“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Viktor says, seemingly out of the blue. We’ve been talking about the Swedish football (you know, soccer) for what feels like forever, so this change of conversation throws me.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, folding my legs up under me, careful not to knock over the bottle of wine between us.

It’s Wednesday evening and after two days of Viktor and I having rather “professional” meetings after work, either in coffee shops or in the minivan, I decided that enough was enough. I wanted to have some fun.

Actually it was Viktor who decided it. Maybe he could tell the interview was coming out stiff and formal after a while. Maybe it was because I was so damn rusty at it, maybe because I don’t actually like interviewing Viktor. I like talking to him, having an exchange of ideas, being honestly invested in what he says, because I want to, not because I have an article to write.

To be honest...I don’t think I want to do the article anymore. I haven’t completely vetoed the idea but I’m leaning toward it. Even with the formalities of asking rote questions and listening to the playback to make sure I got it all, scribbling notes when something strikes me later, I keep feeling the same feeling I had when he made us dinner. That our relationship, whatever it was, our time together, it was just for me and him. No one else. I want to keep it close to me and protect it like the fragile and precious thing it is.

And so today after work, Viktor picked me up in his sweet mustang, now fully-fixed thanks to some help from Pike, and we’re here, sitting on the top of the highest hills to the south of town, a plaid blanket I found in the garage laid out beneath us.

We have a bottle of wine. Actually two. Plus tubs of olives, slices of cheese, and onion and fig jam, and crackers. The sun is setting to one side of us, bathing us in gold that shines on the soft fresh grass of the rolling hills below us. From here it looks like Tehachapi is another world, a beautiful world. Viktor wanted to go somewhere enchanting and this was the only place I could think of.

Right now, it feels like we’re the only two people left in the world.

Right now, it’s perfect.

He sighs and leans back so he’s propped up on one elbow, one of his long legs stretched out, the other knee bent, and though he has sunglasses on, his gaze is focused on the setting sun. “I’m talking about everything, Maggie. Everything you do.”

“We’re not talking about me here,” I tell him.

“We never talk about you,” he says. “It’s been nothing but me the last two days. Frankly, I’m boring.”

“You were the one who suggested I interview you,” I point out, popping an olive in my mouth. And you’re never boring.

He looks over at me. “I know. But tonight, it’s all you.”

“Then why have you been talking about soccer this whole time?” I ask with a teasing smile.

He takes his sunglasses off to give me a steady look, the blue of his eyes popping like cornflowers against the sunset. “It’s called football, my dear.”

“My dear. So formal.”

“Did you ever want kids?”

He just lays that question on my lap, just like that.

I blink at him. “Excuse me? Did I ever want kids? Shouldn’t the question be, do I want kids? No wait,” I wave my hand dismissively, “why are we even talking about this.”

“Because I’m curious,” he says gravely. “Because the last two days I’ve been talking, and I’ve wanted nothing more than to hear you talk. Because I want you to tell me the things you keep inside, I want to be the man that you confide in, that you trust, that you want to let in.”

If that’s what you want, what even are we?

But I don’t ask that. Instead I run my hands over the plaid, the scratchy wool pricking the sensitive skin of my palm. “Kids? Honestly, I never gave them much thought. When I was younger, having a family wasn’t on my mind. All I wanted was out of this town. I wanted to be the journalists you read about, the ones out there getting the important stories, making a difference in people’s lives, shining light on injustices. That’s what I wanted. I thought that getting out of this town and going to New York would change everything. So no, I never really wanted kids, I guess. I certainly didn’t think I would be saddled with five of them, that’s for sure.”

“And did it? Change everything, that is.”

I shrug, trying to ignore the pangs of regret, the disappointment. “It might have. I was never really given the chance. You have to understand, one minute I was just a student at NYU, studying for classes, partying with friends, just trying to figure herself out on her own. The next I was here, and I was in charge of my brothers and sisters. I lost my mother, my father, hell, my dog. It’s only been a year. I’ve had no time to adjust.”

“I think you have,” he says.

I can’t help but glare at him. “You have no idea,” I snap.

