I groan, dropping my face into my hand for a moment, rubbing my eyes. My tone is light. “Denial is a great lifestyle choice, I’m saying.”
When I lift my head, Stef looks stricken.
“Fuck. Bad joke. I don’t mean to jerk you around, Stef. Far from that, okay? And I’m deadly serious about that.” I pull my chair around the table and sit, touching his arm. All I want to do is make things better and to find a way for us to navigate this whole situation. Which, if I’m honest, does look rather impossible. Stef’s not wrong about anything he said. “Okay. There’re two categories of things, right?”
“Two categories?” Stef peers at me, a slight downturn to the corner of his lips.
“Yeah. Things you can do something about and things that you can’t.”
Stef blinks at me. I continue to hold his gaze.
“So… your life—” I give him a wry smile. “—is something you and most people can do something about. Where they have at least some say, if not all. Things like not being out. Most of the rest is not in your wheelhouse, sorry to say.”
Stef growls in a way that’s completely charming, and my grin broadens. Not that I want to make light of his frustration, far from it, but also, I tend to have the worst reactions during so-called serious conversations. Nerves, Mamma’s told me, is what it is.
“Well, can you unsink yachts or any other kind of watercraft?” I ask curiously. “Because that would be a great party trick right now.”
“No…”
“There you go. One less thing to worry about, right? The yacht was still sunk,” I point out. If only there were an easy way through all of this.
“Yes, but we’re still dealing with the fallout,” Stef says.
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. But the yacht thing is mostly done.”
“And, for the record, they raised it for salvage.” Stef folds his arms across his chest. He leans back in his chair. “So it’s technically not sunken anymore.”
“Okay, okay.” I lift my hands in surrender. I’ll concede the point. The last thing I want is to see Stef stressed-out. Especially not because of an accident that wasn’t his doing. Not really. “Of that list you gave me, what’s top of your mind?”
Stef’s struggle is written across his features, in the tightness of his shoulders. “All of it.”
“Some of those aren’t things for you to decide.” My tone is soft, but firm, my expression at last sliding to serious. How can I get him to see? “And some are.”
“The Duke of Wiltshire?” Stef points out sharply, eyes flashing. “What about him?”
Startled, I straighten at the eruption of emotion from him. His emotion cuts to my core. “What about the Duke of Wiltshire?”
“What’s your plan with him?” he challenges.
“Are you jealous?” I peer at him curiously, taken aback. Jealousy isn’t something I had considered.
Stef rolls his eyes, looking hurt. And fuck, I want to reach out and pull him close and make him see how much he matters to me. Not some duke. Not some well-intended—but messy—plan from James. Yet, my future still looms, and every time I think about becoming King, I feel distinctly nauseous.
“What do you think?” he retorts.
I sigh. “Stef. You know it’s complicated. And the situation with the duke isn’t about you?—”
“It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Or it’s something you can control.”
“Fucking hell, Theo,” Stef snaps at me. “Please don’t jerk me around.”
For a long moment, I fall quiet, looking at him. “What’s happening here, exactly?”
“That’s what I want to know!” Stef trembles, emotion caught up in his body. I want to draw him close. And yet I hold back.
“James and company are trying to help me out with my reputation, which isn’t great. You know that. He thought I should go on a few fake dates and, in theory, make a marriage of convenience?—”
