Royal Date

by Sariah Wilson

  I glanced over at Serafina, who had moved back to the foot of the bed during our conversation. She was totally engrossed in the movie. “It’s not a game or a ploy. It’s an actual thing. Waiting until marriage.”

  Waving her hand she said, “Of course. Whatever. But why didn’t you ever tell me how well this works? It makes them want you more.”

  Because I had absolutely zero experience in that department. Since my freshman year in high school, no guy had ever been interested in my virginity or relieving me of it. It was a nonissue.

  It didn’t surprise me though that Lemon had already found a guy to crush on. She’d always had a thing for foreign men. Those same foreign men had a thing for cheating on her constantly. Which I didn’t understand, because her dad was as loyal as one of his hound dogs. Unlike me, she’d grown up with a great father. But she only liked jerks, which I would never understand. I knew this would have to play out until this Salvatore messed up, which he inevitably would, and Lemon could move on to the next lowlife.

  “Momma always told me to play hard to get; I just never realized how well it works or how much fun it could be. And that Salvatore may be three pickles short of a quart, but I am going to get him to propose to me. And someday I will tell my grandchildren about the time a duke from Monterra proposed to me. Just like you’ll be telling your grandchildren about your fling with an almost king.”

  Fling? “I’m not having a fling. You fling him.”

  She gave me her knowing smile. “He’s not interested in me, and I already have my man all picked out. If you had the sense that God gave a tick, you’d be all over that man. If I’m not allowed to get him in your bed, then I’m at least gonna get you kissed.”

  I heard a knock on my open door, and I looked over Lemon’s shoulder to see Nico standing in the doorway, sheer godlike perfection in a designer suit. I had three-day-old bed head and morning breath and what felt suspiciously like a new zit forming on my chin.

  I fervently hoped he hadn’t heard anything Lemon had just said.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Lemon shot me a wink before she said, “Not at all. Serafina and I were just leaving to watch her movie in my room, right?”

  Uncomprehending, Serafina started to protest when Lemon shut off the television. Despite her complaining, Lemon had her by the hand and out of the room before I could tell them not to go.

  She’d left us alone. Me and the guy who should be People magazine’s sexiest man alive.

  Holy crap.

  “May I come in?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah.” I pulled the comforter up to my neck, wishing I could disappear underneath it.

  He crossed over to grab a chair, bringing it back to sit next to the bed. He seated himself, undoing the buttons on his coat, settling in. I was nervous. So over-the-top nervous that I was actually shaking. And he looked like the picture of ease and comfort.

  Nico was every bit as handsome as I’d remembered. Better. He made my ovaries stand up and cheer. I told them to be quiet.

  “It is a pleasure to see you looking so much better, Kat MacTaggart.” I heard the subtle dig in his voice. He did look pleased that he knew my name when I wouldn’t give it to him.

  I should say something.

  But what? He sort of made me speechless.

  “Did your parents have a particular fondness for felines?”

  “What? No. My, uh, mother named me after her favorite soap character on Days of Our Lives. Her name was Katerina.”

  He had a blank look on his face.

  “Days of Our Lives? It’s a soap opera. An American TV show.”

  “Katerina,” he repeated, rolling the r slightly, which made my stomach do flips.

  “But everyone calls me Kat.” If he kept calling me Katerina like that, with those amazing twinkling blue eyes of his, there was no telling what I might do.

  “Does anyone ever call you Kitty-Kat?”

  “Not twice they don’t.”

  He laughed and I remembered how much I liked it. How it made me want to act like a totally different person.

  I noticed a bright red scar on his forehead near his hairline and flashed back to him bleeding at the accident in the same spot. I pointed to it. “What happened? Did I do that?”

  For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed less than happy. “The binding on your ski was done improperly. Your ski should have automatically come off when you fell, but I caught the tip of one with my head. My employees should know better.” He sounded mad. I decided to not tell the very hot and very angry man that I was the one who had done the bindings.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He was all smiles again. “Lascia perdere. It doesn’t matter. It should be me apologizing to you. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, I’ve been told that women like scars. That it would make me look sexier. What do you think?”

  I thought he did not need one single iota of help in that department.

  Which I obviously couldn’t say, so instead I sat there stupidly with my mouth hanging open.

  “Speaking of which, I was impressed with your ability to stay upright for so long on your skis. Lemon mentioned that you were a novice.”

  “I do a lot of yoga.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not even a little.” Why was I saying stupid things to him? “I just have good balance.” We sat in silence for a moment, me looking everywhere around the room except at him. “So, uh, you went up the mountain before I did. How did you get behind me? And how did you know I needed help? Do you just ski around up there waiting to rescue damsels in distress?”

  Nico glanced toward the window. “The intermediate slope begins much farther up the mountain than the nursery slope. We were also, as you Americans say, taking our time. But I noticed you immediately, because I remembered your red outfit. And you just looked like you were in trouble and out of control. I did what I could to help. Fortunately my security detail was able to immediately call the rescue patrol to get you off the mountain. I’m glad that things turned out as well as they did.”

