THREE DAYS LATER, Andreas ducked his head as he alighted from the House of Cronstedt jet, the bitterly cold wind stinging his face. He descended the plane’s metal staircase and slid into the back seat of his car beside Nils.
He’d been forced to keep his engagement, a visit to Oslo, but now that he was home, now that he’d given her as much space as he could tolerate, he wanted only one thing: Clara.
But she didn’t want him.
He scowled at his reflection in the car’s window. It was dark out, after eleven p.m., and his mood was as black as the landscape. Clara’s dismissal and lack of faith in him the night of the Christmas party had stung worse than any pain he’d ever known. Nothing had felt right since he’d allowed her to run away, as if all the colour had leached out of the world.
He balled his hands into fists, failure choking him. His baby was smaller than a pea, but he’d already broken his word and let his child and Clara down. He’d been so wary of failing her as he’d failed Oscar that he’d said the wrong things and pushed her further away, given up too easily. Just as he hadn’t fought hard enough for Oscar, he hadn’t fought hard enough for Clara; hadn’t told her that he loved her and begged her to stay.
And the price of those mistakes crushed him. He missed the sound of her laughter, the scent of her skin and the tiny gem twinkling in her nose, like her own personal star. He missed her passion, her massive heart and the way she made him twice the man he was alone.
The car pulled up at the palace and Andreas stalked inside. He would go for a swim, do length after length after length until he collapsed with exhaustion. Maybe then he’d know what to do, how to change her mind and fix this.
‘Your Highness,’ Møller said, appearing from the shadows. ‘Prince Henrik requests an audience, sir.’
‘Is the prince unwell, Møller?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Very well.’
Andreas found his father in his library, behind the great slab of a desk that had once seemed vast and intimidating to Andreas the boy. But now he saw it for what it was—just a functional piece of furniture.
‘You wanted to see me, Pappa.’
Prince Henrik stood and joined Andreas near the fire, a sheaf of documents in his hand.
‘Take a seat, son.’
Andreas folded himself onto an arm chair opposite his father.
‘Everything is finalised.’ The prince tapped the folder that contained the state funeral plans for Prince Henrik: Operation Aurora. ‘A copy for your final approval.’
Andreas nodded, taking the folder and then staring into the flames. He respected his father’s wishes for the funeral. That didn’t make his dying any easier to bear.
‘You are an inspiration, Pappa,’ he said, his voice strangled with emotion. ‘I’ll try to do you proud. You have my word on that.’
Especially when, despite being a doctor, he could do so little for his father now. But, when he thought of the future, Clara was always at his side. What if, without her, he would never be whole?
‘I did things my way, just as you will do things yours,’ the prince said, walking to his drinks cabinet and pouring two tumblers of Torv, Varborg’s finest whisky. ‘Varborg will be lucky to have you as its ruler.’
Startled by his father’s declaration, Andreas took the offered glass. He’d always seen his father as a proud, emotionally distant but otherwise honourable man. Could Clara have been right? Had Andreas’s guilt and grief over Oscar blinded him to the truth? Should he have confronted his demons and spoken to his father sooner?
The prince took a seat. ‘My decisions weren’t always the right ones. We are all human, after all. After your mother died, I worried that I gave you too much freedom. I missed her so terribly, and she’d made me promise I would try to give both our boys as normal an upbringing as possible. It wasn’t always feasible with Oscar,’ his father said, sipping his drink. ‘I had to prepare him for the reality of his situation, but with you... I tried my best. And look what you’ve achieved.’
Prince Henrik glanced his way. ‘I am incredibly proud of you, Doctor Cronstedt.’
Andreas held his breath. ‘Even when it should have been Oscar sitting here with you today, discussing the succession?’
Prince Henrik frowned. ‘Life doesn’t work like that. There are no guarantees. We play with the hand we’ve been dealt.’
Andreas looked down at his hand wrapped around the crystal tumbler, his knuckles white. He was going to be a father—time to be the man his child would need. ‘I want you to know that I fought with everything I had to save Oscar. I just wish I could have done more.’
The panic flared in his chest, as if he was back inside that crushed vehicle.
‘Of course you did. You’re a doctor,’ the prince said. ‘You’ve saved countless lives.’
Andreas faced his father. ‘Except I couldn’t save the most important person to me, to our family, to Varborg.’
The older man stared, a rare display of emotion shifting over his expression. ‘I could have lost you both that day. I’ve read the official inquiry into the accident. I know what you did to try and save your brother. You were incredibly brave and fearless and determined. No one could have done more.’
Andreas swallowed, his throat too tight to take a sip of whisky. ‘I blamed myself for a long time.’
‘I’m sure, but no one else blames you,’ his father said. ‘You are a credit to me and to Varborg. I should have told you that before today. Time to lay Oscar to rest, perhaps, and live your life.’
‘How...?’ Andreas’s voice broke.
Prince Henrik tilted his head, compassion in his eyes. ‘The mark of a life well-lived is that you have far fewer regrets than blessings. I was blessed with a meaningful role, marrying the love of my life and with my two sons. What more can a man ask?’
Andreas stared ahead, wondering if it could be as simple as minimising regret. Could he honour his brother, his family, his nation, by chasing what he needed to be happy?
‘Pappa,’ Andreas said eventually, ‘I have something to tell you. Another blessing for the tally—you’re going to be a grandfather.’
Prince Henrik smiled, nodding his head sagely. ‘Indeed, another blessing. Congratulations.’
Andreas’s heart skipped a beat, the expectant flutter of excitement, a certainty that if he could win back Clara anything was possible. ‘Don’t you want to know who the mother is?’ he asked, wishing he would one day be able to count as many blessings as his father.
