I’d expected him to immediately take me up on the offer, but instead, he froze, then slowly retreated. His eyes were full of an emotion I couldn’t name, his face tight. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
He took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”
19
NILS
The words hung in the air between us. “Upstairs?”
Everything in me wanted to say yes. To follow Adan up that ladder, to lose myself in the pleasure with him again, to pretend for one more night that this was simple. That we were just two people falling for each other without complications or secrets or lies. That there was no tomorrow.
But I couldn’t do it. We couldn’t build a real relationship on a foundation of deception. I’d already crossed so many lines, but if we went upstairs now, if I touched him again while still lying about who I was, I’d never forgive myself.
I pulled back slowly, watching confusion replace desire in Adan’s eyes.
“We need to talk,” I said, the words feeling like glass in my throat.
His expression immediately shifted to defensive. “If you’re about to tell me this was a mistake, or that we shouldn’t have come here?—”
“No.” I caught his hand before he could pull away completely. “It’s not that. This night has been perfect. You’re perfect. It’s something else. Something I should’ve told you months ago.”
The defensiveness morphed into wariness. “What kind of something?”
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. How did you tell someone that everything they thought they knew about you was built on carefully constructed half-truths? “Remember when you asked if my family had money?”
“Yeah. You said they did. So?”
“It’s more than that. More than having money.” My throat felt tight. “My last name isn’t exactly Anders.”
Adan frowned. “What do you mean, not exactly?”
“Anders and Gustav are my middle names. I’ve been using them here, which isn’t technically lying, but…” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “My full name is Nils Anders Gustav Bernadotte.”
“Okay?” He looked confused. “Why would you hide your last name? Is Bernadotte like a weird name in Sweden or something?”
Herregud, this was harder than I’d imagined. “It’s not weird. It’s significant.”
“Significant how?”
There was no easy way to say this. No gentle lead-in that would soften the blow. “I’m a prince. Part of the royal family of Sweden. Sixth in line to the Swedish throne, actually.”
The silence that followed felt like it lasted hours. Adan’s face went through a series of expressions: confusion, disbelief, comprehension, and finally something that looked devastatingly like betrayal.
“You’re…” His voice came out strangled. “What?”
“I’m a prince. Of Sweden. I came here to live as a normal person for a year, to see what life would be like without the title, without people knowing who I?—”
“Stop.” He pulled his hand away from mine, physically recoiling. “Just stop.”
“Adan—”
“You’re a prince.” He said it like he was testing the words. “An actual, literal prince.”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve been lying to me since the day we met.”
“I—” The wordyesstuck in my throat, but what else could I say? “Yes.”
