Tangled Games (Dating Games)

by T. K. Leigh

  “It isn’t the same. You had this life thrust upon you. You had no choice but to acclimate.” I crane my mouth closer to his. “But I do, Anderson. And despite knowing it won’t be easy, that there will be quite a few people who don’t like the idea of their future king marrying someone like me, I still choose this.” My lips skim his. “Still choose you.”

  He digs his fingers into my hair, pulling me closer. Or as close as possible with an armrest separating us. The plane jostles as the wheels hit the ground, but neither of us breaks away. He swipes his tongue against my lips, and I open for him, not caring who might see us. That doesn’t matter, not when I’ll have to share Anderson with the rest of the world in a matter of seconds. For now, I’ll take every last heartbeat he’ll give me.

  As the plane slows and turns off the runway, he brings the kiss to an end. Without saying a word, he reaches past me and lowers my window shade.

  “For privacy,” he answers my unspoken question. “You’ll learn to take what you can get.”

  “Oh… Of course.”

  I stare straight ahead, a bout of nausea rolling over me, which only increases the second the plane comes to a stop, the few members of the cabin crew jumping up from their seats. I study Anderson, taking my cues from him. He remains sitting in the plush chair that’s a far cry from any commercial airline seat, but he does unbuckle his seat belt, so I do the same.

  I peer at the shaded window, wishing I could see what’s going on outside. Then again, it’s probably best I don’t, especially when the attendant opens the cabin door and I’m able to make out the sound of a crowd assembled nearby. I inhale several deep breaths, practicing the meditation techniques I once taught on a daily basis in the yoga studio I used to run.

  Positive energy in. Negative energy out.

  But no amount of breathing can help ward off the nerves filling me.

  When I feel him squeeze my hand, I bring my gaze to Anderson, who gives me an encouraging smile. Noticing movement out of the corner of my eye, I look forward as a man in a dark suit enters the cabin. Creed greets him with a curt nod before they make their way toward us.

  “Your Highness,” the man says, bowing his head toward Anderson.

  He has a no-nonsense attitude. Much like Creed, something about him screams former military. But his frame isn’t nearly as formidable as Creed’s, who easily towers over him by at least a half-foot. Then again, being the same height as Anderson’s six-four, Creed easily towers over most people.

  “Welcome home.”

  “Thank you, Nathan,” Anderson says in an even tone I’ve only heard on occasion. It’s his business voice. His royal voice. His Prince Gabriel voice. “May I introduce you to Ms. Nora Tremblay. Nora, this is my private secretary, Lieutenant Colonel Nathan Bridge.”

  The man looks at me, nodding slightly. “Pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Likewise.”

  When Anderson first mentioned his private secretary was former military, I was confused why someone with that background would take a job as a secretary. It seemed like a waste of his qualifications. Then he explained that as the private secretary to a member of the royal family, Lieutenant Colonel Bridge is often the first line of communication between Anderson, as heir to the throne, and the rest of the government and royal household, as well as the media. He’s also in charge of planning Anderson’s day-to-day schedule. Apparently, those working as private secretaries, or assistant private secretaries, yield a considerable amount of influence. Even Creed, Anderson’s chief protection officer, must report all of Anderson’s movements to Lieutenant Colonel Bridge.

  “As Captain Lawson has advised you,” Bridge begins, glancing at Creed before returning his attention to Anderson, “there’s quite a large press presence here, in addition to a considerable number of civilians lining the road.”

  “Good? Bad?” Anderson inquires.

  “A mixture of both. You’re aware there’s a small, yet rather vocal minority of the populace who are vehemently anti-foreigner. Particularly anti-American.”

  Sensing my growing unease, Anderson grabs my hand in his once more and gives it a squeeze.

  “I am.”

  “Captain Lawson has arranged for increased security not only here at the airfield, but also along the route to your residence. I’m in the process of coordinating a response with His Majesty. In the meantime, I’d advise both of you to remain silent.” He glances my way. “And if I might, I suggest Ms. Tremblay keep her left hand hidden. That way, no one sees you with or without a ring.”

  Out of instinct, I move my left hand from the armrest, pulling it toward me, as if I should be ashamed.

  “At least until we’ve had more time to discuss this with the royal household,” he adds with a trite smile.

  “Captain Lawson and myself will exit the aircraft first. Once we reach the tarmac, you two will step out together, your right hand holding her left. You’ll pause at the top. Smile. Wave.” He pins me with a stare. “And I can’t stress this enough. No matter what you may hear shouted at you, you smile. You wave. You remain the picture of poise and sophistication.”

  A queasiness overtakes me, my stomach roiling. What could anyone possibly say to warrant this sort of admonition?

  “It’ll be okay.” Anderson touches my chin, turning my eyes toward him. “Like I told you… I’ll be by your side the entire time. You’ll eventually learn to tune out the noise. And that’s precisely what this is. Just noise.”

  “If you say so…”

  He steals a quick kiss, then turns his attention back to Bridge, awaiting his next instructions. I find this all a bit odd. One day soon, Anderson will lead this country, yet right now, he’s taking orders from his private secretary. Just shows how ignorant I am about how this world works.

