The Duke of New York_A Contemporary Bad Boy Royal Romance

by Lisa Lace

  “She doesn’t need to be embarrassed. I think what she’s doing is admirable. Did you know she’s—” I almost tell Ryan about Melissa’s brother, Connor, but then remember my promise to keep her secret and stop myself, “—at the top of our class? She manages to maintain a 4.0 GPA while doing all this.”

  Ryan smiles. “Maybe you should do more to make sure she knows you respect her. There’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re walking in circles out of your league—not that I’m saying she’s out of her league, of course; just that it feels like it. When I was doing my undergraduate at Cornell, there was this Middle Eastern guy in my class whose father worked in the oil industry. Their family was loaded; I mean, this guy would drop thirty grand on a car to play with like it was a toy and have a different one the next week.” He looks at me knowingly. “Now, I’m hardly a pauper, but when I was around that guy, I felt like Oliver Twist.”

  I watch Melissa from across the diner. She’s doing everything in her power to avoid looking my way. Every time she comes near my table, she suddenly spots something on the other side of the room, and walks away with her back to me, or conveniently drops something so she can dip down and avoid my gaze. I can see her face growing more and more flushed with every passing minute.

  I turn back to Ryan, who’s picked up the syrup from the table and is squirting it liberally over his food. “I know we might have different backgrounds, but is it really that big a deal?”

  “Not to you. Money never is to those who have it.”

  “We went out last night, you know,” I tell him, lowering my voice and leaning across the table. “We had a great time. We laughed, we danced. She even came back to mine. Then, this morning, she disappeared like Cinderella, and hasn’t replied to either of the texts I sent her since.”

  Ryan flicks his gaze up to Melissa. “Looks like she’s working.”

  “She was trying to brush me off, but when I asked if she thought she’d made a mistake, she said she had a good time.” I pick up a bottle of ketchup to pour on my chips. “I’m getting totally mixed messages from her. Is that an American thing?”

  Ryan laughs. “I think it’s a dating thing.”

  “I’d like to see her again, but I don’t know if, at this point, I’m pushing myself on her when she wants me to back off. On the one hand,” I hit the bottom of the bottle to coax out some sauce, “if I don’t see her again, I’m the bastard who sleeps with a woman, then disappears. On the other hand, if I pursue her when she’s not interested, I’m a creep.”

  “Maybe wait for her to come to you.”

  I look over to Melissa again. She practically pirouettes to avoid my gaze and offers to bring some waters for a table with full sodas in front of them.

  “I don’t think she’d get in touch. She’s holding back.”

  Ryan shrugs. “Only you can read the situation, man. I don’t know what to tell you. I’d give it one more shot, and if she blows you off again, I’d back off.” He takes a gulp from his vanilla shake. “It’s only the first semester—I’m surprised you’re looking for anything serious anyway. Most people come to college precisely for no-strings-attached fun.”

  I think back to my undergraduate degree, back when my room had a revolving door; a different girl in my bed every night. Back then, I’d loved the freedom of playing the field and the notoriety of being a player. Yet since meeting Melissa, I don’t feel the urge to go chasing anyone else. She has me hooked.

  “There’s something about her,” I say out loud. “She’s probably the smartest girl I’ve ever met, but she’s humble. She doesn’t have everything on show, but I can’t look away. There’s a depth to her, you know? I could talk to her for a thousand hours and still only have scratched the surface. I think that’s what has me hooked—her complexity.”

  I lift my eyes towards her subtly. “I mean, look at her. Right now, she’s a waitress. She’s doing her job with a smile and doing it well. Then you get her into a Harvard classroom, and she makes it look easy. Then you get her in a little purple dress, and she’s someone else again. She’s interesting, intelligent, sexy. I don’t think I’ve ever met any woman who has so much to hold my attention with.”

  Ryan raises his eyebrows with a small knowing smile. “Sounds like you’ve got her under your skin. It would suck if she didn’t want to see you again because I think you’ve met your match.”

