I’m holding my breath as he tells me this, feeling like if I make it seem like I’m not here, it might be easier for him to talk, to continue. At the same time, I don’t want him to relive any pain, I don’t want him to hurt.
He takes in a shaking breath, his nostrils flaring. “Alex never wanted to be on the throne. He never wanted to be the direct heir. It’s not that…okay, the job, the role itself, it’s extremely stressful. It might not be what it used to be, but at the same time it’s not for the weak, not for the timid. There are rules, there are obligations, your freedom and your privacy are stripped. I personally think the roles should be appointed and not through birth. Appointed to those who want them, who earn them. If that had been the case, well Alex would have never been prince and I wouldn’t be either. But here we are.”
He reaches for the bottle of wine, unscrews the cap in one motion and then pours a big, messy glassful before downing half of it in one gulp. After that, his breath seems to slow.
“Alex,” he says, after letting out a deep exhale, “was a perfectionist. Always was. My parents can be tough. He had a lot he had to live up to. From an early age he cared very much about being perfect. About being strong. Unfeeling, even. The more he did that, the older he got, the more shut off he became. He had a…an inner world, if you can imagine. A world I didn’t understand. I tried to but he wouldn’t let me in. He wouldn’t let anyone in, which is probably why he never married, never had a serious girlfriend for long. There were rumors, of course, that he was gay but that wasn’t the case. It was just that Alex started to separate that inner world of his from the outer world and the more disconnect that happened, the harder he had to appear normal and perfect. The pressure crushed him in the end. That’s all it was. The pressure. God, how alone he must have felt. So alone that he reached out to me and I came to him too late.”
He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, shoulders slumped. He breathes in and out and I wish there was something I could do or say. Putting my hand on his back and telling him how sorry I am feels so trivial.
And yet I have to think about how I wanted people to be around me right after my parent’s death. People always meant well but pithy remarks never meant much to me. What mattered was knowing that someone was there for me. That I wasn’t alone.
Viktor has been nothing but alone in this.
“I understand,” I tell him, my words so soft they almost disappear on the breeze. I won’t share with him what I want to, how I can relate, that I blame myself sometimes for my parents’ death. It’s absurd, I know, I was on the other side of the country. I just think that had I not been in New York, had I been at home, it wouldn’t have happened.
But I know that comparisons don’t help. Every death is different. So I inch closer to him and I put my hand on his back and though it feels trivial still, like it’s not enough, I can only hope it is.
“Maggie,” he says, voice choked.
“I’m here,” I tell him, bringing my knees in closer so I’m now hugging him from the side. It’s an awkward angle, I’m not quite comfortable, and yet I’m not going anywhere. I hold onto him as if I can somehow absorb all his grief and combine it into mine. Maybe I don’t think I’m strong enough to be me but right now I’m strong enough for him.
“I know this isn’t like the old days,” he says, moving his face so it’s nestled in my arms, his words muffled. “I know that the monarchy doesn’t hold the power that it once did. But I am so afraid of taking this role. My whole life I lived with knowing it didn’t matter, that I would never likely be king. I was the one no one paid attention to and I liked it, I fucking liked it, because I could fail on my own and no one would notice. But now a whole country is watching. A whole country is measuring me against Alex. They never knew the truth about him, other than that he was poised and perfect. They never will know the truth. But with that comes the fact that I’ll never be enough. And that was fine before when no one cared…but now…”
“Viktor, Viktor,” I whisper to him, cradling his head, feeling his soft hair under my hands. “My moose.” I feel him smile faintly against me. “You are more than enough. So much more. You live by your family’s moto so well. Always more, never less. You are the always more and you…you fucking astound me. You know, growing up, as a little girl, you have fantasies about princes. Blame it on Disney, blame it on the fairy tales. You want that man to be noble and kind and powerful and oh so good-looking.” I let out a soft laugh. “Man, I thought Prince Eric was such a babe.”
“From The Little Mermaid?” he mumbles into me.
“Yes. Him and Prince Phillip. The way he slayed that dragon for her…anyway. These princes were ingrained in our heads as children and as we got older, we not only realized that Prince Charming was never coming for us, but that we didn’t want him. The real princes seemed so stuffy, so cold. Don’t get me wrong, I love Prince Harry and I guess William is okay, but in general, the term prince lost its meaning. It no longer conjured up the fantastic. But you…you Viktor, you are a prince in every way shape and form. You embody the word, you are selfless and kind and proud and smart and noble and you care, more than anything, you care. You’re the prince that every girl had a fantasy about but you’re more than that, because you’re real. You’re so real. And you’re here right now and you’re with me and I can’t…I can’t thank you enough.”
He raises his head to look at me. His eyes search my face as if he’s found something he’s lost and he has to double-check that it’s still his.
“What about Prince, the musician?” he asks and though his voice is hoarse, there’s a flutter of amusement in his eyes.
