The Wild Heir

  He, of course, thought he was helping, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wasn’t and that he’d put Ella in a very uncomfortable situation. I did tell him, though, that she still needs to think about it and will give us her answer soon.

  But at the moment, it’s later rather than sooner. Ella and Lady Jane went back to Edinburgh the next morning and I haven’t heard from her since. Not that we exchanged phone numbers or anything, I just assumed she would have contacted my parents in one way or another. Patience isn’t my strong suit, and the longer I go not knowing where my future is heading, the more agitated I get.

  Hence the need to leave the confines of this apartment and get smashed on whisky and aquavit.

  “I think I should go with you,” Ottar says quietly, shutting the curtains.

  “I’ll behave,” I tell him. “You know you don’t have to follow me.”

  “I won’t be following you,” he says. “That’s what Einar is for. I’ll go with you. As your friend. You look like you need someone to talk to.”

  “Do I?” I ask wryly.

  “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately and we both know that stress can have an adverse affect on you, particularly emotional stress. I mean, you are getting married and that’s enough to make a normal man piss his pants, let alone you.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “There’s nothing emotional about any of this,” I tell him. Though the fact that he’s even mentioned it has made my heart rate start to pace. The smart thing for me to do would be to go for another run through the park like I did early this morning, or at least hit up the treadmill in my private gym, lift some weights until my muscles shake. Sometimes exercise is the only way I’m able to think clearly at all. It’s a positive place for all this pent-up energy and frustration to go.

  “Are you sure you won’t stay in? You have all the booze in the world to get yourself bludgeoned. I think this is just going to cause trouble. I’m not sure if the public quite believes your apology or not.”

  “Well, that’s on them,” I tell him, throwing on my coat and a newsboy cap. “I did the best I could and if they choose not to me believe me, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Just…” He trails off and sighs. “Be careful, sir.”

  “I always am,” I tell him and step out the door. I pass Einar in the hallway and wave my arm, gesturing for him to follow me. “Come on, Einar, old friend, let’s have another night on the town.”

  “Sir,” Einar says but he doesn’t follow it up with anything else. Once I get my heart set on something it’s hard to talk me out of it.

  I head down the tunnel and pop out of a door on a quiet back street, then I walk along until I get to one of my favorite drinking spots, Harold’s.

  Harold is the owner of Harold’s (not just a clever name), and also the bartender and the doorman and everything else in between. He’s about seventy years old with a hunchback and a glass eye and tufts of grey hair coming out of his ears that makes it look like he’s smuggling a Husky inside his head.

  His place is dark, with a fine layer of dust covering the top shelf bottles that he can’t reach. It’s also about the size of my kitchen with just two booths and five seats at the long, stained copper bar. Tiny wood-framed paintings of whales adorn the green walls, which remind me of Ella. I wonder if she’d like this place, I wonder if she likes going out to bars at all. At first glance she strikes me as too goody two-shoes for that and though she said she drank too much at dinner, she only had two glasses.

  I shouldn’t be thinking about her though. That’s why I’ve come to the bar to begin with. That and it’s one of the safer places for me to go. Sure, I’m not going to meet any single ladies when I’m here, but Harold won’t let any paparazzi inside, there’s a no camera or cell phone use rule, and I’ve gotten to know the regulars pretty well.

  They don’t give a rat’s ass about me.

  There’s Maud, who used to be a film actress in ye olden days whose biggest claim to fame is that she stole Ingrid Bergman’s husband after Ingrid dumped him for Roberto Rossellini. She’s got lavender hair, always wears red lipstick, and talks about classic actors as if they were best friends and is never shy with giving you drunken thoughts about love.

  There’s Guillermo, who moved to Oslo from Spain who knows when, and doesn’t know a lick of Norwegian. The more he drinks, the more Spanish he speaks, and from what I gather he used to be a monk. I can’t tell how old he is or if he’s telling the truth, but it doesn’t really matter. But he never speaks above a whisper.

