by Lara Swann
Now seems like the perfect time.
I check to make sure he’s not in the middle of a conversation with someone else, then reach up and tap him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me.” I say, trying for an apologetic smile.
He turns around and his expression immediately narrows when he sees me there. I ignore that, and launch into what I wanted to say before I can lose my nerve.
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I came across wrong earlier today - when you welcomed me into your country. I was just tired from the train journey, and I might not have said the right thing.” His expression hasn’t changed, but I continue anyway, smiling wider to make up for his lack of response. “I am really pleased to be here, and I do appreciate that you’re considering me as this…Princesca-attenciano. I’m really looking forward to getting to know more about Aldora - European history fascinates me, and I hope by staying here I can learn a lot more about your remarkable history.”
He doesn’t say anything, and after a couple of heartbeats of silence, I smile and nod again.
“Well…thanks again, King Charles. I hope you enjoy dinner.”
I nod again, wondering whether I’m verging into half-bow territory and hoping I didn’t sound too ridiculous and obsequious. But hey, at least I tried. I somehow doubt I’m ever going to get more than a grunt out of him, but I feel better about the whole thing, at least. And I left before I started feeling awkward.
I look around for Derek again, and then manage to walk in his direction without getting caught up in conversation with people I should probably know somehow.
When I make it back to his side, surprised he’s not wrapped up in conversation anymore, he raises an eyebrow at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, great.” I say, and take another sip of champagne. “I just wanted to apologize to your father for this morning.”
His eyes widen. “And how did that go?”
“Umm…I don’t really know.” I admit. “But I feel better about it. And I didn’t get yelled at?”
He laughs, his expression crinkling up as he throws an arm around my shoulder, hugging me into his side. I get that familiar feeling of warmth and lean against him with a sigh. I have to remember that I’m in a room full of people to stop myself burying my head against him and inhaling the hot, masculine scent there.
“You have more courage than you think, pretty Princesca.” He murmurs in my ear, and I blush.
It seems easier to feel courageous right now. That thought has me giving the champagne glass in my hand a suspicious look, and I vaguely notice that the thumping in my head has returned. I’m not sure whether I’m more high on alcohol or simply being here with Derek, but I give myself a stern warning to keep myself under control.
“Do you think we can get a glass of water some—”
I’m cut off by another loud banging on the hard wooden floor. The sound goes straight to the headache I’m starting to feel again, and I wince - but apparently it means that dinner is ready, because everyone turns towards the end of the room almost as one.
I feel a wave of relief, too - this pre-dinner chatting has gone on for a lot longer than I thought it would, and I am more than ready for food. It should help soak up some of the champagne, too.
It’s not until we get to the dias that I remember the other thing Derek mentioned about this dinner - I won’t be sitting with him. My stomach drops as the man there points us towards different seats, but Derek smiles down at me.
“You’ll be amazing, Hanna. Just keep going.” He says quietly. “Sun and beaches and books await you on the other side.”
I laugh, and reach up very briefly to stroke his cheek, feeling a little ridiculous because we’re only going to be parted for a few hours, but wanting to anyway.
“I’ll hold you to that, Prince Derek.” I murmur back.
Then I obediently walk over to the place I was directed to and try to convince myself that this is going to be fine.
I’m sitting at the back row of chairs, which means I’m facing the whole room at least, and I let my eyes wander over the fine features and intricate designs as I remind myself it’s all gone well so far.
I take another sip of champagne, and then put it deliberately on the table before me, searching out the water as I promised myself I’d do. I don’t see any, but then everyone’s still getting seated - no one has started serving yet.
My hands are starting to sweat again, and that damn ring on my finger feels heavier than it has all night. I wonder whether anyone will notice if I take it off - but as I glance around, there’s more than one pair of eyes on me, so I settle for twisting it one way and then another with my thumb instead. A habit I always end up with when I’m wearing a ring - but with most of the rings I wear, I can move them more than a few centimeters each way.
I smile as the seats around me start getting filled, trying to seem attentive and interested - all the time aware that if I lean back, just a little, I can see Derek sitting further up from me, on the same side of the table. And I can feel his eyes on me, every so often. That sounds silly - I shouldn’t be able to tell when he’s looking at me - but even so, I’m sure I can. My skin goes tight and excited, and I have to struggle to focus on what’s in front of me.
It doesn’t help that he’s far more interesting than any of my dinner companions. I have a dour older man sitting on my left and Derek’s brother Nicolas on my right. The sharp-eyed woman opposite me doesn’t more pleasant than the men, and the two men next to her I’m sure I’ve already spoken to at some point this evening…but I can’t for the life of me remember who they are, or what we spoke about.
I try my best anyway.
