§ § § -- January 28, 2002

"Aw, man, it's Monday again," Gordy grumbled good-naturedly, thumping into his chair and waking his computer. "Hey, Kev, how was your weekend? Morning, Bud, Myeko, how's life? Anybody got any doughnuts?"

No one replied for long enough that Gordy paused and looked curiously around; an odd, uneasy feeling snaked through him when he saw Kevin's and Bud's expressions of what looked like revulsion. Myeko's was nothing short of furious loathing. He stared at them in astonishment. "What'd I do?"

"Don't give me that, Strassner," Kevin said, rolling his eyes. "What a jerk." Gordy stared at him, completely uncomprehending. When he looked at Bud, Bud just shook his head and turned away.

"Guys, seriously, come on—what's going on? I don't get it," Gordy insisted.

Myeko scowled and arose, glaring at him. "Yeah, sure you don't," she retorted, her eyes blazing with rage. "Tell me another one."

"Humor me," Gordy suggested with some sarcasm. "Pretend I'm stupid."

"I don't have to pretend," Myeko shot back. "But since you insist on playing dumb, then fine. Here, take a look at what you did." She threw a magazine onto his desk and waited there, watching for his reaction.

Gordy recognized it as the new magazine that had offered so much money for his pictures of Christian. Everything in him seemed to turn to ice as he took in the front cover. It was equally divided between a picture of a singer he'd never heard of, Astrid Franzén, and one of his own shots of Christian. Overlaying it was the headline in bright yellow block letters: "SINGER WHO ONCE DATED PRINCE HAS HIV VIRUS: DOES PRINCE?" Gordy lurched forward in his chair and gulped loudly, fighting back a surge of nausea. Then he cursed loudly. "Who the hell did this?"

"You did," Myeko snapped. "You sold out my friends, Gordy Strassner!"

"I never—!" Gordy began, then stopped himself. Even he could see at a glance that no amount of protesting his innocence would do him any good. He shook his head helplessly, staring in disbelief at the lurid headline. "I'm gonna kill them," he muttered. "They said it was gonna be for an anniversary piece. They told me…" He cursed again and dropped his head into his hands. "They lied to me."

"Huh, at least you admit they're your pictures," Kevin remarked sarcastically from beside him. "It's not like you could've denied it anyway. Your name's on every one of them as the photographer. How much they pay you for those shots?"

Gordy didn't bother to reply. He could only gape at that cover and shake his head in disbelief, as if hoping it would all somehow go away. After a moment he looked up and saw Myeko's enraged glare, Kevin's disgusted look, and even Bud's disappointed expression.

"Go on home, Strassner," Bud said as if very tired, through a sigh. "I don't think you have to worry too much about missing a day's pay, not with what I bet they gave you for those pictures. And if you think you're unpopular now, wait till the Enstads see that."

"They've gotta know I wouldn't do that to them," Gordy insisted.

"Why should they?" Myeko demanded. "They have no more reason to believe you than we do. Even less really, especially Christian, because he's the focus of the thing. Get out of here, you lowlife, and while you're at it, read the article you so blithely sold your pictures for and see just what you really did to Christian and Leslie!"

Bud gestured at the door when Gordy looked at him. "Go on, beat it."

Gordy gathered up his things, picked up the mail that sat on his desk and added the magazine to it, then slowly left, his head spinning. It became apparent within seconds that everyone in the building knew what had happened; several passing staffers in the main hall gave him scathing looks as he left. He wondered what he was going to do about it. Rolling up the mail and the magazine and stuffing it into the saddlebag attached to his bike, he slowly pedaled back toward home, a queasy feeling in his gut. Who else knew? He really dreaded Christian and Leslie's finding out about it; and there was no question that they would somewhere along the line. Their friends and Roarke would try to protect them, but somebody was going to make a point of bringing it to their attention sooner or later, he knew. People could be cruel that way.

