“Wait,” Cherry interrupted. Not in her usual charming manner, either, so smooth you wouldn’t realise she’d cut in. No; the word was blunt, almost blurted out. “We’re not going to be the only ones here,” she said. Her voice didn’t rise in question; rather, she seemed to be saying the words as if she could make them true via sheer force of will.
For what had to be the fiftieth time, Ruben was struck by just how much he wanted this woman.
“You kind of are,” Demi said. “Hans and I are here most of the time, and so is Agathe, but we all live in the main house, so—“
“Why?” Cherry demanded, her brow furrowed. She looked adorable. When did she not look adorable? Of course, she also clearly did not want to be alone with him. But for now he’d think less about the stinging implications of that and more about the little line between her brows.
“Well...” Demi began. She looked at Ruben. And so Ruben, with great effort, dragged his brain into gear.
“We can arrange for a lock on your door,” he said to Cherry, his voice brisk. “If that’s what you want. And I can give you a guard. Or whatever you’d prefer.”
“What? Wait, no—that’s not what I mean. I don’t—I mean, I wasn’t saying—“ She broke off, and for a moment he thought he’d somehow managed to render the formidable Cherry Neita tongue tied. But no. She shook herself and said, much more calmly, “A guard is unnecessary, and we don’t need any more people involved in this deception. I just… so, no-one was here last night? Except us?”
“No,” he said. “No-one. But the estate’s security is excellent. You’re completely safe here.”
Cherry huffed. “I know that. Never mind.” But then she added, “Why does everyone stay in that house except you?”
Ruben shrugged, trying to hide the fact that her simple question had his skin crawling. Familiar anxiety ground against him like teeth against teeth, but he sounded as collected as ever when he said, “I’m one person. I have a lot of staff. This house is small. That house is big.”
She arched a brow, expecting more. But that was all she’d get from him. After a moment, she clearly realised that, because she gave a little shrug. The tiniest lift of her shoulders, her gaze flat, as if she’d barely cared at all. So cool he almost forgot the hint of panic in her voice just minutes ago.
She didn’t want to be alone with him. Why?
“Well,” Demi said. Hacking away at the awkwardness again and again, bless her. “As I said, I’m sure you’ll get to know each other. But I thought we could cover the basics and make sure everyone is on board with the plan!”
Hans groaned, dramatically, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Plans, always plans with you, woman.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, all chirpiness gone. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”
“Good.” Slapping his hands on the table, Hans heaved himself out of the wooden dining chair. It creaked slightly, freed of his vast weight. “Ruben, you know where to find me.” Then he turned a winning smile on Cherry. Or rather, a close-lipped grimace, which was his best effort. “Ms. Neita.”
She gave Hans the dimples. Ruben was now convinced that she was flaunting them at everyone but him, purely to piss him off. It was working.
“Hans,” she murmured, her voice all whiskey and honey, rich and raw and sweet. “Call me Cherry.”
Ruben tried not to think unreasonable thoughts. Still, images of punching his best friend in the gut assailed him.
When had he become the jealous type? And over a fake fiancée who could barely stand him?
Hans strode from the room, leaving Ruben, Demetria and Cherry behind. Poor Demi. Her smile was melting away like plastic left on the hob.
But still, she tried. “So you’ll need to get the basics down—background, interests, and so on. A backstory that we can all agree on, you know, when and where you met. And—“
“Demi,” Ruben interrupted. He was talking without thinking again, but he was too tired to care. He needed a shave and a platter of bacon before he could have this sort of conversation. “You should go and do... whatever it is you’re doing today.”
She blinked. “But—“
“It’s fine. You have plans. Cherry and I can muddle along.” He looked at the sheets of paper trapped in her capable hands. “You made lists, I assume?”
“Oh, yes,” she admitted, looking down as if she’d forgotten they were there. “But—“
“We’ll follow the list,” he said, “and report back later. Promise.”
She released a long-suffering sigh. It was a familiar sound. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Mother.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. If you insist.” She slid the papers over the table at him before giving Cherry a nod. “You have a phone in your room. You can call me at the house if you need anything—anything at all. Just press ‘02’.”
“Thank you,” Cherry said, and she really did look grateful. Because she was in a strange house, in a foreign country, with a man she barely knew and didn’t trust, and he should have thought this through, shouldn’t he? Why didn’t he think anything through?
The thought shimmered, twisted, transformed in his mind, reborn with his brother’s voice and his sister’s quiet spite. Do you have half a brain in that head, Ruben? Does the peasant part even function, little brother?
“See you later!”
He blinked back to reality just in time to see Demi leave.
Which meant that he and Cherry were alone. Utterly alone.
Well; except for Agathe’s singing, floating down the hall from the kitchen. He held on to that hoarse, wavering voice like a talisman. Pull yourself together.
“So,” he said, scanning the papers. And now he sounded like Demi. “We have the ah... the list. Basics, background, things like that.” He looked up. Cherry was sitting directly opposite him, her arms folded under her breasts, looking at him from beneath her long, long lashes. If it weren’t for the hard line of her mouth, she might look seductive.