  I thought about the famous actress a few years back who had hit her head while skiing and died three days later. I was also glad that things had turned out as well as they did.

  “Wait—security detail?”

  “A necessity in my position, I’m afraid.”

  “Right. The prince thing.” He had bodyguards. That was kind of cool. I wondered if I could volunteer for the position. I would guard his body real well.

  Where the frak had that come from? What was wrong with me? Maybe I needed to hit my head again to bring back my actual self.

  “Not to change the subject, but I’m assuming your friend Lemon explained to you our current plans.”

  The dates. The article. My heart thudded loudly and slowly in my throat. I hoped he couldn’t hear it. “Sort of.”

  “In short, I would like to take you to several social events as my date. I will take you out to explore interesting local Monterran spots. We have Christmas parties coming up, balls, a winter carnival, New Year’s Eve. I think you will enjoy it, and then you can write about everything for the website.”

  He must have seen the concern on my face. I was trying to figure out how I was going to get through this. Normal girls would have cut off their right foot to be with Nico. But he scared me to death, and I couldn’t explain why without sounding totally pathetic.

  “Don’t look so concerned, bella. I promise I don’t bite.” His voice rumbled softly, subtle seduction emanating from every syllable. He reached out and took my right hand from where it sat on top of the comforter. I hysterically wondered whether he was going to kiss it again, but he just ran his thumb over my knuckles absentmindedly, like he didn’t even realize that he was making my skin tingle in response.

  Which only made it worse. I wanted to run away from him, my arms flailing in the air like a Muppet. Only I probably wouldn’t make it very far on this stupid ankle. I saw a look of confusion in his eyes as he studied me
for a second. He released my hand and I put it under the covers, ignoring my short and shallow breaths. He leaned back, crossing his arms and smiling like he knew something I didn’t.

  “I don’t know what rates are appropriate, but I thought perhaps one US dollar for each word in the article?”

  Turned out all it took to drive back abject fear was the mention of a possibly obscene amount of money. That was fantastic. I wondered if I could write fifty thousand words in the next week. Even a few thousand words could really help with my tuition problem. Now I would definitely have to do it. Especially since I promised Lemon. But I didn’t want to seem like I could be so easily swayed. Even though I totally had been.

  “Why do you want me to write it? Shouldn’t you have Lemon hire a professional writer? I’m just a grad student.”

  “Lemon showed me your books. You are an excellent writer, and I think a perfect fit for this article.”

  It took a second before my brain properly translated what he had said. Lemon had showed him my stories.

  I had always loved romances, and had started writing them as an escape when I was in high school. I’d just kept them on my ancient laptop, intending them to be for my eyes only. They were sweet little things, riffs on fairy tales. Novellas, really.

  A few years ago I’d briefly flirted with the idea of becoming an actual author, and I had joined a local writers’ group where I’d learned about self-publishing. Thinking this might be a road to success, I got stock covers, traded services with an English major at school for editing, and put my stories up on Amazon under a pseudonym. Where I totally languished in obscurity. I only sold a copy or two a month. Which was when I realized that, for me, it wasn’t a valid career path.

  But the only person in the whole entire world who knew about my little hobby was Lemon. She’d told Nico. Hot and terrible anger exploded inside me. I was going to absolutely kill her. Then I’d find a voodoo shaman to resurrect her as a zombie just so that I could kill her again. She was so dead.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  I’d never been very good at hiding my emotions. “I’m just, uh, surprised that Lemon told you about that.”

  “Do you plan to become a writer?”

  “No, the writing’s just for me. I’m going to be a social worker.” He looked at me like I was the most interesting person on the whole planet, and he couldn’t wait to hear what I said next. So I started babbling like an idiot. “I like food and I’m kind of over the poverty thing. I mean, social workers don’t make much money either, but I’ll make enough to at least have proteins and vegetables on a daily basis. So that’s good because I’m very done with ramen noodles. But I’m obviously not going into social work for the money. I love kids. And I want to help every kid I can find that needs help.”

  I finally ran out of breath and we both sat, him smiling at me, me still freaking out. “Regardless, I think this could work. Will you at least consider it?”

  “Sure. I’ll consider it and, uh, let you know. My people will call your people.”

  He didn’t get the joke. Probably because he actually had people. He stood up, buttoning up his suit jacket and returning the chair to where he had taken it from. “My mother would like for you and Lemon to join us for dinner this evening in our private dining room, if you’re amenable.”

  “Okay.” Were you allowed to say no to a queen? I eyed his suit. “Am I supposed to wear a dress? I don’t have one with me.”

  “I’m certain everyone will be understanding given your situation. My mother has assigned one of her assistant secretaries, Giacomo, to assist you while you’re here. He’s an expert in protocol and an excellent stylist. He will see that all your needs are met. Please let him know what you need and he will take care of it.”

  “Okay.”

  He stood there expectantly, looking down at me. “I don’t want to rush you, but we’re scheduled to have dinner in a few minutes.”

  “Oh, okay. So I should probably shower and get ready. But I didn’t bring any soap or shampoo with me.”

  Nico gestured toward a closed door on the other side of the bed with an amused half smile. “The bathroom is through there. I believe Giacomo purchased some apple-scented shampoo and soap for you.”