I can’t help but smile. “Different prince,” I tell him. “Everyone wants that prince and to be that prince.”
Viktor stares at me, giving only the subtlest of nods. I’m very aware that my arms are still wrapped around him from the side but I can’t figure out how to let go or if I even want to.
I never want to.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says as he gazes up at me, heat burning through whatever sadness was there before.
I laugh sharply. “Is that so? Because I don’t—”
What I was going to say was I don’t believe you.
But all of that falls away the moment he places one large, warm hand against my small face and presses his lips to mine.
For a moment I’m stilled. I’m reduced.
Every atom around us slows and slows until the world focuses on just one thing.
His lips.
My lips.
Then…
His mouth.
My mouth.
Then…
His hunger.
My hunger.
His step into this great unknown.
My leap off the cliff.
Viktor is kissing me, his lips moving against mine in a long, sweet, soft embrace until my own lips are dancing with his. He tastes like wine and salt and something I never knew I needed, never knew I craved, until right now. He kisses me with confidence, like he knows how to kiss me already and somehow he already does. As our kiss deepens, our mouths open in unison, our tongues tease and touch and lick like we are discovering who the other is for the first time.
Then his fingers press into the side of my face and another hand comes up to grab the back of my neck and I’m pitching backward onto the blanket. I know that food and wine and plates and knives are below me but I don’t care. I will roll around in a sea of wine, I so don’t care.
But he has me, his grip strong as ever and he lowers me back gently to the ground, brushing away anything in the way until I feel the wool blanket scratch at the back of my neck.
Now he’s partially on top of me and I’m so conscious of the weight of him, how big he is, and then I’m conscious of how much I’ve craved this. Craved this feeling of being under him, being dominated, no matter how slightly, of being wanted, needed.
Consumed.
Because now his kisses are consuming me, not j
ust his soft lips and the wet warmth of his mouth moving hungrily against mine, but that he holds me, as if I might blow away in the breeze, the way he presses into me. I can feel the hard, long length of his cock dig into my thigh.
I’ve needed this. I didn’t realize how badly until now, the fact that he has me in his grasp, that I’m feeling every single part of me scream to life. It has me shaken to the core and…
His lips trail away from my mouth, places soft and hard kisses along the length of my jaw, then down the side of my neck. I can tell he’s eager from the way he’s rushing, his stubble cutting across my skin, the way he bites me just sharp and quick enough. Then he’s battling himself, a low moan escaping him, the kind of moan that makes me wet in a second. His breath becomes labored as he struggles to regain control, tries to slow down. The bites turn to licks, long wet swaths of his tongue in an attempt to soothe his damage.
But I want to be damaged. I don’t want the poised and regal Viktor that I’ve seen lately, the one in the suit, the one who always knows the right things to say. I want a Viktor that’s raw and messy and wild. I want him to fuck me up before he fucks me, fuck me up while he fucks me. I want to see him lose all control and struggle to regain it back.
He groans into the hollow of my neck, his hands gliding down the sides of my waist. I buck up into him, aware of how desperate I must seem and yet I don’t care. I want him, all of him, fast and hard, I just want to be free of this constant craving I have, an itch that I’m begging to be scratched.
Set me free, the thought shoots through my head like jagged lightning.
He’s trying. His hand slides between my thighs, his knee parting my legs, and I curse myself for wearing jeans, for the thick wall of fabric between my sensitive flesh and his willing fingers.
* * *
My phone rings, the sound shooting between us like a lancer.
I ignore it. I have to. Nothing is more important than this, than having Viktor settle between my legs, than wanting to slide my hand into his jeans, feeling him pulse in my hand.
But something is.
Something that Viktor realizes.
He pulls away, breathing hard, his eyes glazed with hunger and lust that only turns me on more. God, I’m so fucking wet I swear that I’m drowning.
“Your phone,” he manages to say, pressing the tips of his fingers into my cheek.
I nod. “It will go to voice mail,” I say breathlessly, my hands going behind his neck, trying to bring his face back to mine, to suck on those plush lips of his.
Not that I ever, ever check voice mail.
Viktor frowns and I know that he won’t relent until I answer it. He thinks it could be the kids.
And one glance at the phone tells me that it’s Pike.
Shit.
I roll away from under Viktor and put the phone to my ear, trying not to sound like I was moments away from having sex. “Pike?”
“Maggie we have a problem.”
Oh shit fuck.
“What?” My heart was already getting a workout, now it’s stepping it up a notch.
“April went back to Tito’s.”
I groan, closing my eyes. Just the other day I had tried to talk to her about why a guy like that was bad news, not to mention he could go to jail if it continued between them. She wouldn’t have any of it, not even when I started pleading with her to at least use condoms and birth control if she’s going to do it anyway. Even when I was fourteen and I got my first boyfriend, my angst levels weren’t cranked that high.