It was right about then, actually, that Christian arrived at the main house to pick up Leslie from the plane dock and start their weekend; as yet unaware of the brewing storm, he got out of the car and strolled at leisure down the lane and into the yard beside the main house. A few natives passing over the green caught sight of him, looked at one another and seemed to pick up their pace on their way elsewhere. Christian watched curiously, wondering what their problem was and then shrugging to himself. A few minutes later he heard the sound of an approaching car and headed back to the lane, brightening when Roarke brought the car to a stop and Leslie jumped out to hug him. "Hi, my love!"

"Hello, my Rose," he said cheerfully, hugging her back. "All's well that ends well for another weekend, then?"

"As usual," Roarke said with a smile. At the same moment another group of natives came along the lane, gave Christian and Leslie odd looks and then moved along; all three of them noticed the look and stared in amazement.

"What was that all about?" Leslie asked.

Roarke frowned. "I don't know. One moment, all of you," he called out after the departing natives, who stopped in the lane and turned, their expressions growing suddenly uneasy. "Is there something wrong?"

"You haven't seen it, Mr. Roarke?" one of the bolder ones asked.

"Apparently not," Roarke said dryly. "Seen what?"

The group looked at one another nervously, and the same native shrugged, trying to look diffident. "Somebody's spreading rumors about the prince and Miss Leslie," he said. "Mostly the prince really. This magazine came out this morning and…well…"

"And what?" prodded Roarke with a faintly ominous tinge to his voice.

"Well, it said—" the man began, but never got any farther, for they heard a loud exclamation of disgust from the veranda and all turned to see Mariki there, brandishing a magazine in the air over her head.

"Mr. Roarke, this is an outrage! Look what this rag's done to Prince Christian and Miss Leslie!" she shouted furiously, stomping down the steps and thrusting the offending item at Roarke. A bit startled, Roarke took it, looked at the cover and drew himself up straight all at once, his dark eyes going very wide.

"What is it, Father?" Leslie asked apprehensively.

Roarke looked up and winced. "I am afraid you two had better brace yourselves," he said heavily. "Christian, it seems you in particular are in the spotlight this time." He gave Christian the magazine; and when Christian saw the cover, he turned very pale. Leslie got her look at it and gasped loudly.

"Who did that?" she cried out. "Why would they drag Christian into this?"

Christian cursed very sharply and hurled the magazine to the ground. "Is there some reason I must defend myself against garbage like this?" he snarled in a rage. "Can I never be left in any kind of peace?" He let out a loud growl of frustrated fury and stood breathing hard, clenching his teeth and screwing his eyes shut.

Leslie, clutching him tightly, peered down at the magazine with a jaundiced eye and then noticed something about the picture of Christian on the front. "Hey," she said, her voice soft with disbelief, "that looks like…" She squinted harder at it, then looked at Roarke with shocked eyes. "Father, that picture's one of Gordy Strassner's shots that he took at our anniversary party. I recognize Christian's clothes from that night, and you can see the plane-dock band in the background. Why on earth would he sell those pictures to a thing like that? How could he do something like that? I never thought…"

Roarke picked up the magazine and studied the picture. "You appear to be correct, Leslie," he agreed quietly.

Christian's rage shot up a couple of levels. "Is that why he kept bothering us to let him take pictures that night?" he demanded. "Just so he could sell us out?"

Roarke looked back and forth between him and Leslie, unable to answer. Christian and Leslie looked at each other, and he suddenly stepped back from her. "What do you believe, then?" he asked.

"It's not what I believe, it's what I know," Leslie said, understanding. He needed to know she was beside him. "You and Astrid Franzén were never that close, my darling."

Sheer relief filled Christian's face and he drew her in close, hugging her hard. "Thank fate for you," he murmured, burying his face in her hair. "You remembered what I told you before." He looked at Roarke. "Could we go inside, Mr. Roarke? I think I should explain a little, but I'd far rather do it in private. It's no one else's business, really."

