My Forbidden Royal Fling

‘My uncle committed suicide.’ I say the words robotically.

Santiago’s brows knit closer together, his surprise evident.

I grimace. ‘Nobody knew,’ I explain. ‘At the time, it was reported that he died after a long battle with an illness. And that’s not a lie,’ I hasten to add. ‘Gambling addiction is exactly that.’

He dips his head in acknowledgement.

‘He left a note. It revealed the extent of his losses. He felt helpless. He was in a cycle of forever trying to dig himself out of trouble. He would hope for one more win, that that would be enough to start making repayments.’ I shake my head sadly. ‘My father felt incredibly guilty. He had money; he could have helped. But my uncle was too ashamed to ask.’

Silence falls between us.

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Santiago’s voice is carefully mute of emotion, so I don’t know if the story has had any impact on him.

‘Thank you.’ I sip my champagne. The noise of the restaurant swirls around us, but I barely hear it.

‘Your family must have been devastated.’

‘Yes. He hid his addiction so well, none of us had any idea until it was too late. Per Richard’s wishes, the truth surrounding his death was never revealed.’

More silence, softened by reflectiveness.

‘How old were you?’

‘Eleven.’ I close my eyes against a wave of memory. ‘It killed a part of my father, you know? He loved his brother, had always felt protective of him, and losing him li

ke that... I know he blamed himself.’

‘That’s futile.’

‘Perhaps. But it’s also unavoidable.’ I offer a tight smile. ‘He was different after that. My father became obsessed with duty and responsibility, with making sure I understood the importance of our role to the kingdom. I used to think when he was lecturing me that he was imagining his brother in my place, saying the things he wished he could have said to Richard.’

Santiago’s expression is analytical, his eyes scanning my face. ‘And you wanted to please your father,’ he murmurs eventually.

I lift one shoulder in defiant acceptance of that.

‘You want to please him still,’ Santiago presses and, even though it’s true, I feel as though it’s a criticism.

‘I want to make him proud,’ I say eventually.

‘And how do you do that, Freja? What do you need to do?’

‘That’s easy,’ I respond tightly. ‘I do exactly what I’m meant to do. What I was born to do.’

‘And never deviate from what’s expected of you?’

I press my teeth into my lower lip. ‘No,’ I agree after a moment. ‘Never.’ I don’t know why, but admitting that aloud feels a little like cutting off something important. I turn away, but he draws my attention back.

‘Freja...’ he says gently, lacing our fingers together. I stare at the contrast in our skin, his dark, mine fair, the juxtaposition enchanting. ‘You say your uncle grew up second best, knowing he was second best. And you are right. Gambling is an addiction. For some people it fills a void. I just wonder that, if it weren’t gambling, your uncle might have relied on another crutch. Alcohol, drugs. Both of which are equally harmful.’

I lift my gaze to his, thinking of his own experience with substance abuse, parents who’d been either high or drunk his entire childhood.

‘He gambled,’ Santiago continues. ‘But I do not know if it necessarily follows that gambling is inherently bad.’

I drop my eyes back to our hands, staring at them. ‘It killed him.’

His lack of response speaks volumes, and I don’t entirely disagree with him. My uncle wasn’t happy. He was looking to fill a void and he found his way to gambling. The initial high of winning made him feel good, possibly for the first time in his life. Maybe if he’d tried drugs or got into binge drinking it would have been the same.

‘After the funeral, I remember my father saying that gambling is the scourge of the world...that for all that it’s been around since time immemorial it should be banished, and that if he had his way it would be. He had no power over the world, but at least in Marlsdoven he could make sure the country was never touched by such a harmful practice.’ My voice shakes a little. I reach for my fork, pressing it into the rice on my plate. Steam billows towards me. ‘I didn’t think about those words again until you made your offer.’