§ § § -- March 4, 2006
Christian was really looking forward to this weekend. For the first time in his life, Roarke had promised, he would know true anonymity; he would be able to experience what it was like not to be recognized everywhere he went, bowed to, called "Your Highness", chased after by reporters or photographers or autograph seekers…he would be a complete nobody. Anticipation sang through his arteries as he let himself into the study, where his wife and father-in-law were waiting for him.
"Hello, Christian," Roarke greeted him. "Please sit down."
"Thank you," Christian replied, taking the empty chair in front of Roarke's desk. Leslie was sitting in the other one, as she often did, and for the first time he could see that there was a strange, apprehensive expression on her face. "Are you all right, my Rose?"
"Oh, sure," said Leslie and smiled. He thought it took her some effort to clear her features, but she winked at him suddenly, and he grinned, feeling better. It would be a wonderful opportunity to spend a weekend with her, he thought.
"Good," he said. "So, then…where and when and how do I start my fantasy?"
Roarke looked thoughtfully at him. "Before you do begin, I must ask you if you're truly aware of what you're requesting of me," he said. Christian stared at him, and he lifted a hand. "I realize you believe that's a ridiculous question, but please, hear me out. I know full well how often you've complained about your notoriety in the past. You've been famous since the day you were born, and even before then; you've never been able to step out of your home without being recognized and sometimes accosted by complete strangers who want some of your time and attention. You worry at times about stalkers and kidnappers and assassins. You've had more than your fill of reporters looking for stories and photographers trying to capture your image."
"Exactly so," Christian said and sat up in earnest. "Mr. Roarke, please—you don't seem to understand. Every day of my life, this has happened to me. I honestly and truly don't know what it's like to be no one at all, just another man on the street. What is it like to get lost in a crowd? How does it feel to be able to go anywhere, anytime, in complete peace and privacy? I want that experience, Mr. Roarke. I want the opportunity to understand what it would be like to be just another ordinary human being. So many people come to you for the experience of being famous. Surely you must find it something of a novelty to have a famous person come to you for the experience of being anonymous—especially someone like me, who has never in his entire existence been so."
Roarke smiled. "Yes, royalty seems to have a brand of fame unique to the institution," he agreed, "and I can see you're very dissatisfied indeed with it. But you should understand one thing, Christian. The life of the common man is often fraught with its own peril. And you'll find none of the advantages that you, as a prince, were taught from infancy to expect as a matter of course. Some of the things you will discover you must do without may shock you." He smiled knowingly at Christian's faint frown. "You are not the first who has asked this of me. I've entertained at least a few royals who have asked for the same thing you have, including one headstrong young prince with whom I was acquainted from his childhood—you may have heard of him; he is now the ruler of Anatolia."
"King Peter, yes. Leslie mentioned once that he had been here asking for a fantasy like mine," said Christian a little impatiently. "I have no doubt he benefited highly from that experience. You know full well what my life is like. You have a unique perspective on it, being my father-in-law as you are. You've seen firsthand some of the impact it's had, not only on me but on Leslie as well, and our children. You can hardly sit there and wonder why I want to do this; I wouldn't believe you for a moment."
Roarke laughed. "Oh, I can assure you this has nothing whatsoever to do with an inability on my part to understand why you want this fantasy. I know you better than you seem to think." Christian smiled sheepishly, and Roarke's expression warmed. "I merely want to be certain that you've taken the time to think this through, that you fully comprehend what you'll be facing. And since you have in fact been famous all your life and have craved anonymity all that time—and have experienced bare glimpses of it since you came to this island—the prospect looks all the more inviting to you. I know how eager you are to begin; but I am concerned that you understand precisely what you're letting yourself in for."
"Oh?" Christian prompted, a bit reluctantly but with resignation, seeing that Roarke would have his say no matter how much he demanded to be allowed to start.
"For example, you are accustomed to a certain amount of respect—the sort that royalty automatically commands simply by being royalty. Are you not?"
"Of course, but that's all part of the identity I want to temporarily shed," said Christian, perplexed.
