The Introvert's Prince Read online

  “Is Viggo coming?”

  She snorted softly as he pulled her down the steps towards the kitchen to pick up their meal. “Have you ever known Viggo to not be there?” The man might be an ass sometimes, but he always made time for Stefan, when Marcia texted him their plans.

  “Yes!” Stefan punched the air with his free hand. “I want to know what he thought about the X-Men he gave me last time. I didn’t understand one part.”

  “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss it. You know him and comics.”

  “He said it’s a good way to practice my English.”

  Marcia ruffled the boy’s hair, even though he tried to duck out of the way. “He’s right. You’re getting really smart, and it was a good idea of his.”

  Viggo Magnusson often had good ideas where Stefan was concerned. He was good at not only bringing the boy gifts, but also discussing them and making sure Stefan grew as a result. It was such a contrast to his public image that Marcia often couldn’t believe it.

  The Playboy Prince was kind and gentle and loving when it came to Stefan, and she’d long ago fallen in love with him because of it. She’d gotten very good at hiding her feelings, of course, because she didn’t need Viggo to know. But it had been a relief when Alek had broken their engagement, because even then she hadn’t known how she was going to be able to spend the rest of her life as Viggo’s sister-in-law, when she wanted to be his—

  No.

  There was a reason the tabloids had nicknamed him The Playboy Prince. He was a notorious flirt, never seen with the same woman more than once. He’d dated hundreds, if not thousands, of women over the last seven years, and Marcia had stood in the shadows of the events, watching him. He was gorgeous and charming and completely aware of how sexy he was. And he used that to his advantage.

  She, however, was just her father’s second daughter. The shy one. The invisible one.

  The one who’d been raising Stefan for seven years, because Viggo hadn’t.

  He was a good man, a good father, but he had never acknowledged his son in public—too ashamed of what he saw as less-than-perfection, probably. He hadn’t even allowed her to tell Stefan the truth about his paternity.

  And as she and Stefan carried the basket between them, heading for the meadow by the cliffs which bordered one of the royal estates, Marcia had to remind herself of the truth.

  No matter how incredible Viggo was with his son, no matter how much she loved him for that, she couldn’t respect a man who refused to acknowledge his own child. Her father called Stefan “that crippled bastard”, and if that’s what Viggo thought too, then he wasn’t worthy of her respect.

  She would share Stefan with him—share her birthday with him—but never her heart.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Viggo knocked on the door to his brother’s study and stuck his head in before Johan could answer. “Hey, you got any plans tonight?”

  “Hey,” his twin said dryly, without looking up from his computer screen. “Thanks for knocking.”

  “No problem.” Viggo stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him. “So, you want to come check out the new nightclub on Solberg Avenue with me tonight?”

  “Check it out?” Johan snorted. “You’ve been there three times already, and it’s only two weeks old.”

  Viggo shrugged as he threw himself into a chair and draped his leg over one arm. “Yeah, but you haven’t been.”

  His twin brother sighed and made a few movements with his mouse like he was closing windows, and Viggo grinned hopefully. However…

  “Have I ever gone to a nightclub with you? Have I ever given you the impression I would enjoy that?”

  “You used to,” Viggo reminded him. “We used to have fun together.”

  “Yeah, but I grew up.”

  “Ooooh, ouch.” Viggo clutched his chest. “A mortal blow! From my dearest ally!”

  Johan just snorted. “You’ll survive. Why do you care, anyhow? Did your date—or dates—stand you up? Or…?”

  Viggo squirmed. “Or what?”

  “Or are you just bored?”

  Dammit. Trust Johan to see the truth. He’d always seen the truth when it came to Viggo. He knew just how much of “The Playboy Prince” was a sham, a cover, and Johan definitely didn’t approve.

  Time to change the subject. “So, hey, how about this family lunch tomorrow, huh?”

  Johan leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers together and staring at his twin over them. Viggo resisted the urge to squirm—when Johan did that, he always felt like a kid about to be yelled at. Johan had long ago mastered Mother and Alek’s way of making Viggo feel like a massive screw-up.

