Page 16 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

“Yacht, charity work, can’t cook. Son of a CEO?”

I shrug, not sure I’m liking where this is going. “Something like that.”

“Heir to a fortune? Lottery winner? No, can’t be that — this is lifetime-of-privilege stuff.”

“Why do you need to know, anyway?” I snap, and immediately feel bad seeing the way her face falls.

“Sorry. I was just curious. I don’t know anything about you.”

I sigh. She’s not going to rest until I give her an answer, so I might as well go along with the narrative she’s constructing inside her head. “Yes, okay? My father and mother are both rich, and important in the places they work. Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I did grow up with a chef and a cleaner. That doesn’t mean I’m an imbecile.”

“No,” she says quietly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” I say. But I’m not sure how much I mean it.

We don’t talk much more after that, and when dinner is done, Billie excuses herself to her room, leaving me all alone in the kitchen to finish washing up.

Looks like living here might be harder than I expected after all.

CHAPTER 8

BILLIE

On the fourth day of Jens being on the island, I cave and take him with me into the wild.

All he’s done since he recovered from his ordeal is follow me around like a lost puppy. He’s constantly at my heels, wanting my attention. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he wants my affection too because there’s a rift between us about almost everything that’s pretty much impossible to bridge. But he will not leave me alone.

Plus, he seems kind of weirdly eager to learn about things — not just how to do things, but about my work, the island, the cabin. It’s like he’s an alien who arrived on Earth looking like a fully formed adult man but doesn’t have the first clue how to do anything that a real human does.

Thinking about it now, I don’t even know how old he is. Same as me, I assume — twenty-five or twenty-six. He doesn’t look like he can be any older, though he sure acts like he’s a hell of a lot younger.

Here’s a guy whose mother has done everything for him all his life, and he doesn’t realize that women aren’t there just to wait on him.

No, that feels unfair. I’ve met guys like that. I’vedatedguys like that — ones who think the whole world revolves around them, and you’re simply there to do all the cooking and cleaning without complaint. The kinds of men who get angry when you bring it up with them that maybe it’s their turn to do a chore, or let them know it might be nice if they’d listen to howyourday went instead of whining on about how awful everyone in the office was all the time. The worst part about guys like that is they always start off acting like they care so much about you and make you feel so special, but somewhere along the way, the magic rubs off and you realize you’ve stopped being a girlfriend and started being a housewife.

So, no, I don’t think Jens is like that. He’s weird and annoying, but he seems to be desperate to prove himself to me. That, his wide eyes, and his dogged desire to learn what it is to be a real human man have completely intrigued me.

I might teach him something about foraging. Maybe I’ll just get him to carry my camera case.

I don’t think I trust him with the camera yet.

To my surprise, as I lead him around the island, he isn’t bothersome at all. He carries my stuff without complaint and doesn’t even make that much noise trampling through the undergrowth. He does make a fuss whenever he sees a bug, but he could be much worse.

“What’s this?” he asks, pointing at a bush with some pink fruit on it.

I walk over to the bush, its leaves rustling, and look more closely at it. “That’s cocoplum,” I say, standing back up. “You can eat it, it’s good.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what cocoplum looks like.”

“What if there were other ones that look the same?” he asks innocently. From anyone else, I would think they were being facetious on purpose, but yet again, I think it’s a genuine curiosity and desire to know more about the world that’s shining through.

I’m certain that I should find his behavior really annoying, but somehow he amuses me.

“Here, try one,” I say, plucking a fruit from the bush and offering it to him. I take another and eat it myself — I love these things. They’re sweet and fresh and utterly delicious.

Jens narrows his eyes suspiciously, but takes it from me and places it carefully into his mouth. He frowns, but as he eats it, he starts to nod in slow approval.

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