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He gloops the conditioner on my scalp but quickly works it into my hair. Torben is shockingly good at this.
I leap upon the opportunity to shift to a new topic.
“Now is probably not a good time to be that American who wonders why a country continues supporting and celebrating a royal family when it’s essentially a democracy.”
I wait for him to get mad, laugh it off, play it off with a kiss, or say something condescending.
But Torben, being Torben, doesn’t do anything of that.
“You’re my future wife, and you’re entitled to ask any question you wish,” he says, his hands still working through my hair. It feels so good I might fall into a coma standing up. “As for why we maintain a monarchy, the first thing you should know is that public taxes do not support it. The palace properties, our daily expenses, travel, and our payroll is all paid for by the family’s inheritances and real estate investments. The biggest producers of beer and wool essentially rent the use of the land from the palace. The people could do away with the monarchy any time they choose, and a new agreement could be reached for the land the family owns. But the regular citizens like their traditions. Their parties, pageantry, parades, their history. We’re all wrapped up in tradition. The throne is not as important as my father makes it out to be. If it were up to him, the country would return to the absolute monarchy that reigned for centuries after the chieftains were scattered and before parliament was established.”
I don’t necessarily hear everything he says as he rinses the final bits of conditioner out of my hair.
I pick up the bath loofah and squirt gel into it. I’m about to begin washing myself, but Torben takes it from me and begins washing my back, my neck, my ass, and my legs.
“Don’t you want to wash your hair? I mean, I would do it for you, but I can’t see the top of your head, and there’s not enough room for you to kneel,” I laugh.
He takes the shower gel, works it through his hair, smashes it around, and then rinses it.
“Good. Done.”
I gape at him. “You need to be nicer to your hair, my guy.”
“No need. Soap is soap.”
I nod. “Soap is soap, and shampoo is shampoo, but you don’t mix them up.”
“I’ve always washed my hair with the same thing I wash my body with. It makes no difference. Surfactants are surfactants.”
I snort a laugh. “Okay, nerd. Let me wash you at least.”
He doesn’t give up the loofah, though. “Ladies first, then you can wash me if you wish.”
I know there’s no arguing, so I let him have his way, running the soapy loofah over my body, under my arms and between my legs. I’m still sensitive between my thighs, yet when he gently moves the loofah between my thighs, I begin to throb again.
Later. Now is not a good time to get caught doing it with family coming home soon. We already took enough of a risk of having hot jungle sex out in the field.
The cozy shower makes me realize I don’t care where we live. We could live here with my family, and I’d still be happy. I could share a cramped shower with him, sleep in my childhood bed, and share a fridge with Mama and my butthead brother, and I believe I would be happy. As long as Torben is here with me.
But there’s no way a royal heir to a throne would ever move to West Virginia. It wouldn’t work. He has too much responsibility at home.
On top of that, the one glaring reality is he hasn’t said he loves me yet.
I know how crazy this is. Who in their right mind doesn’t say “I love you” before getting engaged?
But nothing about any of this makes sense. It’s simply the adventure I asked for from the universe.
But asking for things has karma.
So I’d better be extra careful.
21
Hailey
Dinner with all six of us, Memaw and Papaw included, goes as smoothly as I would expect, even with Toad’s surly attitude.
Papaw and Torben get along entirely differently than Mama and Torben. Papaw peppers the prince with endless questions about his country’s wildlife. “What’s the fishing like over there?“