  As Ryan says those words, I look up to find Melissa finally looking back. Her face is flushed with embarrassment, but there’s also defiance in her eyes. She looks proudly self-aware, and she smiles as if to tell me she’s not ashamed.

  “I’m going to talk to her.” I stand, but as soon as I do, Melissa hides again. She picks up a single empty plate from a table and dashes into the kitchen.

  I turn back to Ryan. “See what I mean? She catches my eye like she wants me to see her, then disappears as soon as I go to say hello. I don’t know where I stand.”

  “She probably thinks you’re stalking her,” Ryan jokes. “Maybe we should go.”

  I hesitate. “No. You go. I’m going to stick around for a while. I want to talk to her and check that she’s all right.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  Again, I steer the conversation away from Connor. “One-night stands can affect people in funny ways. I want her to know that it doesn’t have to be weird. We have a lecture together tomorrow, and we’re still working as a pair.”

  “Fair enough,” Ryan says, throwing down a couple of bills for his share. He picks up his satchel and stands. “I’ll see you around. Good luck with your girl.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ryan leaves, and I sit alone. Melissa doesn’t reappear for a while; then I see her trying to sneak out the back door with her bag.

  I quickly throw down my own bills, leaving a decent tip for our server, then run outside to catch Melissa. By the time I get outside, she’s already striding full speed down the street. “Lissy!” I call after her. “Wait!”

  I see her pace falter. Then, reluctantly, she comes to a stop. She turns around and smiles awkwardly. When she speaks, her voice is soft. “Hi, Henry.”

  “What’s the matter? I saw you trying to avoid me in there. Is it because of last night?”

  “No, it’s not that.” She bites down on her lip, her hands fiddling with the strap of her bag. “I was working.”

  I make sure to keep a distance between us so she doesn’t feel uncomfortable. I’m still not sure where I stand.

  “I don’t want things to be weird between us. I’ve really enjoyed hanging out and working together in class.” I pause, trying to interpret her expression. “That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. Oh, also, I’m not stalking you. Showing up here today was a coincidence.”

  She smiles. “You’re sure you’re not following me?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  Lissy looks down at the ground. Some of the tension has lifted, and she has a smile on her face. “I’m fine, Henry. Honestly.”

  “I don’t want you to feel like you have to avoid me—for any reason. I got the sense when you told me about Connor that maybe you regretted it. I’m not going to tell anyone, and if you need to talk about it—or anything—I’m here. Whether that’s on a date, as friends, or just as study buddies, it doesn’t matter. I’ll lend an ear.”

  She wraps her arms around herself awkwardly. “I guess I was surprised to see you at work,” she confesses. “I’m in an apron, and my hair’s a mess.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I say brightly. “In England, I watch all these American films and shows set in diners and coffee shops. I think you look awesome. You look like you’ve just walked out of a Hollywood blockbuster. You’re practically Jennifer Aniston.”

  Melissa laughs loudly, and her half-smile turns into a full-blown grin. “Is that a line?”

  “I’m serious. I’m digging the pinny. You look fit.”

  She looks confused. “Like I work out?”

  I laugh. “No, ‘fit’; you
know—hot.”

  “Is that what the British say?”

  “Oh, yeah. If I was on a night out in London, and I saw an attractive girl, I’d turn to my mate and say, ‘she is well fit.’”

  Melissa copies my accent. “She is well fit.” She laughs. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “I’ve got loads of them. Let me walk you home, and I’ll tell you you’re attractive in every bit of slang I know.”

  She smiles. “All right. Although, I’m actually heading back to campus.”

  “Great. I’ll walk you there.”

  We begin to walk side by side. Finally, Melissa seems to have relaxed around me. Whatever was bothering her seems to have passed.

  “I think it’s admirable that you’re holding down a job and doing so well in school. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Melissa shoots a glance up at me, then smiles down at her shoes, kicking at a stray leaf on the pavement. “What are you talking about? You could hold down three jobs and still leave me in the dust in class.”