  The only difference was that Johan knew the truth. So when Johan looked at him like that, it was…effective.

  Viggo sat up, swinging his leg back around to where it was supposed to be. “What?”

  “What, what?”

  “You sound like a rapper. I just mean, why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like how?”

  Viggo rolled his eyes. “Like you’re about to give me a lecture.”

  “Would it help?”

  Probably. “No.”

  Johan stared for another few uncomfortable moments, before sighing. “You’re better than this, Viggo.”

  Bristling, Viggo tried to play dumb. “Better than what?”

  “A different date every night. Partying. Flashy cars and expensive champagne and cheap women.” He sighed and reached for the papers near his computer, stacking them neatly. “At least you don’t bring them back here.”

  Never failed. Johan found a way to make him feel lower than a worm, and he did it supportively. Viggo’s defense was half-hearted. “Arne drives a Maserati.”

  Johan’s left brow went up. “Arne doesn’t have a son he’s been hiding for years.”

  “Dammit, that’s what this is about?” Viggo gripped the armrests of the chair, prepared to hurl himself out of it and towards his brother. “Stefan’s the reason you’re so uptight today?”

  “Well…” Johan looked down at the papers he was holding, obviously not seeing them. “Yes. Yes, he is. Our mother is getting married in three days, and she doesn’t know she has a grandchild. No one knows she has a grandchild.” His grey glare, when he focused on Viggo once more, was as sharp as Mother’s could be. “I’m the only one in the family who knows about him, and I’ve never even met him. I haven’t seen a photo of him in almost six months, Viggo!”

  “Seriously? That’s why you’re pissed?” Viggo launched himself from the chair, and by the time he reached his brother’s desk, had his phone out and the gallery pulled up. “Here.”

  When he shoved his phone in Johan’s face, his brother took it and began flipping through the photos Viggo had taken during his last clandestine picnic with his son and Marcia.

  “He’s cute. I remember seeing him once at some event Lindqvist threw,” Johan said distractedly as he flipped. “A few years back. It was outside, I think…”

  “His daughter Marcia’s birthday, three years ago. She was turning twenty-two, and Lindqvist made a big deal out of it. She insisted Stefan attend…”

  Johan looked up sadly. “It was the last time Lindqvist let the boy out in public, wasn’t it?”

  Viggo didn’t answer, but instead crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned one hip against his brother’s desk. Herman Lindqvist was a real asshole, from everything he’d heard from Stefan and Marcia.

  Marcia. When she’d been dating Alek, Viggo’d had the hardest time keeping his mouth shut. Any fool could see that the two of them were a bad match—Alek had always had a stick up his ass and figured anyone who wasn’t just like him was useless. And Marcia…Marcia was quiet, yeah, but she was kind. And understanding. And gentle.

  And even though it was really stupid, a part of Viggo had considered her his for a long time. He was the one she sent photos to, he was the one she texted when Stefan needed to get away. Yeah, i
t was only because she wanted him to be involved, but…but the fact she’d gone through all that trouble for all those years just proved she was a kind person. Someone who was content to work quietly at home, making sure a little boy had the best childhood he could, because his father was a worthless playboy.

  Johan was staring at the photo on Viggo’s home screen. Marcia had taken it last year, and it was Viggo’s favorite. He was holding Stefan—the kid was almost getting too big for it these days—and the boy’s arms were wrapped around his neck. They’d been looking up at a plane overhead, and Marcia had captured the look of joy and wonder on Stefan’s face.

  “This is a good one of you two,” Johan said quietly.

  “Yeah. I love his expression.”

  “Yours too.” Johan’s finger hovered over the screen. “You’re looking at him like he’s the best thing in the world. Like you really love him.”

  “I do.” The admission was immediate, certain. Stefan was the best thing in Viggo’s life, and he knew it. “He’s the only…real thing I know. You know?” No, that didn’t make sense. “I’m not good at anything. You and Alek and Arne and the others, you’ve got a reason for being. You’re good at what you do. I’m good at being bad.”

