the Queen says. “Or at least they did.”
“Remember the photo in Elkevik of Astrid dancing while you smiled at her, Frederic? That’s the energy we needed at the photo shoot,” the King says.
Frederic hangs his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, and despite my frustrations, my heart goes out to him. The pressure he must feel to elevate this family to a position in which their country wants to keep them as their royal family must be immense.
And here I am getting flustered about one kiss, and thinking of calling the whole thing off.
I’ve been selfish. Childish. So what if I’m finding it hard to connect with Fred? There are bigger things at stake than my happiness.
I need to remember that.
“We have a solution,” the Queen says, placing her hands on her lap, her fingers entwined. “We’ve been in discussions, and have agreed that the two of you need to show a unified front. Clearly, these photos didn’t show affection, but we feel that, given time, youwillfeel affection. It’s only natural.” She turns to me. “Astrid, I believe your parents had an arranged marriage, too?”
“Oh, no. They were a love match,” I say. “We don’t have the same rules for royal women in Elkevik. You meet someone, fall in love, and marry them. At least that’s how it’s been in this century. It was all manner of crazy in the past.”
She purses her lips. “Quite.”