"Ah, yes—but your expectation of that respect has spilled over into other aspects of your life as well. You may not be conscious of it, but you expect the same respect from your employees as you do from your subjects. Perhaps not to the point of bowing and acknowledging your title, but simply because you're 'the boss'. That's an outgrowth of the respect your position in life already afforded you. When you become the anonymous commoner you so dearly wish to be, you'll lose not just the respect that comes with being royalty, but that other respect as well. Do you see my point?"
Christian shrugged his shoulders. "As long as I'm given the chance to prove myself, I have no problem with that."
Leslie cleared her throat. "You say that now, my love, but I know you and your temper. You're just royal enough to be really offended when people don't show you the respect you're so used to."
"Ach, you too? Suppose you stop making suggestions and giving advice, and save it for when we've begun my fantasy?"
Leslie settled back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest, giving him a reproving look. "We? Just where did you get the idea that I was going to be your guide? Oh no, Christian Enstad, that'd be cheating. If you want the full experience of being a nobody, then you'll sink or swim on your own. That's what happens to most of us nobodies in real life, so you shouldn't expect to get an exemption and just get your toes wet at your leisure and with your swimming coach and life ring handy. When you go in, dear heart, you go solo."
Roarke laughed at Christian's astonished reaction. "Very well put, Leslie, if a trifle harsh. But she's correct, Christian. Most people must find their own way in this world; and since you wish the full experience of being a common man, you too must do the same."
"Fine, fine," Christian said through a sigh that indicated his patience had finally been exhausted. "Surely even you must realize, Mr. Roarke, that you can give eager fantasizers only so much advice and so many warnings before you have to allow them to go in and learn those lessons on their own. Now, believe me, I'll keep in mind what you've told me, but for fate's sake, stop trying to cushion the fall you're obviously expecting me to take, and let me just take it."
Roarke and Leslie looked at each other, significantly, Christian thought; then Roarke nodded. "Very well, Christian. It will be as you request—and as Leslie informed you. In her words, 'sink or swim', at your peril."
"Then let it be that way," Christian retorted insistently, standing up to reinforce his point. "Just let me do it already."
Leslie shrugged. "We might as well send him on his way, Father. He's even willing to forgo my guidance just so he can have his weekend of paradise."
"It'll be a little less paradise without you along," Christian told her with a grin, "but you yourself seemed quite willing to simply throw me into your metaphorical ocean with no lifeboat. Now for fate's sake, please, stop delaying!"
Roarke stood up too, and Leslie followed suit. "In that case, come with us, Christian, and we'll take you to the place where your fantasy is to begin."
Christian shouldered a duffel bag Leslie had advised him to prepare and followed her and Roarke out to a car that sat in the lane waiting for them. He felt like one of the guests as she settled in front with Roarke behind the wheel; he sat behind Leslie, studying the back of her head over the top of the seat as if memorizing her. For the first time he began to wonder about the secondary aspects of his fantasy. "Where exactly are you taking me, then?" he inquired. "Will I be here on the island, or—?"
"Yes," Roarke assured him, "you won't have to leave here or worry about being stranded in a remote jungle village."
Leslie twisted in her seat to grin at him. "I managed to convince Father that that might be too big a culture shock," she said, and he laughed. "So you won't have to finesse your way out of imprisonment among primitive natives, or hack a path through the Amazon rain forest, or anything like that. You asked to just be a commoner, so that's what you'll be getting. And don't worry, the kids and I will be fine. We'll miss you, but you'll be back tomorrow evening, so it won't be so bad."
"I'm not going back in time, am I?" Christian asked apprehensively. By now he'd been involved in enough time-travel fantasies that he preferred to remain in the present day for the time being.
"No, there's no time travel involved either," said Roarke, sounding amused, like a parent reassuring a child about summer sleepaway camp. "Do you have any other worries before we let you off?"
Leslie giggled at that, and Christian grinned, feeling a little sheepish. "It's only that I've been exposed to some startling surprises, on those occasions when I've played parts in fantasies for you. I just wanted to be prepared."
"Ah, I see," said Roarke, grinning. "No, Leslie suggested that it would be enough of a, shall we say, workout for you during your fantasy without adding any of those unexpected other elements. It's really quite simple and straightforward. You wish to be a commoner, an anonymous human being, for a weekend, and that is precisely what we're giving you."
