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“I’ll protect you. Promise.”
“Deal.”
Like the gentleman he is, he places his hand against my lower back and leads me through the crowd and from the marquee. Together, we take a short stroll down to the pond. It's a beautiful setting, with rolling green grass leading to deep blue sparkling water, where swans and ducks glide, the early evening sun casting a warm glow.
“It's so beautiful here,” I say, taking it all in.
“It is. We have a pond a little like it at the palace in Villadorata,” he says, naming the capital city of Ledonia (thank you once again, Wikipedia). “Although we do have a habit of putting as many fountains as we can manage in our lakes, even in naturally formed ones.”
“I bet they look amazing.”
“They are, if you like fountains.”
I think of the images I saw online of Alex with some women, clearly having a good time, their clothes soaked through as they played in the peacock statue fountain near the formal gardens.
“I hear you’re especially fond of fountains,” I lead, wondering how he'll react.
He twists his mouth. “That was me a long time ago. I'm not that person anymore.”
“You're not that person who climbs into fountains, fully clothed, with a group of beautiful women?” I tease, making light of the fact that his past has been playing on my mind.
Every account of Alex is of a womanizing party boy, intent on having a good time, right up to shots of him with a woman at the Lincoln Memorial on his recent US visit.
But those accounts are in stark contrast to the man I’ve been getting to know. It’s like there are two versions of him—and only one that I could ever like.
A pair of peafowl, a male and a female, wander across our path ahead. They’re beautiful and serene, minding their own feathery business.
“I know this is going to come off as a line, and trust me, it isn't one.”
I turn to face him. “Try me.”
“You’re right, I wasn’t exactly a serious relationship kind of guy. I liked a good party. I liked to have fun. Looking back, I can see the way I behaved was a reaction to my father’s expectation of who I’m meant to be. I didn't want to be like him, all serious and grave and extremely focused on just one thing: being King. I knew I had all that to come and I wanted to enjoy myself before I had to become… him.”
“Why do you have to become him?”
“Because one day I’ll be King.”
“You can be whatever kind of king you want to be. Whatever kind of person you want to be. It's not like you have to change your personality the day you ascend to the throne. If you want to be the Party King then go for it.”
“But that's the thing, Maddie. I don't want to be a party anything. That whole lifestyle, being the most eligible bachelor around, isn’t in the least fulfilling. Fun, certainly, but not fulfilling.”
“I'm not sure your average male would agree with you. I don't think being adored by hordes of female fans ever gets old for most men.”
He pushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingers making my skin tingle. “I'm not most men.”
That, you most certainly are not.
“What are you going to do now that you’ve given up your partying ways? Are you going to take up reading important books about climate change and the state of the economy while wearing slippers and smoking a pipe in your library?”
“Is that my choice? Either be the Party Prince or an old man from a Charles Dickens novel?”
I let out a giggle. “Yup. Choose.”
“Well, I'm tired of being seen as a vapid prince with as much depth as a puddle in summer, so I imagine I'll need to be the Dickens character. Although I do have one proviso.”
“What's that?”
“No pipe, and maybe I could read less intense books. Thrillers or sci-fi novels suit me a lot better.”
