/ Istvan – FC Rob Evans
/ Both images borrowed from their Instagram
/ I own none of these images, all used with love and respect <3
/ Rings – enoirvado / Vegas view – Instagram sin1city / Quotes – all taken from Pinterest and none had credit for where they came from.
‘Fucking ‘Trend’!!! “The Fairy Tale : The End?”, urgh, this is all I need!’
Underneath the sensationalised front page headline was an image of him looking strained leaving a diplomatic engagement three days after she’d gone, side by side with a paparazzi snap of Queen Viktoria looking pale arriving at JFK, wearing large designer sunglasses, no smile and no wedding rings – which of course, was magnified within a red circle on the glossy front cover…
“Fuuuuuuuck!!!!!”
Roared Istvan as he swiped the rag, a stack of paperwork and a glass of malt off his desk, crashing to the floor. He was still struggling to compose himself when there was a knock on the door,
“Istvan are you in there?”
Drake. Istvan rubbed his temples and sighed wearily,
“Come in Drake…”
The door opened and Drake stepped inside, a low whistle left his lips as he took in the study; it looked like someone had broken in. Istvan was slouched over the desk, head in his hands; he didn’t look up at his visitor. Paperwork was scattered all over the floor, intermingled with broken glass and the odour of spilt whisky. The glossy magazine caught Drake’s eye. He picked it up,
“Heh, I see you already read it? That would explain the mess of this place…”
Istvan shot him a glare. Drake ignored him, carrying on,
“It’s the reason I stopped in to check on you actually. Savannah had called to ask if I’d seen it.”
Istvan snorted,
“Everyone’s had a good gossip about my failed marriage then?”
Drake heaved a sigh,
“Really Istvan? I know you’re hurting but don’t have a swipe at Savannah when we’re all genuinely concerned about you.”
Istvan’s head dropped, a little ashamed, mumbling,
“That was unfair.”
Drake pulled a chair round to the desk, and sat straddling it backward, elbows leaning on the back, sizing Istvan up,
“How are you holding up buddy?”
It was a full week since Viktoria had walked out on him and the press had circled like sharks as soon as they smelled blood. He’d tried for the first three days to contact her relentlessly but she’d declined every call… He’d asked Drake to try but she still wouldn’t answer… It somehow felt like she’d never been here, in his life, in his arms; just suddenly, abruptly gone; if it wasn’t for her belongings littering their home, he’d have questioned if he’d imagined his whole life with her, like a hazy, bittersweet dream… Istvan’s face contorted, his tone cold and clipped; highly unlike his usual self,
“It’s certainly an adjustment, but for the best. Honestly, she was never cut out to be Queen. Best we’ve split before we brought a baby into the equation… You know I’m not even sure I ever actually loved her Drake… ”
Drake’s jaw clenched; he knew his friend was broken, he wouldn’t be saying these things if her wasn’t… Drake knew how Istvan felt about Viktoria, he’d never known his the young King to be as happy as since he’d met her. Drake also knew how capable Viktoria was as Queen, she’d surpassed all expectations from the Court and the monarchy was more popular than it had been in years; she was Viktoria.
“Ist, I know Petit isn’t perfect, but that is complete bullshit. Denying you ever loved her? When we both know it’s just not fucking true.“
Istvan groaned and scowled at Drake, his eyes bloodshot and tired-looking, as he grabbed a bottle of scotch from the cabinet beside his desk, pouring two glasses,
“Just let me have my pride, please man… It’s not like I have anything else left.”
Drake backed off, changing his tactics, both hand raised submissively before Istvan shut him out completely,
“Ok, ok. I get it. But listen, you’re cooped up in here drinking alone and smashing stuff, it’s 10am… You’ve looked better. I’m worried about you Istvan… Why don’t you clear your schedule for the rest of the week, let’s get away for a couple of days, take your mind off… Things?”
