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“And here I thought I had broken the habit.” I chuckled and took another pull of my beer, then glanced back over at my painting of Father. “He was always busy, but I couldn’t understand that at my young age. I just loved him and wanted to be with him. Nothing wrong with that, right?” I turned to Grace when she did not answer immediately.
She was studying me. “No . . . nothing wrong with that at all.” She turned to admire the pieces with genuine appreciation. “These are wonderful.”
“Thank you,” I replied, touched by her words. “My mother doesn’t quite share your sentiments. She finds my painting a waste of time and often reminds me I should focus more on my royal duties, that I need to prepare myself for being the king of Verdana.”
Grace frowned, concern etching her brow. “You should be able to do what you love.”
“Unfortunately, life as a royal isn’t always about what we want,” I sighed, feeling the weight of my future responsibilities.
Grace nodded. “Like your arranged marriage . . .”
“Exactly . . .” I nodded. “It’s about tradition and duty. The union is meant to strengthen ties between our kingdoms. Love, in this case, is secondary, or maybe even third. It is what is expected of me. It’s in my veins. That’s who I am and who I am meant to be.”
“Sounds kind of . . . sad,” she mused, her expression softening with sympathy.
“Yes . . . well . . .” I cleared my throat, eager to change the subject and lighten the mood. “Let’s not dwell on that. How about we have some fun? No more talk of weddings and royal duties today.”
“Deal,” she agreed with a smile, then clinked my bottle.
“Perfect.” I gestured to the billiard table, then the dartboard. “Are you in the mood for pool or darts?”
“Let’s go for darts—I’m kind of in a stabby mood,” she said.
“Remind me to not turn my back on you,” I joked, taking six darts from the top of the bar and handing three of them to Grace.
We took turns throwing them, each shot getting worse and worse.
“Who knew the prince of Verdana was so unskilled at darts? ” she asked playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re just as bad as I am.”
“It’s all part of my master plan to lull my opponents into a false sense of security before I move in for the kill,” I shot back, winking at her.
“Sure. Whatever you say.” She laughed, then tossed her dart right into the painting of the dashing knight professing his undying love to a swooning maiden. “Whoops.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that,” I said.
Grace was about to pull the dart from the painting, then ran her fingers across it. “It looks like I am not the only one who has been so far off target.”
“I’ve never seen those three holes in my life,” I said.
“Four holes,” she said, laughing, then turning back to me with a mischievous look on her face. “How about we make this interesting?”
“Are you suggesting a wager?” I asked.
“I am,” she said, moving closer. “Why? You’re not scared, are you?”
I chuckled. “Hardly. What did you have in mind?”
Grace thought about it for a moment. “If I win, you have to wear your royal robe inside-out for an entire day!” She laughed.
“I already do that,” I joked.
“I should have known,” Grace said, then her eyes lit up. “If I win, you have to send your ‘Macarena’ video to the press, so the entire world can see you dance.”
“I see you like high-stakes bets,” I said. “And what makes you think I haven’t already deleted that video?”
Grace shrugged. “Call it a gut feeling. Maybe deep down inside, doing something so fun, or silly, depending on who you asked, makes you feel normal. Like a regular guy. I’m willing to bet you still have that video. Let me see your phone.”
“Sorry—one bet at a time.” I gestured to the chair. “And should I be sitting down for this therapy session?”