  “Is that what you think? You’re top of the class. Don’t you know that?”

  She tries to hide her smile. She shrugs humbly. “I have to work hard to stay there.”

  “That’s admirable, too.”

  “You don’t have to suck up to me, Henry.”

  “I’m not sucking up. I mean it. You’re tidy, and you’re admirable. I threw in a Welsh compliment there.”

  “Tidy,” she repeats, in her best attempt at a Welsh accent. She lets out a long breath. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much of a choice when it comes to work.” She looks up at me with a hesitant expression. “I’m here on a shoestring. I’m on a scholarship and half a dozen grants, but that only covers my tuition. I still have to make the money I need to pay for the apartment, keep food on the table, and all the rest.”

  “Must be hard.”

  She laughs. “I’m one of a million students who have to work and study in America. I’m hardly the martyr of the century.”

  Melissa’s humility and perseverance are two of the things that I respect so much about her. She keeps her head down, and she works hard without expecting credit or praise. There is no superficiality with her; she simply works tirelessly to build the life she wants for herself.

  Unlike you, Henry. I was given a perfect life.

  We head through the square and back toward campus. “Do you want to see me again?” I ask her. “I’ve been trying to read you since we first met, and I can’t seem to figure you out. I’d like to take you out on a date. On a real, honest-to-god, romantic date, with the intention of taking you out many more times after that. I really like you.”

  I pause, coming to a stop as I turn to hear her response. “I don’t want to keep pushing if you’re not feeling it, though. I’m leaving the ball in your court, Lissy. If you’d like to go out again, I’d love to plan the perfect evening for us. If you’d rather not, please tell me now, so I can back off before I make it uncomfortable for us both. Let me know where I stand.”

  She hesitates. I can see the inner battle behind her eyes. “I would like to see you again. It’s just that I have so much going on with work and Connor.”

  “I understand—I won’t be a distraction from all that.”

  “I’ve worked too hard to lose my focus now.”

  “Lissy, you have my word—I won’t interrupt your work or your studies. What harm can a couple of nights out a week do? Don’t you feel like we have chemistry?”

  “Yes, I do.” She lets out a long breath, then smiles. “Okay. Let’s go out again.”

  We reach the campus, and I walk with her to the Spangler Center.

  She stops outside and smiles at me gratefully. “Thanks for walking me back.”

  “Any time. I’ll call you about that date.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  I take her hands in mine and step forward to kiss her. Melissa doesn’t move away and lifts her face to catch my kiss. When I draw back, she’s smiling. She continues to smile as she says her final goodbye and turns to go to class.

  I walk back toward my apartment with a spring in my step. The promise of another date with Melissa has me on cloud nine.

  There’s something about her.

  Melissa

  Henry takes me to a restaurant called Oleana. It’s a thriving spot on Hampshire Street that serves Turkish and Middle Eastern food. I take Lucy’s advice and don’t pretend to be more sophisticated than I am—show your hand, Lissy.

  “I don’t have the most adventurous diet,” I tell Henry. “I haven’t eaten much of this type of food before.”

  I look up at Henry. He looks incredibly sexy in camel-colored cotton chinos, a crisp white collared shirt, and a double-breasted wool and cashmere blazer. His blond hair has been combed into a style, but a stubborn cowlick remains. He wears a blue tie that brings out his piercing sapphire eyes.

  I’m in a silky pink dress that rises just above my knee, with an embroidered lace overlay that falls a little lower. It was another thrift shop find—I’ve found that upper-class areas always have designer finds in their second-hand stores. I’ve paired it with some soft pink brushed suede ankle boots with a wide heel.

  “Turkish food is amazing,” he tells me. “The flavors are incredible. I used to hang out with the language students at uni, and they were mad for foreign foods—Russian, Georgian, Turkish, Japanese. We used to have themed food nights monthly. Then, once a year, we’d bring out everything to watch the Eurovision Song Contest. There’d be an absolute feast.”

