“What is his calling?” Eddie frowns. “Truth be told, I can’t recall.”
“I think he’s still working that out, as far as I can tell. There’s something about a trust fund coming to maturity on his twenty-fifth birthday. We haven’t really gotten into it.”
“Fair enough.” Eddie’s appraising gaze unsettles me. Or I could be imagining it. Maybe I’m still out of sorts from last weekend. “I must say, it’s been quite a few years since I entertained the idea of marriage. It’s always something I imagined where my prospective partner would be much more excited about the hypothetical idea.”
“C’mon, what about all the sham marriages to ensure the stability of the kingdom?” I point out reasonably.
“How does Denmark need me, specifically, to forge an unnecessary alliance with England right now?” He peers at me, intrigued.
“I… well.” I cough, trying to come up with something good. “Tax reasons? I mean, that’s a whole thing now that your country’s no longer part of the EU.”
He laughs. “Fine, I’ll take your point. But Theo, it might be my imagination, but you don’t seem excited by the idea of marrying me. Maybe it’s indulgent, thinking even if I want an impulsive marriage where we both include extensive prenuptial agreements, I want a partner who’s happy and excited about a lifetime together with me.”
My mouth twitches at happy. I droop, circling my horse around his on the trail. “It’s not you, believe me. It’s all me. There’s a lot going on. Sorry. I’ll work on being more excited. And on my delivery.”
“Theo… I’ll need a little time to let this all sink in. It’s rather a shocking, er, proposal. If that was a proposal.”
“It’s, um, more of a business proposal than a marriage proposal, I admit, yeah. And I get it if I’m not your ideal catch.”
Eddie runs a hand through his hair. The first droplets of rain start to fall, but at least it’s not cold. He’s in a pink polo shirt and khakis. Perfectly handsome. Perfectly great. He knows who he is. Plus, he’s out. And Eddie’s not even as boring as James led me to believe. He has a career path and stability and an estate of his own. Multiple businesses, even.
And yet—all I can think of is Stef.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Back in London, I lose myself in work and the fifty-seven drafted and redrafted texts I write Stef and don’t send. After all, I’m a boundaries-respecting sort of arsehole, and he was clear having me in his life was too much of a problem. So, right now, this is a me problem. I simply need to find a way to get over Stef.
By the time May rolls around, I’m thoroughly miserable. My hobby over the past week has been evading increasingly cagey messages from Freja about my plans and pressing for updates. I’ve seen Eddie a couple of times since the day out in Lewes, but neither one of us has mentioned marriage, exactly, since then. It’s almost as if we have a silent pact to not bring it up. Which, right now, works for me. And the fact that I’m still casually seeing Eddie has James satisfied and off my back.
When I finally give in and send Stef another text in June—because he didn’t exactly say he never wanted to hear from me again—my stomach’s in knots, and I don’t sleep properly for the next two nights. Maybe he thought I was drunk, because it was a late-night text. Even if it was a Tuesday.
Thinking of you and hope you’re alright x
Did I go too far even sending him a text? Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I’m just making him feel worse about everything that happened, which is definitely not the goal. Stef’s been out of the public eye, which is more his default state than mine. Maybe this is one hundred percent purely selfish, and he’s moved on with his life and forgotten all about that episode he had with a Danish prince.
Then, I start a new habit of sending Stef a daily photo, which lifts my spirits. No message comes to stop sending them. Encouraged, I make a new daily habit, imagining what the day’s photo will be. Things like getting ready for a project with Ethan. Drinks on an evening out with James and Elsie. Refinishing another piece of furniture I found in a market somewhere. My waffle breakfast and morning coffee. Snippets of my life.
At first, Stef doesn’t respond to any of these messages either. He still doesn’t tell me to stop sending them, so I continue.
And then, to my amazement, after a couple of weeks, he starts doing the same, sending me texts with photos of his day. A New York café. The library. A view of Edinburgh at sunset. The private park across the street from his flat. He texts me to say he misses me.
I’m starting to feel cheered about the whole thing, that Stef doesn’t hate me, until Mamma texts me to call home.
At lunch the next day, I call Mamma from Ethan’s car. We’ve just wrapped up a morning meeting for a big client, a luxury hotel, and he’s now popped into a café to get us some coffees for the drive back from Richmond to the studio. I’m trying not to think about Aidan, who lives a few streets over. At least Miles is parked behind us in his SUV like he’s a firm Aidan-free perimeter.
With Ethan away, I have a chance to call Mamma back.
She answers on the second ring. Obviously waiting for my call. And obviously not a good sign.
“Hi, Theo.” Mamma’s in her office, and she takes off her reading glasses. She’s got her serious queening business face on.
“Hey, sorry not to get back to you last night, Mamma. I was out.”
“I understand.” Mamma’s more reserved than usual, not a good sign. I’ve been home for a couple of weekend trips to do a handful of royal events, opening a hospital and a charity gala with Mamma. It’s usually the look I get when something terrible I’ve done hits the press and online today, but I’ve been on my best behavior the last while.
Unless Aidan found some old chestnut to drop online in the last few hours. Or if Eddie’s decided to supplement his duke income with a payout from some gossip mag.
I frown. “What’s wrong?”
