CHAPTER 5: WE HAVE A PROBLEM
KRISTIAN
My heart is pounding—it’s pounding so hard and fast it feels like I can’t breathe. I’m not sure if it’s from the music, the fact that I’m on a dance floor with a total stranger, or the thrill of this rebellious, dangerous thing I’m doing.
Adrian's hands are warm in mine, his movements effortless. I find myself trying to match his rhythm, feeling a little overwhelmed by him.
It’s a disaster at first. My feet feel heavy, like I’m dragging them through mud. The lights flash across the crowd, blinding and chaotic. I can’t stop glancing around, half expecting someone to point me out and scream, “That’s him! That’s the prince!”
But no one does.
I force myself to focus on Adrian instead. He’s laughing softly, his curls wild, his face flushed. There’s something magnetic about him. It’s not just how he moves—it’s the way he makes this all seem so easy, so carefree.
When he breaks into his robotic dance, I feel the laugh in my chest, through my whole body—unexpected and light.
I haven’t laughed like this in months.
The beat shifts, and he steps closer to me. I don’t move back even though I know I should. He takes my hand, and it feels more intimate than anything else we’ve done tonight.
My pulse races, and I know I shouldn’t let him hold me this way, but I can’t bring myself to care.
For the first time in forever, I feel…good. Free. Like I’m just a man in a crowded room, not a prince with the weight of a nation on his shoulders.
Then Adrian’s hand tightens around mine, and his easy smile falters.
“Chris…” He steps closer. The serious look on his face makes me pause, and my pulse races for an entirely different reason. “We have a problem.”
Adrian glances behind me, and I follow his gaze.
Then I see him—a man in the back of the club. At first glance, it doesn’t look like he’s watching us. His posture is relaxed; you could almost mistake him for one of the patrons.
But I’ve seen enough paparazzi to recognize one from a distance.
I look closer, and to confirm my suspicions, his camera glints in the light, a long lens pointed straight in our direction.
My chest tightens. My mind blanks. I’ve been found.
Fear coils around my spine, and I fight down the bile that rises up in my throat.
Does Adrian know me, too? Was this all a plot? To pretend to be nice, lure me out on the dance floor, and then what, catch me on camera in a compromising position?
“Chris!”
Adrian’s voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“I said we have a problem.”
“Wh-what’s the problem?” I say, pulling the hood tighter around my face. My eyes dart around the club, looking for an exit, or a place to hide—or the explanation I’ll have to give tomorrow after my little escapade is discovered.
He gives me a sheepish grin and gestures toward the door at the shady man with the camera. “I may or may not have been banned from this club. I think that man is out to get me.”
I frown. That’s definitely a paparazzi for me...right? And if Adrian was in on it, wouldn’t he—
“I think we should leave.”
I nod quickly, relief washing over me. I was just about to suggest the same thing. My skin feels clammy now, and the club is suddenly stifling.
Adrian stretches out his hand, his bracelets jangling softly. I hesitate for a moment and meet his eyes.
He looks…desperate—or hopeful? I’m not sure of the particular emotion, but it seems like he really wants me to take it.
And I really want to take it. So I do.
His grip is firm and steady, and as he pulls me toward the back of the club, I have the strange and scary thought that I would follow him anywhere.
I take that emotion, fold it, and lock it up in the back of my mind for inspection at a later time.
We weave through the crowd, and I keep my head down, my pulse thundering in my ears. The music feels louder now, deafening, like it’s mocking me.
I bump into someone’s elbow and almost stumble, but Adrian doesn’t let go.
“Careful there, caro,” Adrian says as he steadies me with a firm hand on my waist.
Even through the thick material of the hoodie, goosebumps travel up my spine.
I don’t have time to process the strange reaction when he starts moving again.
We push through a door marked “Staff Only,” and a blast of cold air hits me as we step outside into an alley. It smells of damp concrete and something sour. It’s quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the bass behind the closed door.
I stop and take a deep breath, my shoulders sagging. The tension in my chest eases slightly, but not completely.
Adrian’s hand is still in mine, his skin warm against the chill. I look down at our hands, then back at him. The glow of the streetlight catches on his face, and ah gud, what a sight.
Adrian is a really attractive man, I have to give him that. His jawline is perfect, his olive skin seems to glow, and those gorgeous hazel eyes twinkle with the promise of adventure and mischief.
This, of course, is an objective observation.
We just stand there, hand in hand, staring at each other.
I think about saying something.
But now that we’re outside, now that the sketchy man from the club has reminded me just how dangerous and reckless and stupid my actions are, it feels like the spell from inside is broken.
I take a step back, pulling my hand out of Adrian’s. I feel exposed now—bare.
And it feels like the weight of my identity—my responsibilities and expectations I’d left behind in the Palace is back.
And it feels heavier than before.
Caro (Italian)- Dear
Ah gud (Swedish)- Oh God