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“And you honestly think I can’t do this without her?” I ask.
“You haven’t shown me that you can.”
I scowl at him. “You haven’t given me the chance. You haven’t approved a single one of my plans or ideas.”
“You talk and talk about your ideas and plans,” he says, pacing behind his desk. “You go on and on about how we need new relationships, we need to be less dependent on Denmark?—”
“Constantly having to travel to kiss ass and wine and dine men and women from another country with the hopes that they’ll give a shit about us in the midst of their own issues and relationships with countries that can actually offer something in return is no way to deal with our people’s security,” I say.
He sighs tiredly. “Making and maintaining relationships will be important if you wear the crown. Whether it’s with Denmark or another country.”
I don’t miss the ‘if’.
“Of course. But being fully dependent on the goodwill and whims of a group of people that changes regularly and has their own responsibilities that have to come before ours is not a secure situation for our people,” I reiterate. “We need to be more independent. We need to import less from Denmark. We need to expand our network or supply our own needs. We need to create jobs. We need to make our people feel secure, feel self-reliant, feel like we are our own country and not just an adopted child of Denmark.”
Diarmuid moves around his chair and takes a seat. “You’re a great talker, Torin,” he says. “You’re charming and confident. You create impressive presentations. You can write and give impassioned speeches on probably any topic. But I don’t know that you can actually act on any of it or follow through on anything. Linnea gets things done.”
I take a deep breath. I acknowledge that my grandfather actually included a few compliments in there. I try to see things from his point of view. I tell myself that he loves Cara. He’s been the king for the past forty-three years. He has to be sure that his successor is up to the job.
“What do I have to do?” I finally ask.
“Show me that you’re serious. Show me that Cara is your priority. I need to see commitment. That you will give your heart to Cara.”
I open my mouth to declare that I’ve already done that, but I shut it again without a word.
Clearly, I haven’t. Not to him.
Show him that I will give my heart to Cara.
Well, what the fuck does that look like?
“How long will it take to convince you of that?” I ask.
“Well, I suppose,” he says, reaching for a folder on the side of his desk, a sure signal that our meeting is coming to an end. “If you don’t want to marry Linnea, then you’d better hope that it takes less than six months.”
Chapter 2
Torin
Islam the door to my office behind me and stomp to my desk.
Of course I’m irritated by the idea of being forced to marry against my will. But this is not a new pressure. My arranged marriage has been a near weekly topic for months.
It’s that every time, the conversation comes with the memory of bright blue eyes and long blond waves and a slightly lopsided smile where one side of her mouth tips up just a millisecond before the other.
And the scent of lavender.
Goddammit. It’s been nearly two years and smelling lavender can still make me hard.
I lift the little glass vial that’s been sitting on my desk for twenty-two months and remove the stopper, lifting it to my nose anyway.
June, two years ago
“What happened to your hair?” My niece, Saoirse, is studying me, now with her nose scrunched as if something smells bad.
I walked into this wedding reception only three minutes ago and she’s the first to notice me. But she came running, clearly surprised, and happy to see me.
Despite her clear negative opinion about my new hair style.