  “After a few seconds, you’ll descend the stairs and walk casually, yet briskly toward the waiting SUV,” Bridge continues. “You’ll help Ms. Tremblay in first, mindful to keep her left hand hidden from view. Once she’s inside, you’ll pause, giving the crowd one last wave. Then we’ll depart for Wintervale.”

  I look at Anderson. “Wintervale?”

  “It’s the name of my residence.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Bridge looks at me with something that borders on disapproval, as if I should have known this. Why would I? It’s not like it’s ever come up in conversation. We typically steer clear of any discussion of his role as the future monarch.

  Now I wonder if we were setting ourselves up for failure by ignoring the reality of who he is.

  And who I am.

  A commoner who fell in love with a prince.

  “We’re ready when you are, sir,” Bridge states.

  “Thank you. I’d like a moment with Ms. Tremblay.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” He bows, then spins, walking purposefully up the aisle, Creed following.

  Anderson turns to me, his expression urgent. “I need you to promise me something.”

  “What’s that?”

  He grabs both my hands. “That no matter what happens, you won’t shut me out.”

  “I’d never. I—”

  “I know you, Nora. You lock up your feelings, not wanting people to use them against you, as your mother so often did. I get it. Trust me. I did the same thing. In this world, in this family, feelings are a commodity to be used against you. You learn at an early age to keep them to yourself. It’s the only way to survive.”

  He drops his hold on my hands and cups my cheeks, edging toward me, his breath dancing on my lips.

  “But I don’t want you to do that with me. Not now. Not with this world you’re about to enter. It will eat you up and spit you out, if for no other reason than because it can. Because it’s powerful. Because it’s bloody ruthless. When I was thrust into it, the only thing that helped me was my sister. Esme and I had each other. Were able to share our true feelings. And we still do.

  “So I need you to promise me that you will always talk to me. That you won’t sh
ut me out because you’re worried I’ll find your struggles to be a sign of weakness. Nothing could be further from the truth. You, Nora Jean Tremblay, are one of the strongest women I know. Despite all my warnings about what you’ll have to give up, what you’ll have to endure, you still chose to walk away from the only life you’ve ever known to join me in mine. I’ll never be able to repay you for this. For everything you’ve given me.”

  “You did get me a nice apartment on the Upper West Side to call home,” I remind him, trying to break through the tension. “Not to mention all the clothes and jewelry you’ve spoiled me with.”

  “Those are material things. They can be replaced. But I hope you feel that my love for you is irreplaceable. Because your love for me will never be replaced.”

  “And your love for me will never be replaced.” I graze my lips over his, our kiss light but still exhilarating. “I promise I won’t shut you out.”

  He deepens the kiss, then reluctantly pulls away and stands before helping me to my feet. The instant I’m up, Anderson grips my face in his hands. “I love you so fucking much.” His gaze sears into me, not a touch of hesitation within his brilliant blue orbs. “Never forget that.”

  “You won’t let me.”

  “Damn straight, gorgeous.” He treats me to one last kiss. “Now, let’s get this dog and pony show over with.”

  We position ourselves as Bridge instructed, Anderson’s right hand wrapped around my left. He brings it up to his mouth, kissing my vacant ring finger.

  “I’m sorry about all of this. But for now, it’s best we don’t give them any more fuel for the fire, I suppose.”

  “I understand.”

  He kisses my knuckles again, then lowers my hand, clasping it in what feels like a death grip. As he leads me toward the front of the plane, my pulse steadily increases with each step, echoing in my ears.

  Why do I feel like a condemned prisoner headed to the gallows? A small voice inside of me tells me that maybe it’s because, deep down, I realize I’m not good enough for Anderson. That he’d be better off with someone more appropriate. Someone from his typical social circles. Someone who can handle the spotlight. Someone you’d expect to see with a future king.

  I do everything to silence that voice, but after a lifetime of being made to feel inadequate by my own mother, it’s difficult.

  As we approach the open door, sunlight streams into the cabin. It feels like my legs are about to give out beneath me. And I’m not the only one anxious about this, either. When I notice a tremble in my hand, I glance to where it’s joined with Anderson’s, observing a subtle twitch.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

  I part my lips, about to tell him it’s my job to worry about him, but I’m cut off by Lieutenant Colonel Bridge.

  “Ready, sir?” he asks.

  Instead of answering, Anderson looks at me, a single brow arched.

  Not wanting this country’s first impression of me to be of weakness, I hold my head high, my expression determined. “Ready.”

  Chapter Five

  Nora

  Have you ever had one of those dreams where you’re walking into work or school and everyone’s looking at you, but you have no idea why? You don’t want to let your insecurities show, so instead of trying to figure out why everyone stops to stare, gawk, perhaps laugh, you continue on the path you’ve taken every day prior without incident?

  That’s how it feels the moment I step out of the airplane, Anderson at my side. The lights and flashes from dozens of cameras blind me, my irises burning. What I wouldn’t give to hide behind a pair of sunglasses, but according to Anderson, those are a big no-no during official events. And this is now an official event.