His forehead creases in sympathy. “I know I have no idea. I have some idea, but not to your extent. I just don’t think you see yourself the way that I do, the way that others see you. That you’ve adjusted more to this than you think you have.”

I gnaw on my lip. I want to ask how he sees me, but I don’t have the courage right now. Suddenly I’m his focus. I think I’ve always been his focus but now he’s looking at me like I’m some puzzle he has to get to the bottom of and he won’t stop until he does.

And I should open up to him because he’s a stranger. No, he’s not a stranger anymore, he’s Viktor. He’s not the crown prince of Sweden either, he’s just Viktor. But Viktor leaves in a couple of days.

He leaves in a couple of days.

And I both want to let him in so I feel like someone out there knows me intimately, knows who I am and what I’m made of, and I also want to shut him out because if I let him in, a piece of myself will leave me and I’ll never get it back. I’ll always think back to this and think, there’s a man out there, a prince, and he knows my deepest thoughts and feelings and it might be freeing or it might be the opposite. Giving Viktor my heart might just put me in a cage.

It doesn’t seem fair to have someone get to know you right before you never see them again.

“So, how do you see me?” I whisper.

He stares at me for a few long moments, taking in the different corners and features of my face. In this light, with the sun setting behind him, the gold in his brown hair glows like a halo.

“I see a young girl, a strong girl, who had to give up her dreams and everything she wanted in life in order to do the right thing. I see a woman who made a choice to do the right thing, which was to take care of her family. Her brothers and her sisters who mean the world to her. She decided to step up and be their guardian, the one to protect them, the one to raise them. I see a woman whose strength not only lies in the day to day but in the choice to be there forever.”

I look away from his gaze, feeling like he’s peeling back too many layers and only seeing what he wants to. “I had no choice.”

“Of course you did,” he says. “You had a choice to tell the courts that you weren’t capable of raising your siblings. Legal guardian or not, they would have taken one look at you and seen how young you were, seen your lack of experience and education, maybe even the trauma that you had gone through when you lost them. They would have given them to a state worker or whatever you call them here. But that didn’t happen. That wasn’t even option for you, was it?”

I shrug. “It had to be me. There was no one else.”

“You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t think you were strong, if you didn’t think you could handle it. You would have quit. But you didn’t, Maggie. That’s strength unlike any I have seen. And, in time, maybe you’ll see it too.”

“I don’t feel strong though,” I tell him. “I just feel like I’m constantly trying.”

“There is great strength in trying. It’s like working a muscle. The more you try to do something, the more you try to do better, the stronger you’ll get.”

A silence falls between us as the last of the sun disappears. Dark blue seems to drift down from above.

“I’m only strong because I’ve been lucky so far. I don’t know what’s around the bend, especially with April. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it. I never asked for any of this.”

“I know. But that’s life. Life is about making the best out of what you’ve been given.”

I stare at him, sometimes so lost in the beauty of his face that I forget to see that sadness swimming beneath his eyes. Somehow it seems even more apparent in the dusk. “It sounds like that should apply to you, too.”

He gives me a slow nod and looks away. “You’re good at switching the subject.”

All of our conversations the last couple of days–or at least the questions I’ve lobbied his way–have been quite shallow and safe. They have to be. Something painful and in-depth, Viktor would never agree to that. He’s as guarded to the others back home, the public, his family, as he is to me here.

“You’re good at avoiding the personal questions,” I rally back.

“You’ve never asked me any personal questions.”

“Okay, then I will,” I tell him, adjusting my position to pour myself my second glass of wine. “You had told me on our first date, well, our only date,” he frowns at that, “that you were running away from something. What was that?”

“Is this on the record?”

“Of course not,” I tell him before I have a sip of wine. “This is between you and me.”

“All right,” he says. He turns over so he’s on his side, facing me, his face open. A breeze ruffles a few wisps of hair. He clears his throat deeply. “My brother committed suicide.”

I still, the wine nearly slipping out of my hands. I place it down on the blanket and hold it upright, my grip tight on the stem.

I had no idea this was what he was going to say.