Ruben gave his head a firm shake. If he couldn’t stop thinking about her like this, they’d never get anywhere.
“So,” he began. “How… how long have we been together?”
She shrugged. “Up to you.”
“You’re sure? You don’t have a preference? Something you’d like to tell your parents?”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “It matters so much that I tell my parents the most tasteful lie possible. I really give a shit.”
He bit back a smile. “Point taken.”
“Look,” she sighed. “I’m not trying to be awkward. It’s just… You know what you need out of this, right? I don’t. So when it comes to backstory and all that shit, it’s up to you. As for the rest, the personal information—if you give me the list, or whatever Demi made, I’ll write it down for you.”
“But if we don’t talk,” he said, “we won’t become comfortable together. That’s important too.”
She arched a brow. “You think I can’t turn it on? You think I can’t flirt with you?”
I know you can. I wish you would. I wish you could mean it.
“No,” he admitted. “I know you’ll be fine with all that. But I—“
“You are a bigger flirt than I am,” she said. “And we both know it.”
Ruben considered feigning outrage. Then he saw the dangerous gleam in her eye and decided not to bother. “Okay, fair enough. But if we were engaged, I wouldn’t just pull all my usual shit on you, would I? I’d be different.”
“How romantic,” she drawled.
At that moment, Agathe swept back into the room with a plate in both hands. “Here we go,” she trilled, setting them down with a flourish. “Now, I will be right back—“
Ruben stood, intending to help with the rest of the plates—Agathe had a rather poor grasp on appropriate portion sizes. Then he realised that Cherry was also standing, and his eyes narrowed. “You sit,” he insisted. “You’re a guest.”
“Exactly,” she counte
red. “Guests help. It’s polite.”
“No, hosts do everything.”
“That’s ridiculous. You—“
“See, this is the kind of thing Demi means. We can’t just write down the shit on her list and get to know each other,” Ruben insisted. “We have to spend time together.”
Agathe appeared again. In the time it had taken them to have their ridiculous argument, she’d fetched a small mountain of muesli. And a platter of fruit salad. Jesus, she was really going for it.
“Fine,” Cherry said, sitting down slowly. She murmured her thanks to Agathe and grabbed a piece of toasted rye bread, looking at it as if it was some kind of alien substance. Finally, she shook her head and met Ruben’s eyes. “We’ll do this, then. We’ll eat together. We’ve both got to eat, after all.”
Ruben’s heart leapt. He was relieved, he told himself. He wanted this to go smoothly. That was all. “I’m usually out for lunch. And breakfast. Dinner?”
She arched a brow. “What do you do at lunch?”
“I’m at work.”
“Work?” She spluttered, reaching for a glass of orange juice. “You have a job?”
He shrugged. “I have an occupation. Every man needs one.”
“Right… Okay. So, um… What should I do?”
Ruben tried not to be disappointed by the fact that she hadn’t asked about his job. “That’s up to you. You can go anywhere you want as long as you run it by Hans first, so he can deal with the security. And Demi will give you access to my bank account—“
“Why would I need access to your bank account? Aren’t you paying me?”
“Of course. But if you decide you want to spend the next few weeks, I don’t know, re-decorating my library—“
“You have a library?” She demanded, her voice sharp. “Where?”
“Ah, it’s nothing major. It’s just a room with a ton of books.”
“Whose books?”
He shrugged. “No-one’s. Agathe’s. I mean, she chose them, her and Demi.”
“Okay,” Cherry nodded. “Cool.” She downed her orange juice and stood. “I’m gonna go.”
“Um…”
“Bye!”
Ruben sat and watched as she hurried from the room.
This was not going well.
Chapter 13
And so it went on. And on, and on, and on, for almost a week. Cherry avoided him with impressive conviction and iced her way through their dinners; Demetria scolded him about checklists and convincing performances like a schoolteacher; and Ruben became desperate. Really fucking desperate.
He didn’t want it to be like this. Fuck, none of it was ideal, and it was completely his fault, but...
He kept thinking back to the woman he’d first met at the Academy. Her spark, her knowing humour, the confidence that danced through everything she did. Now that woman was trapped in his gilded cage, doing everything she could to keep him at arms length, and it was taking its toll. She seemed a little more tired, a little more subdued, every day.
So one night, about a week after they signed that damned contract, he made a decision.
Was it a sensible one? Probably not. But then, he wasn’t known for his sense.
Ruben lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it said about his life that he was tucked beneath the sheets before 10.30 p.m. Nothing good, probably.
And then the idea bit him. Bit him, and wouldn’t let go.
You should see Cherry. Talk to her without Demi’s list and Agathe breathing down your neck.
But Agathe’s the only thing that makes it bearable. If she’s not around, Cherry probably won’t talk to you at all.
Or she’ll lose her temper and scream at you for half an hour.
Now that sounded good. That sounded great. Ruben didn’t want her blank stares or her polite answers or her pointed avoidance. He wanted her to bite his fucking head off.
Maybe she’d feel better afterwards.