Christian sighed with relief and shook his head a little at their chuckles. "Laugh if you will, but I've been here long enough to know what can happen and to be wary of it. I do appreciate the reassurances, anyway. Oh, so soon?" Roarke was pulling off the Ring Road near the Japanese teahouse; even as he stopped the car, Christian noticed an odd shimmering in the air at the apex of the steep red wooden bridge that crossed the nearby pond.
"Yes, this is where you will begin your fantasy," Roarke said. "All you have to do is cross the bridge, and you'll be on your way."
"Perfect," said Christian and smiled, shaking his hand. "Thank you very much, Mr. Roarke. This means a lot to me." He turned to Leslie, who seemed strangely nervous again, and tilted his head at her. "Are you sure you're all right, my Rose?"
She nodded firmly. "I'm fine, my love. Just want to be sure you will be, too."
"I will," Christian promised firmly. "Enjoy your weekend, and I'll see you tomorrow evening. Perhaps even before then." He stepped forward, gently grasped her chin between his thumb and two forefingers, and kissed her. "I love you, my Leslie Rose. Well, then, see you both soon." He winked at Leslie, nodded at Roarke with a last appreciative grin, and stepped onto the bridge. So eager was he to get started that he didn't hesitate in the slightest, even when he found that moving through the odd shimmering air in the middle of the bridge felt like passing the open door of a very large oven. Nothing seemed to have changed, though when he stepped onto solid ground on the other side and turned around, he saw that he was alone. Roarke, Leslie and the car were gone, as if they'd never been there.
"Well," he murmured, indulging himself and using his native jordiska, "I suppose I should have expected that. All right, then." He gathered his bearings, adjusted the duffel on his shoulder and began to walk toward the Ring Road, his destination Amberville. After all, he had to test this fantasy out, didn't he?—and the only way he could find out if Roarke had delivered what he'd promised was to move among people and see how they reacted to him. With a confident little smile, he began to stride briskly up the road.
When he came within sight of the first buildings, Christian stopped and drew in a breath, feeling like a kid about to raid the tree on Christmas morning. Go on, do it, he urged himself. Why put it off? He grinned broadly, then moved forward, his attention on the people who came into view as he entered the town square. Some glanced at him, but to his delight, there was no recognition at all on their faces. They barely gave him a second's worth of their attention on their way to somewhere else. Not one stopped him to demand an autograph, or ask to have their picture taken with him, or (and this was the best part, he realized with glee) ask intrusive questions about his dead father and brother.
Beside himself with delight, he headed for the café on the corner of the row of shops where he had his own office, feeling peckish and deciding to buy a paper and have a little something to eat. It was a luxury he remembered having had at Ebba's Café in Sundborg, though that had been only because the Dannegård family had made it clear that he was to be left strictly alone. Here, people just left him alone because, wonder of wonders, he was a nobody! He knew he probably had the biggest, silliest grin on earth on his face right now, but he didn't care. The idea of having no one know his name was heady enough to keep him on a manic high.
He dug into the pocket of the nondescript jeans he had worn specifically for this fantasy and found some loose change and bills therein. He bought a copy of the Fantasy Island Chronicle out of a machine, then wandered into the café and treated himself to an ordinary cup of coffee and an English muffin before settling down at the counter and opening the newspaper. For a minute he wasn't sure the fantasy was going quite as he wanted it to, for the news was still the same—including all the reports about his father and brother and what they had done to his brother-in-law. But as he scanned the story, he discovered that his name wasn't mentioned in it anywhere. Even when the story recapped Esbjörn and Anna-Laura's quiet wedding, at which he and Leslie had been witnesses, he found that neither his name nor hers was in the list of those who had been at the wedding.
"Herregud," he muttered to himself, slightly taken aback. Did that mean that his existence as Prince Christian of Lilla Jordsö had been erased entirely? He was surprised and annoyed to find that this made him uneasy. Get a grip on yourself, for fate's sake. If you really wanted to be a nobody, you should have expected not to see your name in the paper! He folded the pages closed and sipped at his coffee, still faintly rattled, but slowly calming down as he registered the fact that no one was bothering him at all, even though he sat in plain view of everybody in the café. Soon the smile was back on his face.