  I do everything to maintain my composure and act as if this is just another day. That I’m not being put on display for the world to critique and evaluate.

  There’s so much noise and commotion, I can’t decipher a single question or comment shouted at us. But in the midst of it all, I draw strength from Anderson’s unwavering hold, his hand still intertwined with mine.

  I glance at him, giving him a smile as he raises his free hand to wave at the crowd, his motions practiced. Remembering Bridge’s instructions, I do the same. I hope I don’t appear foolish. I never thought much about how to wave. Now I’m overly critical of myself. Is it too enthusiastic? Too indifferent? Too much? Not enough?

  When Anderson squeezes my hand, I know that’s my signal for us to start walking down the stairs. Placing my free hand on the railing, I carefully descend the steps. I do my best to keep smiling, although it’s becoming more and more difficult, particularly when I’m able to decipher some of their questions.

  “Is she pregnant, Your Highness?”

  “Are you worried she’s only marrying you because of your money?”

  “What does this mean for your relationship with Caroline DeVries, Your Highness?”

  “What makes you think you’re better than someone from this country?”

  “She’s not even that pretty, Your Highness. You can do much better.”

  Anderson tightens his grip on me, silently telling me to ignore them. I can’t believe the balls some of these reporters have to ask such horrific questions and make such derogatory comments. We’re living in the age of social media. I’ve read my fair share of awful things. But you must have a serious lack of conscience to tell someone they’re a gold digger to their face when you know nothing about them.

  By the time we reach the SUV, my nerves are frayed, each insult flung at me another scar against my skin. Sensing my agitation, Anderson’s quick to help me inside. Then, as instructed, he gives one final smile and wave before ducking in beside me.

  Keeping my eyes focused straight ahead, I don’t take a breath until the airfield is far behind us. At least the crowd lining the streets from the airport seems a bit more supportive than the press, many of them holding signs congratulating us on our engagement. There are a few accusing Anderson of selling out his nationality, but the majority seem happy for him. I try to find comfort in that, but it’s difficult. How am I going to survive life in the spotlight as Anderson’s wife and a goddamn princess when I could barely handle the few seconds it took me to walk off the plane and to the car?

  “You did great, Nora,” Anderson reassures me.

  “Is it always like this for you?”

  “Not usually.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I’m often hassled by reporters or photographers when in public, but this kind of thing only happens when there’s been a big news story about the monarchy.”

  I nod, gazing out of the window, not even able to appreciate my surroundings. The historic architecture. The cobblestone roads. The flower-adorned railings on the bridges across the canals. All I can think about is if we’ll ever be a normal couple again.

  “Would you rather live your entire life in virtual reality where all your wishes are granted and dreams come true…,” Anderson begins after a long silence. “Or live in the real world where you may face things that frighten or scare you?”

  I scrunch my brows at him. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugs. “Would You Rather. Like when we were two strangers crazy enough to go on a road trip together. It seemed to break the tension back then.” He waves his hand. “I’d hoped it would break the tension between us now, too.”

  I reach across the seat and squeeze his thigh. “As much as I hate the real world sometimes, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  “Either would I.” His shoulders relax as he exhales a long breath, a slow smile playing on his full lips. “Your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  “Have you forgotten how the game’s played? It’s been a while, but—”

  “Okay. Okay,” I interrupt. “Just give me a minute.”

  I chew on my lower lip, trying to come up with an appropriate scenario. It brings back memories of our early days together. Of the endless stretc
h of road as we traveled Route 66. Of gradually transitioning from complete strangers to friends. Then to something more than friends.

  They are some of the happiest moments.

  “Would you rather spend a year traveling the world on a shoestring budget, or spend a year living in luxury but be forced to remain in one country?”

  “Is that even a question? A year traveling. Without a doubt.” He brings my hand to his lips. “Preferably on Route 66 so I can meet you for the first time all over again. Although, I must confess…”

  “What’s that?” I tilt my head.

  “Every day I wake up with you in my life feels like the morning after we first met. I still experience the same excitement. The same wonder. The same…faith.”

  I sigh, losing myself in his eyes. In that one look, all my anxiety evaporates. “I don’t know how you do it, Anderson. But I manage to fall in love with you all over again every day. Even when you piss me off.”

  He throws his head back, his laughter filling the small space. “I’ll try not to ‘piss’ you off. Although, you should be aware that piss has a different meaning here.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Legless.”

  “Legless?”

  “Drunk.”

  “Ah… Of course. I’ll have to remember that. I’m sure there’s a lot I’ll need to learn in the coming weeks and months.” I peer at him thoughtfully, then settle back into the seat, welcoming the distraction from the people lining the streets. “Tell me some of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m pretty new to this whole royalty thing. What are some of the rules I’ll have to adhere to? Other than the few you’ve already shared, like no sushi, which I’ve only agreed to because I like your dick too much.”

  Creed laughs from the front seat, yet tries to cover it with a cough.

  “I’m happy to hear that.” Anderson winks, then stares ahead, expression pinched in contemplation. “Here’s one you made me break on our road trip.”