He leapt out of bed and yanked open his door, striding out into the hall. Then he remembered that he was naked, and turned right the fuck back around. If he showed up at her door without any clothes on, there was a 98% chance he’d leave with his balls stuffed up his backside.
Throwing on some pyjama bottoms and a dressing gown, he started the short journey again. He was marching down the hall with a discipline he hadn’t felt since his rather uneventful time in the air force.
But when he reached her room, the fire in his gut was snuffed out as reality flooded in.
This wasn’t going to work. What was he going to do, force her to speak? Prod at her until he got the response he wanted? Because that would make her feel so much better.
With a sigh, Ruben rested his head against the cool surface of her firmly closed door. She was so fucking close, and it didn’t even matter. He’d dragged her into his bullshit and fucked up her life, just because he wanted her. No matter how different he liked to think he was, in reality he was just like his siblings: an overgrown, spoilt brat who treated people like toys.
Why would Cherry want anything to do with him?
He turned, ready to leave. But then a thought captured him.
If he wasn’t enjoying this, she wasn’t either. But if they got to know each other, perhaps they could rub along for a year without her feeling trapped, always being on her guard.
Maybe someone just needed to make the first move.
He hesitated, hovering at the door like a ghost. His common sense was telling him to turn the fuck around and go back to bed, but his instincts disagreed.
Always follow your instincts.
Funny; that mantra kept failing him recently. But it had served him so well for so long, he couldn’t give it up after a few failures, could he?
Maybe something good was waiting at the end of all these apparent mistakes.
Taking a deep breath, Ruben knocked gently on the door.
For a moment, nothing happened. But then a voice called, “Demi?”
Ah, fuck. He definitely should’ve left. “It’s me.”
Another pause, and then she said, “Oh.” That was it. Oh. He couldn’t tell if she was pissed or just surprised. He couldn’t tell if that Oh meant, I see or Fuck off.
So he said, his voice embarrassingly tentative, “Um... Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“Cherry,” he sighed. “Let me come in.”
For a long, long moment, he thought she’d tell him to fuck off. He wouldn’t be surprised. But when she did finally speak, all she said was, “Fine. Come in.”
He froze. Did she really mean that? Had he misheard? Or—
“For fuck’s sake,” she snapped, “hurry up. Before I change my mind.”
For once, Ruben did as he was told.
The room was veiled with inky darkness. As he shut the door behind him, his vision blanked out completely. But he waited, knowing his eyes would find the faintest scrap of light somewhere, if he gave them a chance. He’d spent a lot of time locked in dark rooms as a kid.
Sure enough, the outlines of furniture came into view, so faint and shadowed he wasn’t sure if he really saw them, or somehow sensed them. But those were the kinds of fanciful thoughts he’d taken comfort in as a child—maybe I’m special, maybe I have powers, and one day I’ll use them to make everyone pay.
Now he was an adult, and he knew that his supposed night vision was thanks to cracks in the curtains and underneath the doors, and pupils wide enough to drink in those drops of light and put them to use.
He moved gingerly through the room, still managing to catch a side table with his hip, but not falling over anything or otherwise disgracing himself. When he reached the foot of Cherry’s bed, he felt a little presumptuous sitting down—but the darkness was too disorientating for him to stand on ceremony.
“Oh, by all means,” she said acidly as he sank onto the mattress. “Make yourself at home.”
“There’s at least four feet of space between us, so don’t have a fit.”
>
“Why the hell did I tell you to come in?”
Ruben sighed. “I don’t know. I’m insufferable. I apologise.”
He received nothing but silence in reply. He couldn’t quite grasp the quality of that silence. Was she agreeing, or simply surprised by his words, or too tired to bother with conversation? He supposed it didn’t matter.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I didn’t come here to irritate you.” The words reminded him of conversations with his siblings. He was beginning to think he had issues. He felt the sting of rejection too keenly, and yet, he chased it down.
“So why did you come?” She demanded. Even though she’d been lying in the dark, she didn’t sound tired. But then, as far as he could tell, she spent all day in the library reading books and playing with her cat.
So he just said, “Our meetings aren’t going well.”
“Meetings,’ she murmured. “Is that what we’re calling them?”
“I don’t see what else we could call them,” he said reasonably. “Preparation for the Grand Deception?”
She snorted. Which was close to a laugh, right? He’d made her laugh once. Before she’d learned to be wary of him.
Spurred on by that snort—edged in derision though it was—he tried again. “Improving Cherry’s Ruben-Threshold?”
“Something like that,” she admitted. She shifted slightly on the bed, and he felt the motion through the mattress as if they were lying side by side. He’d said there was distance between them, but he had the oddest feeling that if he reached out, his hand would find her ankle, or her calf. He laced his fingers together and put them firmly in his lap.
“I know this is hard,” he said. “And I know you don’t like me, and you don’t trust me. But this will go easier on both of us if we know something about each other once we leave this place. And fuck, I wish we didn’t have to, but we do. I do.”
“And I do too,” she murmured. “I decided to do this. I agreed to it. And I suppose I have been… shirking my obligations. Which isn’t the way I usually behave.”
The Princess Trap Page 9