  Then there’s Erik. Tall, skinny, and pale as snow, I call him Slender Man. Doesn’t help that he’s always wearing the same black suit and his features are decidedly flat, his mannerisms subtle, his voice monotonous. Truth is, Slender Man got laid off a year ago and is going through a terrible divorce, so when he does speak, you can bet it will take the wind out of your sails.

  “Prince,” Harold greets me as I step inside, the bell ringing above my head. He doesn’t call me Prince Magnus, just Prince. Like the singer. Can’t say I mind.

  Einar follows me in and gets a head nod from Harold. Usually he’s stationed outside or he finds a space at the end of the bar where he nurses a cup of instant coffee that Harold whips up for him, pretending he doesn’t know me.

  Today only Maud and Guillermo are at the bar, sitting side by side.

  “Where’s Slender Man?” I ask as I sit down next to Maud. Einar takes a spot at a booth, trying to blend in with the wall.

  She barely looks at me. “Why do you call him that?” she asks in her hoarse voice, her long, crookedly glued-on nails tapping against her glass. “Slender Man.”

  “Nothing you’d understand,” I tell her. I raise my finger at Harold. “Scotch, please, and keep them coming.”

  “Won’t understand because I’m too old? I’m only too old now. I used to be young.”

  “Just go back to your drinking, Maud,” I tell her as Harold hands me my drink. “I’m afraid Slender Man is too classless for you.”

  She laughs and starts coughing. Though I’ve never seen her smoke I always get the feeling that she started as a baby and quit only yesterday. “Sometimes I have to remind myself of who you are,” she says when she recovers.

  “I saw the press conference on the news,” Harold says, putting on the kettle for Einar’s coffee. “I can see why you need a drink.”

  “Like he ever needs an excuse,” Maud says, and Guillermo giggles softly beside her.

  “Hey, I come to this bar for your support,” I protest, finishing the rest of my scotch, savoring the delicious burn in my throat.

  “You come here because we hassle you,” Harold says. “That’s what every good ruler needs, to be hassled from time to time by the people who care about you.”

  “That’s what my parents are for,” I grumble.

  “I remember when Ingrid left Petter for Roberto,” Maud says, waving her hands around. “What a scandal that was. She was thrown out of Hollywood for that affair. She didn’t work in the US for decades. All because she chose the love of Roberto over Petter. Now that was a scandal, but it was a scandal for love. You, Magnus, your scandal only cheapens you.”

  Ouch. I clear my throat and slide my empty glass toward Harold. “I’m aware of that.” I take in a deep breath, knowing this is probably the right time to tell them about my news. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve met a wonderful woman and we’re getting married.”

  They all stop and stare at me. I can even feel Einar’s eyes burning into the back of my head, and I have to wonder if he knows exactly what’s going on.

  But even though things aren’t settled with Ella yet, the fact is I’m going to have to get married to someone and I might as well start telling people now if it’s going to seem believable at all.

  “Married?” Harold repeats. “To the prime minister’s daughter?”

  “Oh hell no,” I tell him, wincing. “Not her. A lovely blue-blooded woman that I think you’d all
approve of.”

  “What’s her name?” Maud asks. “Where is she from? Is she Norwegian?”

  Shit. It’s harder than I thought it would be to be vague about this. I can’t exactly say Ella if it doesn’t end up being her.

  “I can’t say too much,” I tell her with a wink. “You understand. I shouldn’t be talking about it at all with you, but I trust you guys.”

  “Well, then,” Maud says, sounding impressed. “Harold, I think this calls for a toast. On the house, right? Our drunken prince here has fallen in love.” She gives me a rarely used smile, showing off a row of fake teeth. “I am so proud of you. You need any advice on marriage and you come to me. I’m an expert.”