  I must have given him a weird look because he suddenly looked sheepish. “I told him you smelled like apples.”

  Before I could examine that statement too closely, I told him, “I don’t know where the ‘private dining room’ is.”

  “I could stay here and escort you down. Give you a tour of the palace after dinner?” He looked so hopeful that I didn’t have it in me to say no. I just nodded.

  A grin broke out on his face, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. “Excellent.”

  “Okay, so, I’ll go do that.”

  I took the covers off, acutely aware of my bare, bruised, and slightly hairy legs. I didn’t look at him, so I didn’t know if they were grossing him out or not. I started to stand up, and he walked over as if he wanted to help, but stopped short. He clasped his hands together behind his back. “May I assist you?”

  “I can do it. Thanks, though.” I hated feeling this weak. I bet eating dinner would help me start to feel better. My stomach growled in response to this thought, and I caught him suppressing a smile at the noise. I felt the flush starting on my cheeks. I wanted to die from embarrassment.

  “Is there anything that I can get for you?”

  My normal heartbeat back? Right now I would settle for that. He was standing so close that it made me feel faint. The weakness in my ankles was from the accident. The weakness in my knees was all him. Nico practically radiated warmth and charm, and I felt an actual physical attraction to him. He was gorgeous and as a woman in possession of functioning eyes I appreciated his hotness, but in the sense that all I wanted was to get closer and closer to him. “No, I’m fine. Should I meet you somewhere?”

  “If you don’t mind, I can wait for you in the hallway. My mother doesn’t like for people to be late.”

  No pressure there. “I’m sure you’re busy, I don’t want to . . .”

  He walked over to my door and put his hand on the knob to pull it shut behind him. “I am happy to wait for you.”

  I headed off to my shower, trying not to think too hard about what that meant.

  I went on total autopilot. I quickly undressed, figured out how to get the shower to scalding, and took off my bandages. I only clenched my teeth in pain twice while doing it.

  Sure enough, the shampoo was apple-scented. It was a much more expensive brand than I normally used, but oddly enough, it gave me a small bit of comfort and familiarity. Once I’d rinsed and dried off with the softest towel in all of human existence, I did my best to rewrap my aching limbs.

  Next to the bathroom stood a huge walk-in closet. It was bigger than my bedroom back home. My suitcase was there on the floor. I lifted the lid. Empty. All of my belongings had been put away in the built-in drawers. I had a momentary pang of embarrassment as I imagined someone putting my underwear away.

  I threw on a black shirt and the darkest jeans I owned. I wished I could borrow something from Lemon, but all her clothes were too tiny. It was like having Barbie as your roommate.

  I came back into the bathroom and twisted my hair into a bun. There was no time to blow-dry it. I didn’t want to examine too closely why it was suddenly important to me to spend some time on my appearance. I wanted to say it was because I was about to meet Nico’s family, but the honest truth would have been that it was for Nico himself.

  Grabbing my flats, I did a skipping/running thing putting them on as I went to my bedroom door, ignoring the twinge in my ankle. I stopped in front of the door, trying to calm down. I could do this.

  True to his word, Nico stood right across the hallway. He leaned against the wall, texting on his phone, but slid it into his pants pocket when I walked out. He gave me an appraising look and smiled. “You look lovely, bella.”

  “Thank you?�
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  I couldn’t even take a compliment like a normal person. I fervently hoped I wasn’t blushing. Nico put his elbow out, looking at me. What now?

  After a moment he took my hand and wrapped it around the inside of his elbow and started walking. What was this supposed to be? Why couldn’t we just walk? I contemplated taking my hand off of his arm, but instead held on tighter and hurried to keep up.

  I blamed my rising heartbeat and shortness of breath on anxiety over meeting an actual queen. Not on the addictive smell coming from Nico that made me want to bury my nose in his neck to get a better whiff. Not on the large, hard muscles that I didn’t see but could feel flexing against my upper arm. Not on the sexy five o’clock shadow that had just started to form on his strong jaw.

  Exhaling a loud breath, I forced myself to pay attention to our surroundings. Nico explained that we were in the family’s private apartments, and they were all connected by drawing rooms and hallways. Everyone had their privacy, but had easy access to one another. He indicated that the guest rooms were in another part of the castle.

  “But Lemon and I are staying here.”

  I saw his eyes flicker toward me briefly, but he didn’t respond. Instead he kept talking about how things were laid out.

  Why weren’t we in the guest wing? Why were we in the family’s personal area? Was that supposed to mean something? I tried to distract myself by making a mental map so that I wouldn’t ever need him to escort me again. This hallway was decorated in different shades of ivory and blue, with artwork that I knew was very expensive from the two weeks I’d been enrolled in Art Appreciation 101.

  We came upon a couple of men in dark suits, and they both wore white earpieces. The security that Nico had mentioned. He greeted each man by name as we passed.

  Then he pointed out the family’s private kitchen, telling me I could help myself anytime that I wanted as it was always well stocked with their favorite treats and snacks.

  “Do you ever cook in there yourself?”