"Of course," Roarke agreed immediately. "Come inside. Thank you, Mariki, I believe we can handle it from here." Mariki nodded, still full of righteous outrage at the wrong done her charges, and stalked back across the veranda. Roarke ushered Christian and Leslie into the study ahead of him and they all sat down, with Christian and Leslie linking hands across the space between their chairs.

Roarke leaned forward and regarded them both. "While I understand that this is a private matter, Christian, and one you prefer not to comment publicly about, I am afraid I myself need to know the particulars before I have any chance of helping you. You need not go into detail; simply tell me what you can, and if I have further questions I'll ask them."

Christian nodded. "I've been…shall we call it 'romantically involved'…with a total of seven women in my lifetime, Mr. Roarke. The first was Johanna; we were married when I was nineteen, and just less than three years later she was killed in a train derailment in Norway. We weren't in love; as a matter of fact, we disliked each other enough that we slept in separate rooms from the very night we were wed, and that marriage was never actually consummated. The second woman I was involved with was an oil heiress by the name of Ingela Vikslund. I met her in 1983…I think I was 24 at the time. She was the first woman I…" He hesitated, and Leslie squeezed his hand.

Roarke nodded understanding of what Christian had left unsaid. "I grasp your meaning, Christian. Please, go on."

"It didn't last long," Christian said, his gaze dropping with discomfort. "We shared her bed exactly once. It wasn't long afterward that we went our separate ways. But I'm not the most social of people, and for royalty that can be somewhat detrimental." He shrugged. "In any case, it was another two years before the third woman and I met. She was a young actress from Sweden, named Maria Dahl. It lasted two months during the summer of 1985 and never got beyond the platonic stage, because I found her so shallow. Also, my mother died late in August that year, and I just didn't have the time or inclination to bother, through my grief.

"Astrid Franzén was the fourth—the woman featured on that magazine cover. I met her in 1989…at the time it was a mere two or three weeks before my thirty-first birthday, and my father was livid that I'd gone this far and been involved with only three women in my entire life. He couldn't understand why I refused to be seen with starlets, heiresses, jet-setters, other royalty, the daughters of assorted politicians…as I said, I'm not very social, particularly not for a prince. He made it plain that he found me a great disappointment." He cleared his throat and gave Leslie such a sheepish look that she blinked in surprise and half smiled. "Astrid was an attempt to quiet him, I'm afraid. I was in such a rage, so furious that he couldn't simply accept me as I was, that I decided to give him the shock of his life. That very same night I went to a rather notorious nightclub in downtown Sundborg and made certain I was very visible." Christian grinned and shook his head at himself, then looked at Leslie again. "Incorrigible."

"As always, my love," she said with a soft laugh. "It's okay, I'm here for you."

Christian seemed to relax a little at that and renewed his grip on her hand, finally daring to meet Roarke's amused gaze. "It just so happened that Astrid Franzén was performing at the club that night. I had already begun to regret going, but I felt I was in too deep and I might as well make a thorough job of it. So I found a table up front, evicted its occupants—yes, I was in a very royal mood that night—and sat facing the stage, watching Astrid sing. Eventually she noticed me. She's also a jordisk native, you see, so of course she knew who I was. When she finished her set, she jumped down from the stage and took the empty chair at my table, and asked me point-blank what I was doing there. I told her I was trying to shock my father, and she told me that was the reason she was a punk singer…for that's what she was." He quirked his mouth and looked away when Roarke's eyes widened and a grin broke out. "What can I tell you?"

"Most young men have periods of rebellion, Christian," Roarke said reassuringly. "I think you simply experienced yours a little later than average. Go on."

"Yes, well…" Christian grinned reluctantly. "She said she became a punk singer to shock her extremely straitlaced parents, and that it had worked so well they hadn't spoken to her in six years. She suspected they'd be equally stunned if they saw her dating one of the royal family. So our 'relationship', such as it was, was merely a conspiracy to make a statement to certain people. We became friends, as much as a prince and a punker can ever be friends, and spent five months escorting each other to concerts, out to dinner, and to the odd formal event that most royals seem obliged to attend. I'm afraid I especially anticipated those occasions, because my father would spend the whole evening steaming, without being able to do or say anything—at least not in public.