  He shrugged, still staring at the phone in Johan’s hands. “But Stefan…when I’m with him, I feel like I’m good at something.”

  There wasn’t another soul in this world he’d tell that to, aside from Johan. His twin had been able to read his mind since they were small, and not explaining wouldn’t have helped. Johan would’ve figured it out eventually anyhow.

  Right now, he was nodding thoughtfully. “It sounds like you care for him.”

  “You know I do.” Johan was the one who’d covered for him more times than Viggo could count, when he snuck out to meet with Marcia and Stefan.

  “Then why in the hell haven’t you shouted that from the rooftops? Why are you hiding him?” Without giving him time to answer, Johan wiggled the phone. “My reports say Lindqvist is ashamed of the kid’s deformity, but—”

  Viggo snatched the phone away, as if it would protect Stefan from those words. “He’s not deformed,” he snarled. “He’s got some wonky fingers, that’s it. The kid can write and draw and hold a cricket bat as well as anyone.”

  “Ah.” Johan sat back in his chair. “So that’s not the reason you’re hiding him.”

  Viggo spit out a curse his brother ignored and stomped back over to the chair he’d occupied earlier. He was too pissed to sit still, so he paced around it once, twice, before collapsing into it.

  When he looked up, Johan was still watching him expectantly.

  “What?”

  “Why are you hiding Stefan? You’re not the first noble—or even the first prince—to have a kid outside of marriage. And frankly, of the six of us, no one in the kingdom would be surprised if you suddenly announced you had a child.”

  Why? Why hide Stefan? He hadn’t planned on it, not at first. At first, he’d only kept the secret because Viggo liked having it to himself, liked having something special like an infant with his eyes who’d wrap his tiny fingers around Viggo’s. Liked hearing baby laughs, and feeling as though they were just for him. Liked the way the toddler’s expression would light up when he yelled “Eeego!” and threw himself at Viggo’s legs.

  By then, though, the secret was a true secret. He hadn’t told anyone, and Marcia had agreed to keep his secret—even from her father—and he couldn’t suddenly just spring that on his family. Johan had known only because Johan always knew.

  “I don’t want him…” He trailed off as he tried to come up with words to explain. “I don’t want him to grow up like me.”

  “To be like you?”

  A playboy fool. Viggo snorted. “Obviously. But, no…” He thumbed the code into his phone again, to pull up the photo of him and his son together. “Being a prince isn’t—well, you know.”

  Johan grunted, and Viggo knew his twin understood. Even though Johan had followed in their oldest brother’s footsteps, and had taken to the duty and tradition thing the way their mother had drummed into them, he understood what Viggo meant.

  “All of us, we have our roles, you know?” When he swiped the screen with two fingers, Stefan’s sweet expression expanded to fill the screen. “Not just our jobs, but our roles. You and Alek are the serious ones. Mack and Arne are the smart ones. Kristoff doesn’t care about anything the rest of us do, and I…”

  “You care too much,” Johan finished quietly.

  They’d been wild together, once. As kids, the twins had been holy terrors. Even as teenagers, they’d gotten into loads of trouble together. And then Viggo had knocked up an Earl’s daughter and everything changed.

  Johan settled down, took on more responsibility, and Viggo…had done the opposite. He had been a real playboy then, when he’d met Rebecca, but after Stefan’s birth, he’d thrown himself into the role. The tabloids loved him, and over the years, he’d done his best to stay in the tabloids, even if it was for B.S. reasons. Even if being The Playboy Prince was just a role he played now.

  Still staring at his son’s expression, he said quietly, “This is all I know how to do. All I know how to be. But…”

  “But it’s not you, not really,” Johan finished. “I know. You’ve pigeonholed yourself into this role, and you’re not sure how to break out.”

  Viggo was nodding before his brother finished speaking.