The only one I’m sort of interested in getting to know is Nicolas, and he steadfastly ignores me in favor of talking Aldoran to the man and woman opposite. That only leaves me with the grim man to my left, and his commentary about how the recent storms are wrecking Aldora’s industry. Not the most upbeat of conversation, but I figure what the hell and join in anyway - asking about whether it seems like a global warming thing, or if it’s just been this year in particular…
As the appetizers are served - still no water in sight - I start feeling like he maybe appreciates my interest, and tell him all about the hurricanes that sweep through the eastern States of America occasionally. I thought everyone knew about those, but apparently Aldorans don’t much care about foreign weather conditions - or foreign countries in general. It certainly leaves a lot of scope for conversation, and I start feeling like maybe I’m doing alright even without Derek here to help.
Then I notice the food in front of me, and freeze.
Oh fuck my life.
From the scent of it, it seems to be some sort of seafood medley - makes sense, really, we’re by the sea - with foam coating a small soup that has of all sorts of unnamed…things…bobbing inside it.
And I realize, far far too late, that I forgot to tell Derek something really important. Something quite essential for a dinner party.
I’m vegetarian.
I don’t even know how that possibly slipped my mind.
Except I haven’t had any sleep, and I was tired, and then consumed by the adrenaline and anxious buzz of getting ready for this whole, long evening. And then slightly befuddled even more by the champagne, and…
And, and, and, and…
The reasons don’t make it any better.
I look for him in sudden panic, but he’s already started eating and he’s talking to the people on either side, and anyway - he can’t do anything about this. It’s too late.
I try to breathe.
“Are you okay, girl?” The man to my left - Francesco, that’s his name.
“Yes.” I force a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just…distracted by the food.”
I try to smile and act like I haven’t completely abandoned our conversation.
He grunts, in a way that I hope is indulgently, and turns back to his own bowl of elaborately prepared soup - to lea
ve me with my little problem.
Reluctantly, hesitantly, I grab my spoon and start poking around in the soup.
It’s not like I’m totally religious about being vegetarian. I eat fish sometimes, I don’t like being difficult and I’d never dream of saying anything about what others choose to do. This is a personal choice for me, and I strongly believe that everyone else has a right to choose for themselves.
Back home, when someone - usually my grandparents - forgot and cooked me something like fish or chicken, sometimes I’d just eat it to be polite. It was getting bought and cooked and eaten anyway at that point - I’d just resolved I would never contribute directly to those industries.
I’d even talked about it with Carly - I had no idea what to expect from our trip to Europe, but I could understand that if we went off the beaten track somewhere, I might have to be flexible about my dietary choices.
I try to tell myself that this is like that. But since I’ve lived by myself at college, I can’t even remember the last time I ate fish, and I was never a fan of seafood anyway…
I reach for my champagne glass, taking another large sip of that instead.
Then I force myself to try some of the broth, at least, tentatively touching my mouth to the spoon to get an idea of the flavor.
Salty. And…distinctly something else, too.
But maybe not impossible?
I look around, wishing there was at least bread or something. I’m hungry and starting to feel light headed now, too. Don’t they always serve bread with these kinds of meals?
The woman opposite has started talking English now, which is a key indicator that someone wants to have a conversation with me, so I try to pay some attention to that and occasionally dip my spoon into the broth. If I don’t think about it too much, and if I don’t actually eat any of the things floating in it…I think it’ll be okay.
So long as no one notices that I don’t particularly like whatever Aldoran specialty this is. And I use the champagne to take the taste away whenever I start thinking about it too much.
Where the hell is that water, too?
By the time the appetizer is taken away - with no one commenting on my dish, at least - the woman in front of me seems to have tired of my very intermittent attention, and my head is starting to pound again.
Definitely light headed.
I lean back again, wishing Derek would choose that moment to do the same and I could give him some kind of ‘help me’ gesture…but nope. No such luck.
Instead, I feel the far more serious eyes of Nicolas watching me.
I look up at him. “Hey, Nicolas. Do…umm, is it possible to get a glass of water, do you think?”
He just looks at me, with that same impenetrable expression, and then lifts a hand. One of the servers comes over to us immediately, and he says something in Aldoran. I breathe a sigh of relief, and a few moments later we have a jug of water and a glass right next to us.
“Thank you.” I smile at him. “Seriously, I really appreciate it.”
It’s only one glass, so the implication that most Aldorans stick to the wine - that I haven’t touched - and their ever-filled glasses of champagne throughout dinner is obvious. But at this point, I don’t care.
“You didn’t like the…er, jellyfish?” He asks after a moment, with no inflection in his tone at all.
Shit. Someone noticed.
And…jellyfish?! That’s what those floating globs were? Eww…
I try and smile anyway. “Umm…I’m not a big fan of, umm, jellyfish. But it definitely tasted very…fine.”
God-damn. What happened to being able to make conversation?
“Salda has the best jellyfish in all the world.” He says, with a completely straight face. “It is one of our best dishes.”
I resist the urge to ask him how many other country’s jellyfish he’s tried.
“I’m sure it is.” I say instead. “It’s a pity I am not used to…such fine foods.”