"Anyway, that first night, Astrid and I sat there at that table and talked for a good hour or more, and then she asked if I was interested in dinner somewhere. I was hungry, so I agreed. And naturally, we were caught out and about by some tabloid photographer. The very next day, Astrid and I dominated the cover of that rag, and my father did in fact get the shock of his life. He was so stunned he lost the power of speech and simply stared at me as if I had gone mad before his very eyes. Frankly, I was delighted—it was exactly the effect I had hoped for. When I invited her to the birthday party my family insisted on holding for me later that month, he was shocked all over again. The shock value wore off shortly afterward and he simply grew enraged with me." Christian sighed. "Now that I look back at it, I see it as the silliness it really was. But my temper had gone beyond my control and I was simply fed up."

Leslie giggled. "Completely understandable."

Christian looked at her and chuckled, remarking, "You're very indulgent with me, my Rose…maybe too much so. Where were you at the time I was using Astrid to drive my father half insane with anger?"

"Married to Teppo," she said. "The day after your birthday, we had our fourth wedding anniversary—it was the beginning of the last year of his life."

"Ah, I see…so even if I had somehow met you then, it wouldn't have done me any good," Christian said, grinning wryly. "Well, let me finally get to the point here, Mr. Roarke. Astrid and I were never more than friends. We just weren't attracted to each other; in fact, she was developing an interest in the lead singer of some goth-rock outfit from Great Britain somewhere. The one time we ever kissed was when she told me she had decided to openly pursue the man, and that was a peck on the cheek on both our parts. She thanked me for my friendship, wished me luck and walked away…and that was the last I ever saw of her. We never once shared a bed, not for any reason at all."

Roarke nodded and asked, "Was this something you or she ever made public?"

Christian shrugged uncomfortably. "We should have, I suppose. Unfortunately, we were both still young enough to be stupid and a bit reckless, and we were having too much fun startling our respective relatives and provoking the media. Once we parted ways, I went back to my quiet private life, and the tabloids got the message after several weeks of speculation and left me alone again finally. It was a relief; I realized shortly after she was gone that I'd been growing tired of making social rounds like that.

"In any case, I met the daughter of Lilla Jordsö's largest jeweler in the spring of 1992: Karin Grimsby was her name, and we were introduced at some stuffily formal party in the city. Karin was a very quiet, refined young woman, exactly the sort suitable to be seen with a prince, and I did like her. It was about as close as I had ever come to falling in love till that time. She was my fifth relationship, and the second woman I…had relations with. That one lasted nearly till Christmas, and I broke it off because I realized that in spite of everything, she still hadn't quite reached my heart. Perhaps that's because her world was too close to the one in which I was raised…all stuffy, stilted formality and refined manners and chilly treatment of those considered inferior, in whatever way. She took it well; her parents didn't, but that was their problem." He sighed gently; then his eyes warmed and he stroked his thumb across Leslie's fingers. "Then, of course, in the summer of 1996, I came here, met Leslie, and finally…finally…fell in love—only to be thwarted by my enforced marriage to Marina, whom I suppose you could count as the sixth woman I was involved with. And as you both know, that marriage wasn't consummated either. Leslie is the seventh and last, and, well…I daresay the state of our relationship is obvious."

Roarke chuckled at that. "In a very good way, Christian. So…you've had a somewhat checkered dating history, it seems, but clearly nothing scandalous—not even your involvement with Miss Franzén. After all, as you said, you were merely friends with her."

Christian sat up and stared at him, then ventured, "You believe me?"

"Is there some reason I should not?" Roarke inquired curiously.