  “Because you’ve been married four times,” Harold says derisively, but he decides to grab a bottle of champagne from the fridge. “Though I do think this is worth making a toast about. Here’s our prince, overcoming his adversity by doing something completely adverse.”

  “Out of flames and into the frying pan,” Guillermo whispers in broken English.

  I laugh. If only they knew the half of it.

  So Harold fixes us all a glass of celebratory champagne, plus the coffee for Einar, and we all say cheers to this sad, sorry state of affairs.

  I spend a couple of hours at the bar and manage to behave myself, drinking a little less than I had planned. Just enough to calm my mind and give my brain a break from the constant flurry of thoughts.

  I walk back to my apartment with Einar half a block behind me, and I’m almost at the secret entrance when someone steps out of the bushes.

  Instinctively I raise my fist, ready to fight, but thankfully the alcohol has slowed my reaction time because it’s not a photographer or assailant at all but Heidi Lundström, the prime minister’s daughter.

  “Sorry!” she cries out softly, throwing her hands out. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Then you probably shouldn’t be leaping out of people’s bushes.” I glance over my shoulder to see Einar trotting up to me but give him a slight shake of my head to let him know it’s okay.

  He backs off and I turn my attention back to Heidi. She’s not wearing a coat, just jeans and a very low-cut sweater that shows off her ample cleavage. Her face is done up with more makeup than I’ve ever seen on her, her red hair styled in waves around her face.

  She’s more hot than pretty and just the right amount of inhibited and crazy in bed. But my instincts have never steered me wrong, and I have a feeling she’s just as crazy outside the bedroom. Hence the fact that she seems to have been stalking me.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her, giving her a tight smile before I look around to make sure no one is coming up the street. Wouldn’t that be the million-dollar picture.

  “I know,” she says quickly, taking a step toward me and grabbing my arm. Her breath smells like peach schnapps. “I wasn’t sure how else to reach you.”

  “You used to text me,” I remind her, not sure that I like her holding on to me.

  “You haven’t responded to my texts,” she says, a hint of sharpness to her tone.

  She’s right. She has texted me a lot over the last week and I’ve seen them and ignored them. I’m not the best at texting people back in general, but I was making sure I wasn’t touching Heidi again with a ten-foot pole.

  And yet here she is, in the dark of night, hanging on to my arm outside the entrance to my apartment. I hadn’t even shown her where I lived—we always went to her place to screw—but somehow she found it.

  “I don’t think it’s wise we text each other,” I tell her, taking a step back so that her hand falls away, “let alone see each other.”

  “But I need to talk to you,” she pleads, her face crumpling.

  I don’t handle crying chicks very well. They’re my kryptonite. But I straighten my back and resolve to stay strong, no matter what she does. It was her crying when I broke up with her that led us into this whole mess. “So talk. And make it quick.”

  She frowns at that. “That was kind of rude.”

  “Well, you did just ninja jump out of the bushes at me when I was about to go home, aaaaaaaand it was your idea to film a sex tape and it was your phone that somehow got hacked into, so yeah, sorry if I seem a bit rude but I’ve had a hell of a week.”

  Her eyes get all wide and twitchy. “You think this is my fault? You don’t believe me? My phone was hacked, Magnus. It wasn’t just that sex tape. There were a ton of naked photos of me on there that got shown to the public.”

  “You have a great body, so what do you care?” I tell her, looking over my shoulder and nodding at Einar. Not for him to do anything, just for him to kind of stand-by in case she becomes a stage-five clinger.

  “You really think I have a great body?”

  I look back at her, frowning. “What? Yeah. Sure. Look, Heidi, what we had was fun until it really fucking wasn’t. Now it’s time for us to part ways and never speak again. For real.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” she sneers. “I could ruin your life, you know.”

  I tilt my eyes skyward. “Right. What else could you possibly do?”

  “First of all,” she says, shoving her finger into my chest. At that I know Einar is making his way over, because it’s pretty much against the law for anyone to touch me in a threatening manner. “I didn’t do anything. I was hacked. Okay? Second of all, you are an asshole. Everyone knows it. Third of all, you’re going to die alone.”

