Page 14 of Royally Drawn

“I feel that way about photography,” I said.

“Really?”

I nodded. “But no one ever lets me take photos. So, I mostly take pictures out of plane windows. People think I’m odd, I’m sure.”

Ingrid turned to me and giggled. “You are, but that’s fine.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help but adore her laugh. It was only second to the sound of her absolute ecstasy from the night before. I debated telling her I’d heard her. I knew I needed to appreciate this bonding moment and let it go. I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. She was so natural and free out here drawing the boats.

“I like how you are drawing their sails,” I said.

“The rigging matters, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. It looks good.”

“I did take a creative liberty or two. I drew this little guy aloft.”

I was surprised she knew whataloftmeant. That wasn’t a word most non-sailors knew.

“Aloft? Do you sail?”

“I do with Rick,” I said.

Ah, Rick the Prick.

The Prince Consort of Neandia rehabilitated his status over the years, but when he was my age, most of the royal women in Europe dubbed him Rick the Prick. He had a bad reputation for womanising, drinking too much, and behaving like a prick, and it stuck even now. He still competed in summer sailing competitions with his father and brother.

“Do you?” She asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. I go out with my brothers anytime we can.”

“We compete against them,” I heard Lars say.

He was there with two cups of coffee.

“As promised, no sugar, just cream,” Lars sat one mug down next to Ingrid.

I wanted to glare at him but kept my cool. The bastard managed to get up before me? And now he was moving in? Impossible!

“Oh, thanks, Lars,” Ingrid said sweetly.

“Friendly competition,” I added.

“Yes, because we will always win,” Lars countered. “The Norwegian teams are world-class. The Brits cannot keep up. You’ve seen us race, Ingrid.”

He invoked familiarity now. Lars was better at this than I anticipated.

“And yet I’ve beaten you,” I said. “Cute, that.”

Over her coffee, Ingrid asked, “How is it then… growing up under one roof as enemies?”

After she took a long sip, Lars and I stared at one another, unsure what to say.

“We are friends,” Lars said. “But there is always a healthy competition.”

“The twins are closer to the Norsk family,” I said. “They grew up in Oslo with Mamma. Then, there is Betty.”

“Betty is the one we all love most of all,” Lars admitted. “She’s our mascot, Pappa says. She’s the one who brought us together in a way we never anticipated.”

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