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And maybe a day out on the water is the perfect time to tell him about my plan to retire.
“Okay,” I finally say as I hop into the car.“I’m not your chief protection officer today.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“You bet.”
I insert the keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life.When I feel the vibration of the motor humming beneath me, I no longer care whether this is a good idea.Not with how beautiful and powerful this car is.
“Let’s go for a drive.”Anderson flashes a mischievous grin.
I dampen the clutch and shift into first, edging toward the closed garage door.Once it senses the car, it slides open, the bright sun streaming in.
I lower my sunglasses over my eyes and rev the engine a few times.
“God, I love that sound,” Anderson exhales.
“Me, too.”
As we drive through the city streets, most people we pass gawk over the car while remaining oblivious to the fact that the next king of this country is in the front seat.For the first time in a while, I don’t focus on the fact that he’s the future king.We’re just two people who’ve known each other our entire lives enjoying the first warm spring day.
I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to live in the moment.Not be weighed down by my obligations to Rory, my father, or the crown.
It’s liberating to finally live for myself.
The engine roars beneath me as I continue out of the city and toward the marina, taking a few detours for no other reason than to enjoy the power of this car, the machine hugging the corners and turns with ease.
When I pull up to the marina gate, both Anderson’s and my faces are windburned, our hair a mess.But the guard out front still recognizes us, waving me in without issue.
The smell of salt water fills the air as I drive along the various docks containing boats of different sizes.Some are long and narrow, others wide and sleek.All have ostentatious names befitting their owners — members of the royal family — painted prominently on their sides in gold letters.
Except for a sailboat docked at the last slip.While it’s a beautiful vessel, next to the yachts and super yachts, it’s quite ordinary.
But it’s something Anderson can man without needing a crew of fifteen or twenty.Which is why he wanted it.For a taste of freedom and independence, regardless of how short-lived it may be.
“Ready to take her out?”Anderson asks once I park the car, leaving it with one of the royal valets.
“Absolutely.”
We climb onto the boat and busy ourselves with getting her ready to cast off.I don’t know as much as he does about sailing, so I follow his orders and we eventually make it into open water, where we’re able to kill the motor and let the wind do most of the work.
“Remember that night we got wasted?”Anderson asks as we relax by the helm and have a few drinks — him a sparkling water, me a beer.The winds are calm, the water tranquil, allowing us to float at a leisurely pace.
“Which night is that?If memory serves, there’s been quite a few of them.”
“That there were.”His eyes shine with a nostalgic gleam.“But there was one in particular that stands out.It was a few nights before I left to go to university in the States.”
“Ah…” A smile tugs on my mouth.“I remember that.You snuck out of the palace wearing a ghastly disguise and we spent all night getting absolutely wrecked at some dive bar.”
“And when we woke up the next morning, some octogenarian was standing over us with a cricket bat, about to beat us to a bloody pulp after she found us sleeping in her late husband’s dinghy.”
I burst out laughing, my heart warming in my chest from how ridiculous and immature we once were.
How carefree we once were.
“That’s when you tried to tell her who you were,” I say through my chuckles.“To which she said…”
“‘If you’re the Crown Prince, I’m the Queen of fucking England,’” he says in his best imitation of the old woman.
