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I look down and notice how the water covers him to mid-calf, while my toes barely scrape the lake’s surface.
“Because it’s not a real wedding.”
“True,” I say. “But he’s your brother. And he’s going to be king.”
“I told you, I’m staying here until everything blows over.”
“I’m confused,” I say, resting my hand on his. “He’s getting married, so you have nothing to worry about. You don’t want to be king; clearly, Etienne does, or he wouldn’t be going along with all of this. So, you’re in the clear. Why not come out of hiding?”
“I like hiding. Hiding is what I do best.”
“But you can’t hide forever,” I tease.
“Do you not want to be here with me?” Sigurd asks.
“I…yes…but…”
“Good,” he says. “Because it sort of sounded like you were pushing me away.”
I take a stab at what I think is happening here. With a heavy sigh, I reply, “I think we’re having our first spat.”
The prince lets out a low, rumbly sigh. “It doesn’t feel good. I do not enjoy arguing with you.”
“I don’t enjoy it either. And…it seems that neither of us enjoys being pushed to do things we’re not ready to do.”
To my surprise, Sigurd’s shoulders sag a little. Then, he says, “I can’t be in that chapel with all those people. Even if I’m related to half of them. I just…can’t do it. This is why Torben helped me arrange for my personal royal charity to involve something remote. The social gatherings, the pretense, the small talk, the expectations—all of it makes me feel like I could …well…die.”
I swallow and take another stab at it. “Have you…talked to anyone about all this?”
“I’m talking to you,” he says.
“A professional, I mean.”
“No. Why would I? My brother solved it for me.”
That’s a temporary solution to a problem that goes deeper than simply preferring to be alone and in nature. “Okay,” I say. “But maybe…just maybe, with you being a prince and all, you could easily get help.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. And it’s not as easy as you say.”
Maybe not, but some things need to be said, so I press on. “I’m going to say something that you’re really not going to like, and it might even make you not love me when I’m done saying it.”
He grumbles a sound that makes my heart squeeze. “Go on…I think.”
I inhale, my hands shaking. “Here’s the thing. I would have sold my soul in foster care and at the group home to have someone to listen to my problems. Maybe I would have realized sooner that I deserved to be treated better. I had well-meaning but overworked social workers who were too tired and had bigger problems than me. Meanwhile, you have all the privilege in the world, and your father—the fucking king—never even had a thought about providing what you really needed. And now the adult in you is refusing it, despite knowing it might help the root cause of something blocking your happiness.”
“Nothing is blocking my happiness. My happiness is with you,” he says.
“Happiness isn’t one person.”
Strangely, a smile spreads across his face.
“What’s happening? Why are you smiling at me like that, Sigurd?”
“You love me.”
“Sigurd.”
“You wouldn’t give that speech to someone you didn’t care about.”