—
Vik hadn’t moved from the room in the week she’d been there. She wore the hotel’s complimentary white bathrobe; her face free of make-up and her hair scraped into a high bun. She couldn’t stomach food, but ordered room service when her body started to ache from lack of nourishment, picking at it and leaving most of it untouched. She couldn’t even face the wine in the minibar. It was like being stuck in her own bizarre little limbo, cocooned away from the harsh reality of the outside world – neither in Cordonia nor New York City. Her phone had rang off the hook for the first few days but she’d declined every call. What good would talking to Istvan do? It wouldn’t change anything. It was too hard to leave as it was, hearing his warm, rich voice would break her resolve. Drake would be calling on Istvan’s behalf… She’d even declined Maxwell’s calls, simply texting him to say she was fine, but didn’t want to talk right now… She lay in the strange bed, taking in the surroundings of the New York hotel room – minimalist, chic, monochrome. It was New York, but it could easily be London or Tokyo – it meant nothing to her. Her little apartment in the City, long since given up. She had no family left there. Her friends from New York had dropped off her radar during the years she’d spent in Cordonia, their lives had taken such different paths and their common grounds disappeared; they’d all lost touch. She was ‘home’, but it wasn’t home. Not anymore. She was a stranger in her own city. But where else was she supposed to go? Cordonia was Istvan’s home, where his family and friends lived. Her friends in Cordonia were his friends. She’d walked out on him and her duties to the people of Cordonia. How could she stay there after that?
As she had a hundred times since she’d arrived at the hotel, she reached for her cell phone; Istvan’s face smiled out at her from the lock-screen. It was a selfie he’d taken on the beach during their last vacation to a secluded villa on the Antiguan coast. The sun played on the dark skin of his broad chest and shoulders, he had the most carefree laugh spread across his perfect lips and his clear eyes were dancing as she’d spontaneously leaned in, placing a soft, adoring kiss on his cheek at the moment the he hit the button. She traced the shape of his handsome face on the screen,
“I love you Istvan…”
she whispered as she curled herself into a little ball under the duvet, his image obscured once again by tears that came so hard she felt like she might suffocate.
“So much my darling. So, so much… It’s for the best…“
—
After a lot of convincing, Drake had managed to talk Istvan into the notion that a boy’s weekend away would do him the world of good. Of course he knew Istvan wasn’t really ‘up for it’, but couldn’t be bothered to argue…
He told Istvan not to worry about a thing, he would arrange the lot. Drake had initially thought a camping trip would be ideal, like the good old days! But the more he thought about it, solitude and time to think may not be the best idea at a time like this. Istvan needed a complete distraction, he needed somewhere they could completely cut loose and blow off some steam. Where was there so much buzz that his friend wouldn’t have time to think? Where were there so many distractions that it might just take his mind off his worries for a couple of days? He’d rung Maxwell to see if he would like to join them, and get a few suggestions. Maxwell had confessed to Drake that felt like he was stuck in the middle, how hard it was for him to watch one of his oldest friends and the girl he loved as a sister fall apart like this. Especially when they were so damn perfect together. He had agreed to come on the trip, but had asked Drake a dozen times if he was sure Istvan would want him there. Drake didn’t check with Istvan; he didn’t have to. He knew the King wasn’t that petty.
“So where do you think we should go? And don’t make me regret asking you Maxwell…”
Maxwell quipped awkwardly trying to release some tension,
“Well definitely not New York… That’s what got us all in this mess to begin with!“
Drake groaned, starting to regret involving Beaumont already,
“Come on Maxwell… I thought maybe a couple of nights in London?”
Maxwell paused, then rejected the idea, reminding Drake that’s what Istvan had surprised Viktoria with for their first wedding anniversary – a trip to London to see a show and for a private flight on the London Eye… Maxwell suggested Paris. Drake groaned again,
“The most romantic city in the world? Seriously? Next.”
They hung on the phone in silence for what seemed like an age before it dawned on them. Simultaneously the words fell from their lips,
“Las Vegas…”
—
TBC – VP 💖