  I tilt my head at her. “You know, telling the Prince of your country that he’s going to die, whether alone or not, can be seen as a threat. If I really was an asshole, I could lock your sorry ass up right now.”

  “Oh really?” she says, withdrawing her finger and crossing her arms. “I’m sure that will fly when my father runs this country. You’re from a monarchy that has no power. Sure, everyone loves you and you get all the prestige and attention and the validation, but my father is the one who runs this place.”

  Validation? That was an odd choice of words. “Are you done?”

  “Yes,” she says and then grabs her head, starts tugging at her hair. “No. Magnus. We had something. Don’t let what happened ruin that. It’s been hard but no one understands me the way you do and no one understands you the way I do.” Her arms drop and she steps toward me, her eyes glistening, looking hopeful. “Being in the public eye, being judged. Feeling like people don’t see the real you. I get that. I live that. You shouldn’t give up so easily.”

  Oh boy. There’s only one way out of this.

  “I’m not giving up easily,” I tell her, just as Einar joins my side. “I’ve met someone else.”

  She blinks at me for a moment before it hits her. I can tell she wants to explode, but Einar tenses up and her eyes go to him and she knows she has to hold it together. She hisses, “You what?”

  I nod. “I’ve met someone else. Fallen in love. She’s swept me right off my damn feet.”

  “You’re a liar,” she says. “You’re a liar and an asshole.”

  I shrug. “You’ll find out soon enough,” I tell her. “When we get married and it’s all over the news.”

  Then I step back out of the way while Einar steps between us, his hands out, ready to move her. “You have to go, ma’am,” he says gruffly.

  “I’m going, I’m going,” she says, shuffling backward and turning away from Einar’s reach. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you know who I am?”

  Einar just stands there, arms crossed, and I’m more than grateful for his formidable silent type persona right now because it hints at how lethal the man can be. I mean, I’ve never seen it myself, but my father has told me stories and he certainly plays the part.

  At any rate, Heidi takes heed. She turns and walks away, swaying slightly, until she disappears around the corner. I feel a twang of pity for her. I know from the few dates we went on that she’s a little lost, neglected by her father, obsessed with notoriety and attention. But my pity doesn’t stretch that far. I’m still not conv
inced it wasn’t her that leaked the sex tape to the press.

  Satisfied that Heidi won’t be returning, Einar turns around and gives me a nod.

  “Back in Tromso, we had a name for women like her,” he says gravely. “A barnacle.”

  I laugh and slap Einar on the back. “If you say she’s a barnacle, she’s a barnacle.”

  “What would you call her?” he asks.

  I think for a moment. “Psycho hose beast.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t heard of that one,” he says. “But I must say it fits.”

  The next morning I’m woken up with a call from my mother.

  “She’s coming today. I need you here in thirty minutes,” she says.

  I rub the heel of my palm between my eyes and groan. “What are you talking about? Who? What time is it?”

  “The time? It’s time for you to grow up,” she says sharply. “Why on earth are you sleeping until ten o’clock? Half the morning is gone already.”

  I sigh and roll over, trying to wake up. I don’t think I slept very well. Running into Heidi right before I went to bed was bad timing.

  “Who is coming?” I repeat.

  “Princess Isabella of Liechtenstein.”

  “Okay, first of all you don’t have to say her full name every time. And second of all…what?”

  My mother gives an overblown sigh I can practically feel whistle through my ear. “She’s coming over. She and her lady.”

  “To Norway? So she said yes?”

  My heart is already racing. The fear is real.

  “Not exactly,” she says after a pause. “She said she has a lot to discuss with us. Negotiations. It’s to be expected, I suppose. I’m not sure you made the best impression on her so you better not screw it up this time. If you don’t win her over, I don’t think she’s coming back.”