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I stop halfway to the door. I take a deep breath.
The entire reason I’m living in Cara, my home country, is because my grandfather is eighty-two years old, has had three heart attacks, my father is dead, my oldest brother is an asshole, and if I don’t, my niece—my sister’s oops-out-of-wedlock-adorable-spitfire-will-do-great-things-with-her-life-but-should-by-God-get-to-choose-her-own-destiny little girl—will have to take over the throne on her eighteenth birthday.
She’s only twelve, but if he dies before her eighteenth birthday, she’ll still have to take over. Of course, then my sister, mother, and grandmother will all have to be there every step of the way guiding and helping her. Which still won’t be enough.
The country will be in turmoil.
As they should be if they had a twelve-year-old American who has only spent holidays in Cara sitting on the throne. Or a fifteen-year-old. Or even an eighteen-year-old.
So, I rescinded my abdication two years ago and came home.
And the old bastard has been giving me hell ever since.
I turn back. “It’s been two years,” I tell him. “I’m ready. I don’t need Linnea.”
Now he scowls. “The country needs her.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
I do, of course.
Linnea is beloved in Cara. She’s a celebrity of sorts. She put Cara on the world map.
She’s the agent for two elite athletes from Cara who are now living in the US. One is an upcoming NHL star. A good-looking, charming, talented, all-around good guy. The other is a gymnast. Cara’s first and only Olympian.
They are also Linnea’s younger brother and sister. Their fame is because of Linnea’s skills in PR. She also makes sure the fact that they are from the tiny island nation of Cara is mentioned in every story about them.
Now eighty percent of American sports fans can actually find Cara on a map. Probably eighty percent of those people could even tell you two or three facts about our country.
Three years ago, that would have been impossible.
National pride has soared, my grandfather installed a new satellite system so he and everyone else on the island can watch Alex’s hockey games, and if Linnea wasn’t his favorite grandchild before, blood or not, she is now.
Who am I kidding? She was totally his favorite grandchild before.
Now he wants to make her officially a part of the family.
“I can’t keep waiting for you to take this seriously,” my grandfather finally says. “We need a plan. We need the people to know that there is a plan.”
I feel my heart rate quicken. I need to keep my cool but…
“You’re waiting for me to take this seriously?” I repeat. “I have been here for two years. I have attended every meeting, dinner, reception, and conference you have asked me to. I have listened to you, Emil, and Grandmother go on and on and on about our history and traditions and expectations. I have read every goddamned book, ledger, and piece of paper you have put in front of me!”
I am not successful at keeping my voice calm, but he’s expecting this. All of our meetings end up with one, or both, of us shouting.
He waits, then takes a breath. “You’ve been back for two years. A miniscule amount of time. Linnea has lived in Cara her whole life. You, on the other hand, left Cara when you were still a boy, and hid out in the US for a decade.”
I open my mouth to protest the ‘boy’ part. I’d been nineteen.
Also, the ‘hid out’ part. He’d assigned me and my two siblings each a bodyguard who kept tabs on every move we made. There was never a moment when he didn’t know exactly where we were and what we were doing.
But he keeps going. “You marched into my office, lectured me about all of the ways a monarchy was an archaic, problematic institution, and gave me a dissertation on why we should change it.”
I’d even had an impressive video presentation and colorful handouts. I’d worked on that presentation for months. At that point, my older brother, Declan, had already abdicated and left the country, so I was next in line. I knew I was the someday king. I’d always been interested in world politics and history, and I’d truly believed that Cara should transition from a hereditary monarchy to a representative government. My presentation had outlined how that could happen over the course of ten years.
My grandfather had laughed.
But he’s still not done. “Then, when I didn’t immediately embrace the idea with enthusiasm and thanks, you abdicated your title and left the country in a colossal tantrum. With your siblings in tow.”
