and only cry if it was from anger—the only acceptable emotion, it seemed.
The flight attendant walked in carrying a tray that held the kale-carrot-mango protein shake he’d asked her for, and Johan shut down his tablet. As she placed the drink down, she gave him the conspiratorial look she’d been sporting since he’d left the bedroom.
“Is Ms. Jerami still . . . sleeping?” she asked coyly. When he’d first boarded, the woman had gone into the state of nervous shock that overtook lots of people when they met him, even those accustomed to dealing with VIPs. Johan was a bit of an outlier even amongst royalty. He fell into the category of semi-celebrities people thought they knew, and now that he’d seemingly lived up to his reputation, the flight attendant felt comfortable enough to basically ask if he’d worn Nya out.
Johan reminded himself about his big bad wolf line—he was hardly the one to pass judgment on this woman for seeing him exactly how he’d taught people to see him. He modulated his voice to vague disinterest. “I hope so. She looked like she could use the rest.”
The attendant raised her brows, and Johan inhaled deeply.
“Nothing happened between us,” he said on the exhale, his bluntness only slightly softened by the charm he ratcheted up. “She didn’t know I was in there because, as you know, I asked for privacy when I boarded. I’d appreciate if you kept any misunderstanding about that to yourself.”
“Oh yes! Of course, Your Highness.” She executed a little curtsy, but as she straightened, she winked at him. “My lips are sealed.”
Scheisse de merde. By tomorrow there could be all kinds of “mile high club” puns screaming from the front page of the tabloids.
“Nothing happened,” he reiterated. He almost added that he wasn’t “your highness” either. He was the stepson to the King of Liechtienbourg and half brother to the actual prince; he was Liechtienbourg’s literal redheaded step-prince. He’d once printed up cards to hand out to people in a fit of youthful pique, but that had gone over like burned schnitzel with the king.
He sighed, then fluttered his lashes in the flight attendant’s direction until he had her full attention. “Mariha—what a beautiful name that is. Now, Mariha, I don’t mean to push this, but I must make sure that there are no falsehoods spread about me and the princess’s cousin. That would be terrible for everyone involved, wouldn’t it? If it was discovered royal staff had spread lies that might hurt Ms. Jerami?”
He tried to muster his look of affable pleading underlined with stern threat.
“Right, Your Highness,” Mariha said carefully. “I understand. I’ll go wake Miss Jerami because we’ll be landing soon.”
Her gaze lingered on his, as if they now shared a thrilling secret, and then she strode away. Johan groaned and pressed his head back into the headrest. He was off his game. Even though he’d run away from Liechtienbourg and memorials and memories, he couldn’t escape the general malaise that came with this anniversary every year.
He pulled out his phone and did a quick check-in on Lukas, whom he expected to be in bed given the time difference, but who appeared as ONLINE in their chat app.
Jo: Ça va, petite bruder?
The message was first marked as RECEIVED and then as READ, but no telltale “Baby Bro is typing” appeared as it usually did. After a moment, Lukas’s status switched to OFFLINE.
Johan’s breath went shallow for a moment but he didn’t panic.
There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his lack of response. Maybe Lukas had noticed he had a message, half-awake, then fallen back to sleep. Or hadn’t actually read Johan’s message, and would respond in the morning. It wasn’t as if his brother, the person he cared about most in the world, would purposely avoid him.
He switched to his secret social media handle to check the relentlessly nosy royal watcher accounts that had begun to track Lukas despite Johan’s distracting antics.
The first thing to pop up in his feed was a photo of his brother, looking sad and pale as he stood in front of the memorial to their mother, holding a wreath. His mouth was a grim line, but his posture was straight and his expression steely. He looked every inch the image of a handsome, dutiful future king, surrounded by strangers in dark suits, and it made Johan’s stomach turn. He’d tried so hard to keep Lukas out of the spotlight, but the comments below the image showed his control