"No…no, I merely admit to surprise," Christian said. "After all, it's only my words. If I say that Astrid Franzén and I never slept together, it will be seen only as the panicked former prince trying to save his reputation. It will have to come from Astrid."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other and nodded regretfully at the same moment. Christian, having been a public figure all his life, was clearly all too familiar with the ways of these things. "Then perhaps the only thing you can do is to remain out of sight as much as possible," Roarke said quietly, "and see what develops. I am terribly sorry I can do nothing more to assist you, Christian…"

Christian shrugged. "It's not something you should feel obliged to apologize for," he said. "In a way, I'm relieved that you know. Those who are most important to me will know the truth—especially Leslie." He gave her a look of love and gratitude, and she smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "I just wish I could understand what made Gordy do what he did. We both thought he was a friend, and—"

At that moment the door flew open and Gordy Strassner skidded in, catching himself on the support post. Roarke, Leslie and Christian all arose to stare; instantly Christian's features grew cold and angry, and Leslie looked almost as forbidding as he did. Roarke, too, looked grim, and their expressions put Gordy on the defensive from the start. "It's not my fault!" he exclaimed.

Christian stared at him, disbelief and disgust written all over his face. "You can actually dare to say that, after a betrayal like this?" he demanded.

"Gordy, how could you?" Leslie asked, bewildered, going to Christian and sliding a protective arm around him. "We trusted you…considered you a friend."

"I am!—if you'd just let me explain!" Gordy burst out desperately.

Christian's hazel eyes were icy—a look Leslie quietly hoped she'd never see directed at her. "We know all we need to," he said in a clipped voice. "It's the sort of thing I expect from the media…but I thought I was safe from that here. It seems I was wrong. Is there no one I can trust anymore, other than my own wife and family?" He shook his head. "Please, Mr. Roarke, if you'd excuse us…" He caught Leslie in his embrace and took her with him, past Gordy and out the door.

A knot of young native girls, four or five of them perhaps, stood in the middle of the brick walk leading from the steps to the lane, in a huddle and going over the very magazine that was causing trouble. Christian stopped short; Leslie drew herself up straight, a sudden wrath of her own surging forth. "Wait here just a second, my love," she murmured to him and strode determinedly across the porch and down the stairs. The native girls heard her steps and turned as one, quailing at sight of her.

"Doesn't any one of you have any work to do?" Leslie spat, eyes blazing.

That was all it took; the group split apart and fled in all directions. Leslie stood there with her arms folded over her chest, seething quietly, but looking on with satisfaction. At times she found it quite expedient to be her father's daughter. Christian caught up with her, a faint grin on his face and a light in his eyes. "My heroine," he kidded gently.

She hugged him hard. "It's completely unfair," she muttered, simmering. "That stupid rag picking on you, giving it a slant that makes it impossible for you to defend yourself—and someone we thought we knew getting himself involved. Oh, Christian, my darling, I wish I could make everything right for you again. I feel so…powerless."

"All you need, my Leslie Rose, is the power to terrify the locals into having some respect," Christian said humorously, rocking her and stroking her hair. "I know it's hard to believe, but this will eventually blow over. We'll just have to face a lot of questions in the meantime, especially from our friends and probably the family in Lilla Jordsö." He sighed deeply. "It wouldn't bother me half as much if it weren't for Gordy's involvement. I really thought he was a friend. I thought that here, I would be able to trust those around me, as I never quite learned to do growing up. I suppose I'd better stop dreaming."

She pulled her head back to look up at him. "Just remember this, Christian, please. No matter what else happens, no matter who might betray you, no matter who does what to you—you can always count on me. I'll always be there, I'll always be on your side. Even if everyone else on earth turns their backs on you, there'll still be one person sticking with you, and that's me. As long as I'm there, nobody hurts you. I love you."

He was smiling broadly when she finished, and now he dipped his head and kissed her. "My darling, I would trust you with my very life. Now why don't we go on home and close out the rest of the world. The next two days belong to us, and I think we deserve to go incommunicado for the duration. And by the way…I love you too, always."