yracan’tbetheSuitorette,” Odin sputters.
Abigail leans forward to peer at the screen Gunnar is holding. “Sorry to disagree, Your Highness, but why can’t she?”
All heads whip around to Abigail, who looks as surprised as Odin. “I mean, people go on that show to become famous—or as famous as you can from a reality show. Or they want to find love.”
I remember what it sounded like the first time I was with Bo and he felled a tree. The crack when it began to fall, the noise when it landed, snapping branches, leaves flying.
It feels like that crack just happened to my heart, and now my branches are snapping as I land with a thud.
Lyra is looking for love.
That doesn’t sound right. It definitely doesn’t feel right.
And why is Abigail talking aboutLyraandlove? “That’s why you went on it, right?” she asks Odin like he’s standing here with us in the bar instead of in the kitchen in Saint Pierre. “Lyra doesn’t need fame, so maybe she’s serious about finding love.”
I see Gunnar look at me. He opens his mouth and then shuts it, and I’m glad he does.
I know what he’s thinking. I know what all of them are thinking, because I’m thinking the same thing.
It’s always been assumed that if Lyra was looking for love, she’d be looking at me.
There’s always been a connection between us. An understanding. We sit together during family dinners. I’m always the one she turns to with a funny aside or a complaint. I’ve been her escort/date/plus-one at countless events, galas and ceremonies.
She sends me pictures of hershoes.
Nothing has ever been said, but when you’ve been in love with a person for most of your life, you assume—and expect—a happily ever after one day.
And with that, my thoughts come to a screeching halt.
No one said I’m in love with Lyra.I’venever said it. I’ve never even thought it.
Lyra doesn’t think I’m in love with her. She’s not in love with me. If she was, I would know, because men know things like that.
I would know.
We just… we’re…
Friends. Princess Lyra and I arefriends.
Who send an inordinate number of pictures to each other. And texts. Instagram reels.
Letters.
But we’re just friends.
Besides, I’m with Abigail and how can I feel the way I do about Abigail and still have the assumption that a happily ever is still in the cards with Lyra?
That’s not logical. Or possible. Or just—not.
I am not in love with Princess Lyra.
And if she wants to find love on a reality television show, so be it. Good luck to the men on the show, because she is a lot to handle.
Her brothers look to me to control her, which I always tell them is impossible because Lyra is headstrong and knows her own mind. If she wants to do something, she will do it.
It’s the doing-it-without-me that feels a little off.
“She’s going to be on the show?” I ask, just to clarify.