  Johan leaned forward in his chair once more. “But I know. You’re a good father, Viggo. You are. Even if your son doesn’t know he’s your son, you love him and spend time with him. But you could spend more time with him, without having to sneak around, if you made him part of your life.”

  “I want to be part of his life. I don’t want him to have to be part of…of all this.” Viggo waved his hand around, the gesture encompassing him and his brother and the study and the entire estate.

  “Why not?”

  Viggo sighed. “Because I don’t want what happened to me—to us—to happen to him. We were all different people as kids, you know? But we’re always being watched. We’re always aware of our image and what the reporters are going to say. Well, maybe not Kristoff—he doesn’t seem to care.”

  “Are you aware that the rest of the family says the same thing about you? That you don’t care what the reporters say?”

  Viggo snorted.

  “I know.” Johan was nodding. “I think I’m the only one who realizes you act the way you do because the journalists are watching.”

  “Being a prince is all about your image. What are you wearing, eating, doing, who are you being seen with?” He stared at the photo of his son again. “You guys changed too, you know, because of all this scrutiny. I don’t want Stefan to have to experience that.”

  “So you’ve kept him a secret.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Viggo nodded. “It wasn’t intentional, not really. I just…didn’t say anything at first, because I wanted to keep him—keep my feelings for him—all to myself. And then I just got used to keeping that secret.” From everyone but Marcia and Johan.

  Johan sighed, and reached for his mouse once more, signaling he was done with the conversation. “Viggo, tell Mother at least.”

  “What?”

  “She’s about to enter a new stage in her life, with this remarriage to a man she obviously loves. Now is the time to tell her—to tell the entire family—about Stefan.” He met Viggo’s eyes, and his expression was almost pleading. “Please. This is a secret I don’t want to keep for you any longer. I love you, but the rest of the family deserves to know…even if you never tell the world.”

  Viggo squirmed. It was impossible not to, when Johan played that “twin secret-keeper” card. He rarely did it—usually just to keep Viggo from doing something asinine—so that meant when he did, it worked.

  “Viggo?”

  “Fine!” The word exploded from him. “Fine,” he repeated, softer. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

&
nbsp; He wasn’t going to share Stefan with the world—certainly not with the journalists and reporters who were always sniffing around, wondering what Viggo was going to do wrong next—but his brother was right. His family did deserve to know about his son.

  He just had to figure out how to do it.

  Johan held his gaze and nodded slowly. “Good. Thank you.”

  Viggo exhaled loudly and stood up. Conversations like this with Johan were always emotionally exhausting—and he’d just popped in to ask his twin if he wanted to go to a club! Of course, Viggo wasn’t feeling it so much anymore. Instead, there was an itching inside his chest—shame?—and a feeling like he needed to run really far and really long.

  But he had a feeling he couldn’t outrun this. Stefan was his responsibility, and by denying him to his family for so long, he’d been denying that responsibility.

  Maybe the papers were right; maybe Viggo was nothing more than a dissolute, useless partyer.

  “Where are you off to now?” Johan asked, his attention already on his computer screen.

  Flipping his phone around in a nervous habit, Viggo thought about what he’d planned for the day. “Marcia invited me to a picnic with her and Stefan.”

  “Marcia invited you?” his brother asked mildly.

  “I’m sure she only did it because Stefan asked her to,” Viggo hurried to explain. Of all the young, beautiful single women in this kingdom, Marcia Lindqvist’s name was one of the few not linked to his in the tabloids.

  Not since Rebecca.

  And that was okay. Marcia was sweet and innocent and better than someone like Viggo deserved. He didn’t want to bring her down that way.

  She deserved better.

  Viggo sighed again and turned to leave the room, but his brother looked up one last time.

  “Have fun today, Viggo. Enjoy the time with my nephew.”

  My nephew. Marcia was Stefan’s aunt, but the boy had five uncles—Viggo’s brothers—he didn’t know. Wouldn’t know, unless Viggo pulled his head out of his ass and figured out a way to tell everyone the truth.

  “Mom’s still planning that family lunch tomorrow on the yacht, right?”