He nods. “You are poor then, back in your country?”
I blink. Is that the automatic assumption? Derek seemed to think the same thing…
“Well…my family are nothing like this. But for America’s standards, we do pretty well. It’s a little different.”
“So you want to marry into the Salducco family, and have children that will have a better life than you do?”
I stare at him, and try not to choke on the water that I’m trying to drink a lot of, very quickly. My head definitely didn’t appreciate all that champagne, and everything is starting to go a little bit hazy. I’m sure some of it is just from lack of sleep, but still…
“I haven’t even worked my life out yet, never mind thought about what my children’s would be like. Hell, I can’t even picture having kids right now.”
For the first time, I think I see his expression change. His eyes widen until I think that look is what I’d call ‘incredulous’.
“You don’t want children?”
Oh. Shit. Royal families, creating heirs and continuing the royal line and all that. I can’t tell him that I don’t know what I think about children.
“No, no no. I do.” I say quickly. “I just, I still need to work myself out first. You know, what I want to do with my life - my job, my career, all that sort of thing.”
“Your…job?” He looks no less confused.
Before I can answer, another plate arrives, and I breathe out a small sigh of relief as I manage to use it as an excuse to escape that conversation. Damn it. And the evening started out so well…
This course is a salad, at least, and I think I can eat half off it, if I’m careful. I pick out the lettuce and obvious vegetables, and leave anything suspicious buried in a pile to the side.
Don’t be watching me. Don’t be watching me.
I think it at Nicolas, not quite daring to look. I definitely don’t want to continue that conversation about my career.
The harder part is that none of this is really lining my stomach against the champagne, or filling me up. Maybe I can get a snack later. But at least I’m dealing with it. I congratulate myself for that with another sip of champagne, because it seems to be the only thing that takes away the trick my mind is playing that it can taste suspicious things. And then reach for the water, because I decided a while ago I was not supposed to be drinking any more champagne.
As I do, though, the engagement ring on my finger flies off - and straight into the woman opposite’s plate.
Fuck.
“Sorry!” I say, probably too loudly because more than one person turns to look at us.
I try to reach to take it back, and knock my glass of water as I do - spilling that all over the table, in Nicolas’s direction.
“Fuck!” I curse, raising my hands in apology and blushing bright red. “Sorry, I’m sorry…”
I should really learn how to say ‘sorry’ in Aldoran. It seems like a good word to start with.
The woman hands me back my engagement ring as I’m trying to mop up the mess with my napkin, and the expression on her face that I couldn’t read earlier is definitely distaste now. Dammit. And there was a point where I felt like this evening was going okay.
“Just leave it.” Nicolas says, and the waiters are already swarming around us.
I duck my head in complete embarrassment, not wanting to look at anyone around me, and apologizing to anyone who will listen. If I wasn’t sure what people thought before, I can definitely sense hostility now, and my gut tightens.
I wipe off the engagement ring with my napkin and quietly put it back on, one thumb holding the band down so that definitely doesn’t happen again.
No one says anything to me, and I might be imagining it, but it feels like the conversation at the whole table is muted now. I’m really feeling light headed, and a little dizzy, and the nausea that I’d been trying to ignore from all the probably-meat-fish-things that were all over my food is rising up again.
I need something to eat.
More
than anything, that’s what would help right now. I raise a hand to my head since everyone seems to be ignoring what I’m doing now anyway, and start massaging my temple. I refuse to even try to look over at Derek, even though I can feel him wanting to make eye contact. I’m too ashamed for that. I’m totally letting him down here.
At some point during all that, my half-eaten salad was removed, and now the waiters are coming in with another dish. A hopefully close-to-final dish, because I’m not sure how much more of this I can do. The adrenaline and buzz of earlier is fading and it’s getting hard to even keep my eyes open anymore.
These dishes they start putting in the middle of the table, though, so I guess it is the main dish.
Thank god.
And I even see steaming potatoes, and bowls of roasted vegetables, and I send silent thanks heavenward. Real food, that I can eat. I force myself not to start helping myself immediately - pretty sure I’ve already committed enough faux-pas for one night - and wait for them to bring out the real dish. From the way the rest of this meal has gone, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to eat it, but with what’s in front of me, I couldn’t care less.
Until they bring it out.
I stare in actual horror as two men carry in a large wooden plate - with a whole roast pig of some kind lying on top of it.
My nausea redoubles, and I look away almost immediately.
Oh my god.
It’s like something out of a medieval feast, and I try really, really hard not to think about what I just saw. What’s currently sitting in front of the King.
If I don’t look at it again, if I just don’t look…
I shakily start to pile some of the potato and vegetables in front of me onto my plate, but even the smell of that food is starting to turn my stomach. I reach for my glass of water, and then realize that it was taken away entirely when I spilled it earlier.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
The wooden plate is carried down our way - placed slightly off to the side of me. Oh no. I look. I can’t help it.