Eventually he finished his food, arose and departed the café, then wandered to the middle of the square, not altogether sure what he should do next. A wild idea occurred to him then. Maybe I should try applying for employment in my own establishment, he thought and snickered to himself. He knew computers, after all. He turned to do so, and was shocked to find that the storefront where he'd had an office for the past nearly-six years was occupied by a candy shop! FANTASY CANDIES, the place was called. Christian gaped at it, so astounded by this new evidence of his own change of identity that he couldn't seem to move. It was all he could do to assimilate it. Why hadn't Roarke or Leslie warned him they were doing this?
He stiffened abruptly and clutched the strap of his bag so hard his knuckles went bloodless. Fate have mercy…Leslie! He had to see her. He started along the back path through the jungle, the one she had taught him about years ago that led to the back of the main house, and before he knew it was running full-tilt, desperate to get a few answers and a little equilibrium. I promise I won't scold her, he thought frantically. All I want is for her to let me know what I should expect out of this. He ignored the persistent little thought that was knocking on his mind, trying to gain admittance. He needed something familiar just now, something to get him back in balance so he could enjoy the rest of his weekend.
He burst out of the trees and paused at the edge of the flagstone terrace, taking just enough time to catch his breath a bit before crossing the patio and entering the open French shutters. He stopped short when he saw Leslie in the foyer talking to some guest, and hovered there at the back of Roarke's study, waiting for her to finish so he could have a few words with her. He took in the welcome sight of his wife, grasping at her presence as an anchor in his suddenly overturned world.
"Okay," Leslie said then, "we'll take care of it, Mr. Andrews. Has your fantasy gotten off to a good start otherwise?"
"Absolutely," said the heavyset middle-aged man with a broad gummy grin. "I just wanted to remind Mr. Roarke that I'm still allergic to cats and he's really gotta get that little beast outta my bungalow."
"Sure," said Leslie. "I'll pass the message along." She watched him depart, mumbled aloud, "I still think it's a weird time of year for a Halloween fantasy," and stepped into the study before she noticed Christian standing there.
He chuckled at her comment. "I have to agree with that. Well, my Rose, you and Mr. Roarke certainly delivered on your promise. Maybe more than I dreamed. I only wish you'd give me a few pointers so I know precisely what I'm facing here."
"Hm?" she said, blinking, her face blank. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean."
Christian felt his smile fade. "My fantasy," he began. "It seems to be quite thorough."
Leslie approached him slowly, studying him. "Maybe we'd better start over," she said, her voice carefully polite, but wary nonetheless. "Were you a scheduled guest here this weekend?"
"Of course I was," he exclaimed, staring at her. "I ödets namn, Leslie, is your memory that short? Please, my darling, help me out here."
A hot-and-cold sensation swiftly swept his body when she froze at the words "my darling" and took a small step back, putting distance between them. "I'm very sorry," she said, staring at him with no recognition whatsoever in her eyes. "But…who are you?"
Christian reeled, staggered back a step or two, almost blacked out. His own wife didn't know him! He stared wildly around the study, noting almost detachedly that everything was exactly the same as he'd seen it barely an hour ago when he'd followed her and Roarke out to the car; she was dressed the same, looked the same, everything. His eyes strayed to her left hand, and he was stunned anew when he saw that her ring finger was bare.
"Sir…my God, are you all right? Here, come and sit down," Leslie exclaimed, her concern overcoming her caution. He was so swamped by the realization that he was, truly, the nobody he'd always wanted to be that he hardly noticed her grasping his arm and leading him to a chair. "I'll get my father—just a moment."
"No," Christian gasped, horrified. It was bad enough that Leslie didn't know him; if Roarke should evince the same reaction, he wasn't sure what would happen to him. "No, please…just a glass of water, that's all."
"I'll be right back," Leslie assured him and jumped the steps into the foyer in one bound, disappearing toward the kitchen. Christian dropped his duffel on the floor and held his spinning head in his hands, trying to make some sense out of this. The idea that his beloved wife wouldn't know who he was had never occurred to him. Well…yes, actually, it had tried to, but he hadn't wanted to consider the possibility.
"Fate in her mercy," he whispered, breathing hard. "I really am a nobody."