“Yes, you should.” She smiles and reaches up to ruffle my hair.
In some part of her mind, I’m obviously still a boy. Mamma’s been alone after Papa’s passing last summer. Especially so because Freja’s been back and forth to America the last few months. Shit. Guilt twinges. We do talk regularly, but still. It’s not the same. Though she’s not totally in the clear with me either because she’s mainly been on Freja’s side on her departure from queening.
“I’ll make a note to self.”
“You’re here now, which I appreciate,” Mamma says. “You’ll also be glad to know the press conference is set up for the morning, but darling, I’m still no wiser as to the plan. I’m going on faith here.”
“I’m trying to make things as right as I can about what happened in Greece.”
Mamma tilts her head as if she sees right through me, and I shiver. “What did happen in Greece, aside from the obvious?”
“I told you before, I was visiting a friend,” I say breezily, but as Mamma continues to look at me in that way she has, my cheeks warm. Trust my own body to betray me. And trust Mamma to know I’m made of seventy percent hijinks and twenty percent hot air and ten percent bluster. She has a whole lifetime of experience, and she’s not going to easily let me pull a fast one on her.
“I didn’t realize you were friends with any Greek Royal Family members,” she says with a hint of a smile. “Prince Stefanos is handsome, I must say.”
“It’s not like that,” I say instantly. “Trust me. He was an excellent host and wanted to show me around. And me being me, I distracted him and the yacht right into the reef. And, er, it sank.” I give a broad gesture that I’m sure captures everything: the yacht, the sinking, the appeal of Stefanos.
“And how are you going to make things right, as you say?” Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. “You know this affects the whole Royal Family and not just you.”
“I know, I’m very sorry, Mamma. I didn’t mean to make things more difficult for you or Freja. Just—you’ll see. Trust me.”
“Theodor.”
“It’s nothing bad, I promise.”
“You know so much is riding on this. On your profile, especially, as the?—”
“I talked to Freja the other day. Don’t worry, she reminded me. Like I could forget what’s on the horizon for me.” I try my best to look alert, and then I smother a yawn with the back of my hand. The early morning to get to the airport on time today is catching up with me. “Sorry.”
“I hope you’re not planning on going out tonight.”
“No, no. Gonna call it an early one. Maybe tomorrow night, I’ll see some friends. Let’s hang out during the day tomorrow, Mamma, and do lunch at least.” I draw in a breath, giving her a hopeful look. “And one last thing—are you sure Freja’s not changing her mind?”
Her expression switches into something more melancholy. “I don’t think so, darling. She said she would give you more time. And yes, lunch is perfect.”
“Yeah.” Too bad Mamma can’t pull off a miracle about Freja’s future. Or mine. And no time machine’s appeared for Lars to reverse his past acts that landed him a criminal record.
“This business you’re doing tomorrow isn’t about Freja’s plans, I hope.”
I shake my head. If only I had the balls to call her out on it, but I’m not going to put family politics out in the public. Even I’ve got my limits on drama. “It’s not, I swear. It has nothing to do with Freja. Not really. Not directly, anyway.”
Mamma gives me an appraising gaze. “I told Hans you may want help with preparing a statement tonight.”
Hans is the private secretary responsible for coordinating our official communications. He’s been around for a long time, and he’s good at his job. But I made this mistake with the yacht—and I need to be the one to fix it.
“Nah. It’s going to be fine, I promise to be on my best behavior and to keep things as brief as I can. Look at me go, taking responsibility.”
“I’m trusting you, for better or for worse.” Mamma shakes her head. She leans back in her chair, considering me. “Please let it be for better. We really can’t afford the for worse option.”
“I know. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” Then we rise, and I squeeze Mamma tight in a hug. “I’m sorry for not being here sooner to see you. And…” I struggle for a moment. Mamma’s floral perfume is as familiar as home, of summers in the country with our family all together. “And… I miss Papa too.”
She squeezes back and takes my face between her hands when she straightens, searching my eyes. “You’re so much like him when he was younger, you don’t even know,” she whispers. Her eyes are too bright.
Giving her a wry smile, I don’t trust myself to speak, emotion caught in my throat. I swallow the rawness back down. Obviously, it’s safe to talk about Papa with her, but his loss is still raw and something I rarely let myself feel. And if Papa were still here, I wouldn’t be in this position, and neither would Freja. And Mamma wouldn’t be alone.
Soon, I head off to my room to try to sleep and keep my mind from racing over and over again through a million different thoughts. Which ricochet between becoming the Danish King—and Stefanos.
Chapter Thirty