“Shit.”
“I’m going after her,” Pike says.
“Do you need back-up?”
“No, I have the cops,” he says. “One of the guys who comes into the shop regularly is an officer. I told him what was happening and he said they’re all very aware of the guy. Not sure if we can prove anything but at least this way it’ll scare the both of them.”
“Yeah until April decides to be a martyr or something.”
“Anyway, I’m going over there with the officer. I need you to come home and watch the rest.”
I know if I really wanted to I could bring up the fact that Rosemary and Thyme are old enough to take care of Callum and had recently volunteered. But I know I’m needed. As much as I want to, I’m not going to continue to roll around on this hill with Viktor while all this other shit is going on.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell him. “Thank you for getting her, for doing this.”
“No problem,” he says and hangs up.
“What is it?” Viktor asks. He’s now sitting up, watching me with concern.
I sigh and adjust myself, adjust my clothes. “April. As usual. She’s back with Tito but Pike is going over there with the cops. Maybe he’ll end up in jail. Tito, that is.”
Viktor nods. “I’ll take you home.”
Something inside me sinks. Suddenly. Like my heart has been weighted down with concrete. The idea that he’s going to take me home after this, after I’d finally gotten a taste of what we could be, how good it could be, feels so…finite. He leaves so soon and it’s like every second we have together counts.
Actually I’m hating myself for spending the last two days interviewing him for some article when I could have been kissing him. Fucking him. Being with him on so many different levels, so many ways that count. From the first moment his lips met mine I knew that this was what was supposed to have happened all along. This was how we were supposed to know each other.
“Hey,” Viktor says softly, reaching over to cup my cheek. “There’s no cow on the ice.”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s a sad laugh because, shit, I can’t let this be it for us. And it’s a warm laugh because here he is, always trying to make me smile.
But after he leaves for good, I’m not sure how I’ll ever smile again.
Chapter Thirteen
Viktor
When I wake up the next morning I struggle to remember where I am. For the first time since I ended up in this wayward town, I feel like a different person. I wake up feeling like I’ve gone somewhere else entirely, not just inside my mind.
But I’m still here. Lying on the hotel bed. A bed that’s made every day by Maggie McPherson. I’ve learned to go out to the lobby or into the town for a walk when she’s in the hallway with the maid cart, coming to clean the room.
It’s so damn weird, to be honest, to see her doing that role. It seems to diminish her. Not that being a housekeeper is anything to sneeze at but because it seems like such a constricting job choice for someone so dynamic. Maggie is smart and bold and strong and effortlessly funny. Here she keeps her head down. Cleans the rooms to meticulous standards.
Pretends not to know me.
That part kills me. I know why she has to do it. I know she’s afraid that the hotel will find out and have problems and fire her. I also know that it’s just something she’s doing to get by and that if she lost this job, she thinks she would lose everything.
But I don’t think she would lose anything, she would only gain.
I have a little fantasy that I keep to myself.
It doesn’t involve Maggie in her maid uniform, although that’s always a plus.
It involves me asking Maggie to come back to Stockholm with me.
To start over with her life there.
But that fantasy is as far-fetched as most are. That’s why they are fantasies and not dreams. Dreams are attainable. Fantasies are in another galaxy all together.
But in a fantasy, there are no rules and so you can imagine whatever you wish.
In mine, Maggie comes to Stockholm. With her whole family.
Everyone gets uprooted.
She lives with me in one of the palaces that I’m supposed to move into upon my return. The kids live on the other end of the property, attended by nannies and teachers and anything they need.
None of them will ever have to want for anything. They won’t have to struggle or worry. Their futures will be open, they’ll have all t
he money they need. There will be no guilt, just the security of knowing they will be taken care of for the rest of their lives.
And Maggie will be a queen.
Not at this moment but eventually.
A princess
Then a queen.
And she will rule (as much as a modern queen would rule), making the changes that are so sorely needed. Sweden may be one of the best countries in the world to live in with the best healthcare and education and social services, but there is always better work to be done.
The fantasy is so realistic it almost borders on a dream.
Except that it’s all crazy to even think about.
Maggie and I don’t know each other enough.
We aren’t in a relationship.
She would never come to Sweden for me.
I don’t think she’d go in general.
She’d never agree to pull everyone out of school to move them there.
It just plain wouldn’t work for a million reasons.
So I tuck that fantasy away, knowing that one day I’ll draw upon it and pretend it happened and feel, for once, that I’m living the life that I’m supposed to, a life that I want to.
But this morning, the fantasy is in full-swing. It won’t leave.
Maybe because last I finally kissed her.
It wasn’t that I found the nerve. It’s that I couldn’t wait a second longer.
The way she held me, the way she told me she understood, I felt it like I’d never felt it before. To be seen. To be heard. To have someone dig deep enough to try and figure out what you needed to hear, what you needed to feel.