“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Odin is… upset. Surprising. He’s the most serious of the family, other than Bo, and keeps his emotions behind the mask of the well-mannered, dutiful prince.
Not that he’s a prince any longer—at least not officially. But he’s still one of my best friends, crown or no crown.
“Lyra is moving into our house, because Camille did this thing and offered that the Suitorette could stay with us during the time she’s on the island.” Odin huffs a deep breath. “I had no idea it was going to be Lyra.”
“But isn’t it better that she’s staying with you? So you can make sure she doesn’t—” Gunnar doesn’t finish the thought.
Doesn’t what? Embarrass the royal family? Honestly, no one cares about that, other than the American press who have a history of promoting quasi-famous, attractive women into household names.
It’s true that Lyra’s claim to fame is that she’s a princess. Her father is the king of Laandia. She’s done some modelling, she’s a social media influencer, and she gets her picture taken a lot. She’s not famous.
Yet.
She is, but she’s not.
But that’s not why I’m worried.
“She’s going to fall in love with one of these guys and we don’t know anything about them,” Kalle says in a tight voice.
That’s sort of what’s going through my mind as well. Sort of. “I’ll get dossiers on them to check for security risks,” I tell him.
Looking at this as a security risk gives me something to focus on.
“She might end up with one of these guys, Spence. Do you know what that means?”
I take another deep breath. And then another. I know what Odin is saying, and I don’t like it. I don’t like anything about this. The thought of Lyra meeting all of these men, spending time with them, kissing them—it’s making me slightly nauseous.
More than slightly.
But I can’t do anything about it. And I certainly shouldn’t be feeling like that, not with Abigail sitting right beside me, giving me a skeptical side-eye.
I smile reassuringly at her. At least that’s how I hope it comes across.
It’s not like I can tell her what to do. No one can—or should—but her brothers obviously think putting their two cents in over this would be a good idea. I’m not Lyra’s brother. I’m not… anything… to her. Some days we’re not even friends.
Lyra has never told me how she feels about me—if she does feel anything.
And I’ve never told her either.
Abigail is still watching me, and she’s not the only one. I smile ruefully. “It means that maybe she’ll be happy,” I say. “Besides, we can’t stop her.”
“You could!”
“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Odin was pretty peeved about the Lyra stuff,” Bo says later when we’re in the SUV being driven back to the castle. Now that Hettie and Tema are here, he’s finally making use of his security detail. “Or do you think it was the Suitor stuff?”
I think Odin’s reaction is that of a big brother, and not because he has a grudge against the show after getting voted off. Or sent home. I’m not sure how it works.
I don’t have time for reality television nor the energy to watch the drama competition between that many people would produce.
Am I supposed to watch the show now that Lyra will be on it?
That would be a different sort of torture.
I suspect this conversation will be as well.
I’m not sure if I said goodnight to Abigail—a proper goodnight like a boyfriend would, with a hug and a kiss, and anI’ll call you later. Because I am Abigail’s boyfriend.