  I smile. We’re standing outside the doors of the restaurant, waiting to make it to the hostess’ stand.

  “What else did you do at Cambridge?”

  “I rowed,” he tells me. “Although I was never good enough to race Oxford.”

  I look him over and understand where those rippling biceps and incredible six-pack came from. “That sounds amazing.”

  “I enjoyed it,” he admits. “Although, if we’re talking Cambridge, then nothing beats the May Ball.”

  “The May Ball?”

  “Yes, although it’s actually in June—don’t ask me who named it. Each college hosts its own all-night party. Every room in the college and all its grounds get filled with performers, fairground rides, entertainment, food. If you go in for a dining ticket, you have a full four-course dinner beforehand. Everybody wears black tie. The men in suits and bowties; the women in ballgowns. Unlimited champagne. It’s something.”

  My eyes are wide in wonder, picturing all those people in their finery dining and drinking in a magnificent age-old college. “It sounds wonderful.”

  I pause for a second to check my cell in case Connor has tried to reach me. The guilt of knowing I’ve left him home alone has me itching to know he’s okay.

  Henry catches me looking. “Your brother?” he guesses.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I told him I’d be out tonight, but I still worry.”

  “We don’t have to go out,” he offers. “I’d be happy to go to yours and watch a film or something if you’d rather.”

  I’m touched that Henry’s offered, but I wouldn’t want him to come to my place and have to pretend he didn’t notice Connor flying high in the corner. I smile. “No, it’s all right. I’m putting it away.”

  We reach the hostess’ podium, and she leads us to our table. Half the restaurant is booths, and the other half is made up of wooden tables and chairs. We’re led to a table for two against the wall.

  The restaurant is lit by wall sconce lights that cast an orange glow over the diners. The walls are covered in food-themed art. The sound of patrons talking fills the air, along with the scent of spices.

  We sit down, place our drinks orders, then look at the menus. There are no prices, but Henry tells me not to worry. “This is a date,” he says. “It’s on me.”

  I look down and read through the menu. The appetizers boast delicacies such as grilled pita, quail kebob, and whipped feta. For the main, t
here are exotic options such as grey sole and shrimp youvetsi, lamb gyro, and scallops. I don’t know where to begin.

  “These are the meze options,” Henry explains to me. “Do you want to share some dishes?”

  I smile. “Sure.”

  “What do you like?”

  We talk for a while about the different menu options. Henry listens carefully to my likes and dislikes and tries to make suggestions for things I’d enjoy. I appreciate his patient help and the way he isn’t condescending.

  Rather than feeling like an unsophisticated imposter, I enjoy dining out with Henry. He encourages me to discover new things and takes great pleasure in seeing my enjoyment of them.

  Our drinks arrive, followed quickly by our order, and we talk over spinach falafel, pita and buttered hummus, kalamata olives, and fatteh.

  “Try this!” Henry urges, passing me a sliver of pita piled high with sunchoke hummus.

  I take a bite, and my mouth fills with the flavors of tahini and pimenton oil. “Mmm. It’s delicious.”

  “Nothing like grocery store hummus, right?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Here—try this one.”

  We share a relaxed, easy dinner, passing each other mouthfuls of each of the dishes and commenting on their flavors. Our chairs move closer together as we eat so we can more easily share the experience.

  As we eat, I feel a surge of affection for Henry. Once again, I find that what others view as hedonism hides a sincere appreciation for life and all its joys. Henry is taking me out of my small little world and opening up a door to new and exciting things—a night dancing, scintillating conversation, new foods; things I’d never do without someone pushing me to enjoy them.

  After all the meze, we’re both too full for a main, so we skip straight to dessert. I try a sweet cheese mutabbaq. My taste buds dance with the flavors of saffron cream and hibiscus granita.

  “Taste this,” Henry urges. He loads a spoon with his pear dolma and guides it toward my mouth.

  I close my lips around the spoon and taste the pinenut halva and salted butter ice-cream. “Mmm.”