He goes on, voice lower, maybe trying to mask the tremor in it. “He took a bunch of medication our doctor prescribed him. I was the one who found him. Not his guards, not his secretary, not his parents. Me. I found him because I wanted to check up on him. You see,” he trails off, looks off, wrestling with a bitter smile, “he had actually called me a few days before saying he needed to talk to me and I blew him off. I couldn’t even tell you why. Maybe because I was going through a rough patch myself, maybe because Alex was always the strong one, the perfect one. Of course we all knew better. My parents pretend they didn’t know, but they all knew fucking better.”

I’m holding my breath as he tells me this, feeling like if I make it seem like I’m not here, it might be easier for him to talk, to continue. At the same time, I don’t want him to relive any pain, I don’t want him to hurt.

He takes in a shaking breath, his nostrils flaring. “Alex never wanted to be on the throne. He never wanted to be the direct heir. It’s not that…okay, the job, the role itself, it’s extremely stressful. It might not be what it used to be, but at the same time it’s not for the weak, not for the timid. There are rules, there are obligations, your freedom and your privacy are stripped. I personally think the roles should be appointed and not through birth. Appointed to those who want them, who earn them. If that had been the case, well Alex would have never been prince and I wouldn’t be either. But here we are.”

He reaches for the bottle of wine, unscrews the cap in one motion and then pours a big, messy glassful before downing half of it in one gulp. After that, his breath seems to slow.

“Alex,” he says, after letting out a deep exhale, “was a perfectionist. Always was. My parents can be tough. He had a lot he had to live up to. From an early age he cared very much about being perfect. About being strong. Unfeeling, even. The more he did that, the older he got, the more shut off he became. He had a…an inner world, if you can imagine. A world I didn’t understand. I tried to but he wouldn’t let me in. He wouldn’t let anyone in, which is probably why he never married, never had a serious girlfriend for long. There were rumors, of course, that he was gay but that wasn’t the case. It was just that Alex started to separate that inner world of his from the outer world and the more disconnect that happened, the harder he had to appear normal and perfect. The pressure crushed him in the end. That’s all it was. The pressure. God, how alone he must have felt. So alone that he reached out to me and I came to him too late.”

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, shoulders slumped. He breathes in and out and I wish there was something I could do or say. Putting my hand on his back and telling him how sorry I am feels so trivial.

And yet I have to think about how I wanted people to be around me right after my parent’s death. People always meant well but pithy remarks never meant much to me. What mattered was knowing that someone was there for me. That I wasn’t alone.

Viktor has been nothing but alone in this.

“I understand,” I tell him, my words so soft they almost disappear on the breeze. I won’t share with him what I want to, how I can relate, that I blame myself sometimes for my parents’ death. It’s absurd, I know, I was on the other side of the country. I just think that had I not been in New York, had I been at home, it wouldn’t have happened.

But I know that comparisons don’t help. Every death is different. So I inch closer to him and I put my hand on his back and though it feels trivial still, like it’s not enough, I can only hope it is.

“Maggie,” he says, voice choked.

“I’m here,” I tell him, bringing my knees in closer so I’m now hugging him from the side. It’s an awkward angle, I’m not quite comfortable, and yet I’m not going anywhere. I hold onto him as if I can somehow absorb all his grief and combine it into mine. Maybe I don’t think I’m strong enough to be me but right now I’m strong enough for him.

“I know this isn’t like the old days,” he says, moving his face so it’s nestled in my arms, his words muffled. “I know that the monarchy doesn’t hold the power that it once did. But I am so afraid of taking this role. My whole life I lived with knowing it didn’t matter, that I would never likely be king. I was the one no one paid attention to and I liked it, I fucking liked it, because I could fail on my own and no one would notice. But now a whole country is watching. A whole country is measuring me against Alex. They never knew the truth about him, other than that he was poised and perfect. They never will know the truth. But with that comes the fact that I’ll never be enough. And that was fine before when no one cared…but now…”

“Viktor, Viktor,” I whisper to him, cradling his head, feeling his soft hair under my hands. “My moose.” I feel him smile faintly against me. “You are more than enough. So much more. You live by your family’s moto so well. Always more, never less. You are the always more and you…you fucking astound me. You know, growing up, as a little girl, you have fantasies about princes. Blame it on Disney, blame it on the fairy tales. You want that man to be noble and kind and powerful and oh so good-looking.” I let out a soft laugh. “Man, I thought Prince Eric was such a babe.”

