“We ran into a reef, okay? If you’re going to be all nosy about it. God.”
“With the Greek royals’ yacht. Polyps, remember?”
I wince, glancing away, and downing the rest of the water from the bottle. Maybe that will wash James away. Or at least cleanse the palate. “Don’t remind me. Yes, with the Greek royals’ yacht.”
“And how did you end up taking the fall for the yacht debacle?”
“It’s complicated. Like everything else.”
James gives me a knowing look. “Getting it on while underway is risky business. Also, sinking any number of yachts doesn’t get you out of the line of succession, old thing.”
“We were not getting it on. Believe me. And I wasn’t on a yacht or with Stefanos or on a yacht with Stefanos on the off chance it would get me disinherited. Just so we’re clear.”
James still looks unconvinced but doesn’t press further, undoubtedly having already moved on to the next thing to make me squirm. “I’ll email you the updated dating schedule, then. Know it, love it, abide by it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Which, frankly, is the appropriate response. A whole schedule was never something I agreed to. Or a fake husband.
“You’re welcome,” James says with a grin and hangs up, obviously in his element.
I make it all the way to Saturday after another fake date, this time with prospect #2, Douglas, on Friday night—far more cringe than fun. Douglas had the unnerving habit of staring at me without blinking. In a hypercritical way that reminded me of my grandmother, and not in a good way, who was always critiquing how I looked and acted as a boy. It would have been enough to give anyone anxiety. Douglas asked probing personal questions, which were far too much for a first date, and more so as a royal. Like how many properties I owned, my net worth, the value of my business. Like I was a walking account he could draw on. James clearly had some misinformation about Douglas. When I asked how he knew James, he was entirely cagey. It’s a miracle we lasted through dinner and I didn’t walk out. But I’ve been trained to deal with challenging social situations like a hot knife through butter.
At last, I finally break and text Stefanos from the safety of a cocoon of blankets on my sofa.
Hey, wondering how you’re holding up with everything? X
There’s no response, but I suppose it’s only been two minutes of staring at my phone, attempting to manifest a text by sheer force of will. I retreat into my blankets and stare at the dark phone on the coffee table for a good ten minutes. Which, fair, I probably wouldn’t respond to me either after what happened. I’m sure I’m on some Greek blacklist now. Or Stefanos is off, simply busy living his best life. With a sigh, I snake my other arm out of my blankets for the remote control and put on a rom-com from the ’90s for distraction. Aspirational, really.
Sometime later, my phone chimes. I sit bolt upright and dive for it, bracing myself for something silly from James or maybe from Freja, and my heart thunders double time in the hopes it’s Stefanos.
It’s not.
I shouldn’t have sold you out Ax
“Motherfucker.”
I wasn’t expecting Aidan, of all people. I shouldn’t have let my guard down for a second, hoping it would be Stefanos. It’s like Aidan has an instinct for how to optimize irritating me to no end. I glower at my phone. Take the high road, I tell myself, and ignore him.
Which is how I find myself texting back a moment later.
* * *
I agree. You shouldn’t have
It was a mistake
Yes
I want to apologize I’m sorry
Not accepted
Theo please I miss you can I call now to apologize?
No
And then he stops messaging me, thank God. Once more, I debate blocking Aidan. I do something better. Taking extra precautions, I shut my phone off and do my best to forget about everything except my film.
After watching shows till 3:00 a.m., I at last deem it safe to turn my phone on again before going to bed. No new messages appeared in the night. From either Aidan or Stefanos.
