Page 157 of My Husband Problem

Cian laughs. “So wearegoing to have another wedding?”

“We need to see the king.” I say with a nod. “Where are Linnea and Jonah? Or Torin and Abigail for that matter?”

“I texted them,” Iris says. “Linnea said?—”

Just then, the king's advisor and her husband come rushing into the foyer.

Her eyes lock on Astrid and she makes a bee-line.

“Astrid!”

I step back and watch as my wife is caught up in her older sister’s embrace.

For much of my childhood, when I thought I was going to be king, Linnea was intended to bemywife. And she would have been a perfect queen. She is poised, beautiful, and intelligent. She’s also madly in love with my brother’s bodyguard and best friend, Jonah, who is standing just a few feet behind her, watching her with a possessive and adoring expression. Which is why she didn’t marry my brother, who became king, either.

I meet Jonah’s gaze, and he gives me a short nod of greeting.

Both women look a little shiny-eyed when they finally separate, smiling at one another.

“Oh my God, I’m so happy to see you,” Linnea says. “And I’m so sorry this happened. I had no idea he was going to make that statement. Typically, he lets me look over things he’s going to post before they go up.”

“So someoneismonitoring his Internet access?” I ask.

Linnea looks at me with a brow arched. “No. Of course, not.”

Linnea not only trained most of her life to be the eventual queen, but she has a natural take-charge air that rivals Iris’s. That means she is neither impressed nor intimidated by royalty, and certainly not by the estranged eldest prince.

“Perhaps it’s time that we talk about that,” I suggest, knowing Linnea and my grandmother are the only two people who can possibly give my grandfather advice about what he should and shouldn’t post publicly.

But Linnea shakes her head. “I am not going to tell an eighty-seven-year-old man that he can’t maketruthfulpublic posts if he wants to, Declan.”

“So you will just continue issuing your follow-up statements, trying to clean up what he does?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Yes. Especially when the statements are so easy to write.”

The official statement from the Palace, written by Linnea, was one of full support of Diarmuid, Queen Roisin, Astrid, and me. The Palace’s stance is that we are all loved and that our happiness is everyone’s only concern.

“We need to see the king,” I repeat.

Linnea looks over at Jonah. “The king and queen are… indisposed.”

“They’re in the greenhouse,” Jonas says.

My brother’s wife, Abigail, regardless of her title and crown, is, first and foremost, an agricultural scientist who loves her plants nearly as much as she loves my brother. And because my brother is obsessed with her, if she’s in the greenhouse, that’s where he will also be.

I shake my head. “Not that king and queen.”

But just then we hear footsteps coming down the hallway, and a moment later, King Torin and Queen Abigail, my brother and sister-in-law, appear.

Torin is dressed in a suit, sans tie. His hair is slightly rumpled, but he has a huge grin on his face as he follows his wife into the entryway.

Abigail, on the other hand, is dressed in overalls and muddy rubber boots. She is pulling work gloves from her hands as she approaches us, and the smudges of dirt on her cheeks can be seen even across the foyer. She’s grinning widely.

“We lost track of time,” she tells us. “Welcome!”

More greetings and hugs commence, and I’m starting to get antsy. I need this all straightened out with my grandfather before I can fully relax. I want my grandfather to see that Astrid and I are not just staying together but that we’rehappy. Completely in love. Exactly as he and Alfred wanted.

I want him to see what Alfred won’t get to.