“From The Little Mermaid?” he mumbles into me.

“Yes. Him and Prince Phillip. The way he slayed that dragon for her…anyway. These princes were ingrained in our heads as children and as we got older, we not only realized that Prince Charming was never coming for us, but that we didn’t want him. The real princes seemed so stuffy, so cold. Don’t get me wrong, I love Prince Harry and I guess William is okay, but in general, the term prince lost its meaning. It no longer conjured up the fantastic. But you…you Viktor, you are a prince in every way shape and form. You embody the word, you are selfless and kind and proud and smart and noble and you care, more than anything, you care. You’re the prince that every girl had a fantasy about but you’re more than that, because you’re real. You’re so real. And you’re here right now and you’re with me and I can’t…I can’t thank you enough.”

He raises his head to look at me. His eyes search my face as if he’s found something he’s lost and he has to double-check that it’s still his.

“What about Prince, the musician?” he asks and though his voice is hoarse, there’s a flutter of amusement in his eyes.

I can’t help but smile. “Different prince,” I tell him. “Everyone wants that prince and to be that prince.”

Viktor stares at me, giving only the subtlest of nods. I’m very aware that my arms are still wrapped around him from the side but I can’t figure out how to let go or if I even want to.

I never want to.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says as he gazes up at me, heat burning through whatever sadness was there before.

I laugh sharply. “Is that so? Because I don’t—”

What I was going to say was I don’t believe you.

But all of that falls away the moment he places one large, warm hand against my small face and presses his lips to mine.

For a moment I’m stilled. I’m reduced.

Every atom around us slows and slows until the world focuses on just one thing.

His lips.

My lips.

Then…

His mouth.

My mouth.

Then…

His hunger.

My hunger.

His step into this great unknown.

My leap off the cliff.

Viktor is kissing me, his lips moving against mine in a long, sweet, soft embrace until my own lips are dancing with his. He tastes like wine and salt and something I never knew I needed, never knew I craved, until right now. He kisses me with confidence, like he knows how to kiss me already and somehow he already does. As our kiss deepens, our mouths open in unison, our tongues tease and touch and lick like we are discovering who the other is for the first time.

Then his fingers press into the side of my face and another hand comes up to grab the back of my neck and I’m pitching backward onto the blanket. I know that food and wine and plates and knives are below me but I don’t care. I will roll around in a sea of wine, I so don’t care.

But he has me, his grip strong as ever and he lowers me back gently to the ground, brushing away anything in the way until I feel the wool blanket scratch at the back of my neck.

Now he’s partially on top of me and I’m so conscious of the weight of him, how big he is, and then I’m conscious of how much I’ve craved this. Craved this feeling of being under him, being dominated, no matter how slightly, of being wanted, needed.

Consumed.

Because now his kisses are consuming me, not just his soft lips and the wet warmth of his mouth moving hungrily against mine, but that he holds me, as if I might blow away in the breeze, the way he presses into me. I can feel the hard, long length of his cock dig into my thigh.

I’ve needed this. I didn’t realize how badly until now, the fact that he has me in his grasp, that I’m feeling every single part of me scream to life. It has me shaken to the core and…

His lips trail away from my mouth, places soft and hard kisses along the length of my jaw, then down the side of my neck. I can tell he’s eager from the way he’s rushing, his stubble cutting across my skin, the way he bites me just sharp and quick enough. Then he’s battling himself, a low moan escaping him, the kind of moan that makes me wet in a second. His breath becomes labored as he struggles to regain control, tries to slow down. The bites turn to licks, long wet swaths of his tongue in an attempt to soothe his damage.