Prince Henrik shrugged. ‘Does it matter? If you’ve found love, that’s all I care about. Because this job—and it’s best to think of it that way if you can—will be so much easier if you have someone you love at your side.’
Andreas knocked back the whisky in a single swallow, pulled out his phone and checked his schedule for the next day. He had a visit to the local army barracks that he couldn’t reschedule, but then he would find Clara and tell her that he loved her.
Because he had found love with a woman who was his equal in every way that mattered. He didn’t want to spend another day without her, so he’d have to persuade her that their fears—his that he’d let her down and hers that she couldn’t be independent—weren’t good enough reasons for them to be apart.
Clara opened the door of her family’s home, kicked off her shoes and barely made it to the sofa before she collapsed in a wretched heap of exhaustion. She should head up to the shower, peel off her creased Nordic Care uniform and hide under the spray until she’d cried out, but she couldn’t seem to move.
Was it possible to feel so broken, but still have her heart beat? Was it because it beat for him, Andreas? Did it know better than her head what was right for her?
Reaching for a beautiful, hand-made crocheted throw her mother had made while recovering from her cancer treatment, Clara pulled it over herself and curled into a foetal ball. Would she ever feel warm again?
Alma appeared from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate. ‘You look frozen. They say there’s more snow due tonight.’
She placed the mugs on a side table, sat on the sofa and reached for Clara’s foot, tugging it into her lap so she could massage Clara’s aching instep.
‘My first job was waitressing,’ Alma said, telling the story Clara had heard before. ‘I would come home from work in tears, my feet were so sore.’
‘You’re so strong, Mama,’ Clara whispered, trying not to cry. ‘What’s your secret?’
Alma made a dismissive sound. ‘I’m a woman. We’re born strong. Look at you, for instance.’
Clara smiled, but her eyes burned with unshed tears. If only she’d been strong enough to resist Andreas. But no, she would never wish away meeting him. Falling in love had given her the most precious of gifts: her baby. Their baby.
‘But strength comes from being yourself and being happy,’ Alma continued. ‘I’ve always taught you and Freja to unapologetically love yourselves.’
Clara sighed. ‘Being happy is...complicated. And what happens if you love someone else, if their happiness feels more important than your own?’
She’d seen Alma’s love for Lars, how one-sided it had been. How soul-destroying it must have felt to be so let down by him.
Alma released Clara’s foot and took a good look at her daughter, understanding dawning. ‘Then the key is finding someone who loves you like that in return.’
‘Exactly.’ Clara offered up her other foot for a rub, bombarded by the image of Andreas’s expression when she’d rejected him. ‘Complicated.’
‘Is this about your father?’ Alma asked, working her magic on Clara’s foot. ‘You know he wasn’t always the man he became in the end. We were crazy about each other, loved each other passionately for many years. We made two beautiful and kind daughters before we lost our way as a couple.’
Clara stilled, her heart pounding rapidly. It was hard to imagine her parents young and madly in love. ‘So you don’t regret loving him, despite the way it turned out in the end?’
Alma frowned. ‘I know Lars let you down when he left. I wish he’d been there for you and Freja. What I regret is that you took on too much responsibility when I got sick,’ Alma continued, peering at Clara a little too closely for comfort. ‘You were barely an adult. Lars and I should have protected you better. But I’m fine now. You don’t need to worry about me. You have to live your own life.’
Clara smiled sadly certain that, by leaving Andreas the night of the Christmas party when she’d been too overwhelmed to think straight, she’d walked away from her only chance to feel happy.
‘I made my choices, as did Lars,’ Alma Lund continued, as if sensing the depth of Clara’s despair. ‘I’ve lived with them, made more choices. That’s all any of us can do. We can’t hold ourselves back from love in case it fades or turns sour or dies. And you shouldn’t let my choices, your father’s choices, stop you from making your own. That’s not the independent woman I know.’
Tears seeped from the corners of Clara’s eyes and tracked into her hair at her temples. She was so sick of crying, so tired of feeling empty. She wanted to live, to feel young and vibrantly alive, the way she did with Andreas.
‘I am in love, Mama,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m having his baby.’
Alma gasped, tears of joy glittering in her eyes. ‘And does he love you?’
Clara shrugged, her heart a rock. ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t tell him how I feel and he’s...kind of preoccupied with important stuff.’
Alma snorted. ‘Nothing is more important than love, Clara. You will soon know that when my grandbaby is born.’
Clara smiled indulgently, thinking about Andreas. Ruling Varborg was pretty important.
‘You must tell him how you feel,’ Alma said. ‘You are so much stronger than me. There’s nothing you can’t do, including being honest with this man. If he’s worthy of your love, then tell him, see where love takes you. It will be an adventure you’ll never regret, even if it isn’t perfect or doesn’t last for ever.’
‘You’re right.’ Clara sniffed, her tears drying up. ‘I should tell him. He likes my outspoken streak.’
‘See? I like this man already.’ Alma smiled. ‘Let’s have him over for dinner.’
Clara laughed. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Alma’s face when Prince Andreas walked through the door.
Except he was just Andreas, and if she ever met him Alma Lund would see that. But only if Clara stopped feeling sorry for herself and told him that she loved him—the real him.
‘A grandbaby.’ Alma clapped her hands excitedly and reached for her knitting bag. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Are you staying up?’ Clara said, shrugging off the throw and heading for the shower. ‘I might head to bed. I’m exhausted.’
‘You get some rest. I’ll be up in a while. I just want to make a start on baby clothes.’
Clara smiled fondly as she plodded upstairs. She didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that her grandbaby was going to be a prince or princess. It wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to the home knits.
As she lay in bed, she made the baby a promise. Andreas deserved to know that she loved him, that he was her first and only choice; that, for her and for their baby, he was the best man possible.