But I want to be damaged. I don’t want the poised and regal Viktor that I’ve seen lately, the one in the suit, the one who always knows the right things to say. I want a Viktor that’s raw and messy and wild. I want him to fuck me up before he fucks me, fuck me up while he fucks me. I want to see him lose all control and struggle to regain it back.

He groans into the hollow of my neck, his hands gliding down the sides of my waist. I buck up into him, aware of how desperate I must seem and yet I don’t care. I want him, all of him, fast and hard, I just want to be free of this constant craving I have, an itch that I’m begging to be scratched.

Set me free, the thought shoots through my head like jagged lightning.

He’s trying. His hand slides between my thighs, his knee parting my legs, and I curse myself for wearing jeans, for the thick wall of fabric between my sensitive flesh and his willing fingers.

---

My phone rings, the sound shooting between us like a lancer.

I ignore it. I have to. Nothing is more important than this, than having Viktor settle between my legs, than wanting to slide my hand into his jeans, feeling him pulse in my hand.

But something is.

Something that Viktor realizes.

He pulls away, breathing hard, his eyes glazed with hunger and lust that only turns me on more. God, I’m so fucking wet I swear that I’m drowning.

“Your phone,” he manages to say, pressing the tips of his fingers into my cheek.

I nod. “It will go to voice mail,” I say breathlessly, my hands going behind his neck, trying to bring his face back to mine, to suck on those plush lips of his.

Not that I ever, ever check voice mail.

Viktor frowns and I know that he won’t relent until I answer it. He thinks it could be the kids.

And one glance at the phone tells me that it’s Pike.

Shit.

I roll away from under Viktor and put the phone to my ear, trying not to sound like I was moments away from having sex. “Pike?”

“Maggie we have a problem.”

Oh shit fuck.

“What?” My heart was already getting a workout, now it’s stepping it up a notch.

“April went back to Tito’s.”

I groan, closing my eyes. Just the other day I had tried to talk to her about why a guy like that was bad news, not to mention he could go to jail if it continued between them. She wouldn’t have any of it, not even when I started pleading with her to at least use condoms and birth control if she’s going to do it anyway. Even when I was fourteen and I got my first boyfriend, my angst levels weren’t cranked that high.

“Shit.”

“I’m going after her,” Pike says.

“Do you need back-up?”

“No, I have the cops,” he says. “One of the guys who comes into the shop regularly is an officer. I told him what was happening and he said they’re all very aware of the guy. Not sure if we can prove anything but at least this way it’ll scare the both of them.”

“Yeah until April decides to be a martyr or something.”

“Anyway, I’m going over there with the officer. I need you to come home and watch the rest.”

I know if I really wanted to I could bring up the fact that Rosemary and Thyme are old enough to take care of Callum and had recently volunteered. But I know I’m needed. As much as I want to, I’m not going to continue to roll around on this hill with Viktor while all this other shit is going on.

“I’ll be right there,” I tell him. “Thank you for getting her, for doing this.”

“No problem,” he says and hangs up.

“What is it?” Viktor asks. He’s now sitting up, watching me with concern.

I sigh and adjust myself, adjust my clothes. “April. As usual. She’s back with Tito but Pike is going over there with the cops. Maybe he’ll end up in jail. Tito, that is.”

Viktor nods. “I’ll take you home.”

Something inside me sinks. Suddenly. Like my heart has been weighted down with concrete. The idea that he’s going to take me home after this, after I’d finally gotten a taste of what we could be, how good it could be, feels so…finite. He leaves so soon and it’s like every second we have together counts.

Actually I’m hating myself for spending the last two days interviewing him for some article when I could have been kissing him. Fucking him. Being with him on so many different levels, so many ways that count. From the first moment his lips met mine I knew that this was what was supposed to have happened all along. This was how we were supposed to know each other.

“Hey,” Viktor says softly, reaching over to cup my cheek. “There’s no cow on the ice.”

I can’t help but laugh. It’s a sad laugh because, shit, I can’t let this be it for us. And it’s a warm laugh because here he is, always trying to make me smile.

But after he leaves for good, I’m not sure how I’ll ever smile again.