by Scott, S. L.
We took the horses out once and got caught in a rainstorm. He tied his own horse to a tree and rode as fast as he could to return Marielle to the palace safely.
Now he runs the stables. I haven’t seen him in a few weeks since I’ve been buried beneath expectations and acclimating back into our society.
Birgit says, “Stop by around two o’clock on Sunday if you want to learn about bread. It’s been a few years, but if I recall correctly, that’s where we left off before you left for the States.”
“I will. Have a great night.” I grab a baby carrot and escape into the butler’s prep area before they have a chance to protest, but Gerhart still does. I can hear him all the way out here, which makes me laugh.
I’d rather spend the evening in the hot kitchen with them than entertaining business guests. I sigh, ready for this night to be over.
9
Princess Arabelle
“Boo!” My sister pops around the corner, startling me.
I gasp, curses sucked in with the alarmed breath I take. “Good lord, Marielle. Are you trying to scare the bejesus out of me?”
“Some things never change. Why do you always wait in here before parties?” Even in the dim light, I can see the sparkle of the tiara on her head.
I hear the low murmur of conversation from the formal living room echoing into the dark and vacant staff space. The bustling kitchen and butler’s room on one side, then the dinner guests across the entry hall greeting each other with polite conversation. “I was visiting with Birgit and Gerhart.”
Her head tilts just as her eyes roll. “Why do you still do that when you’ve been told not to?”
I pull her around the corner so nobody spots us. I’m not ready to face the guests yet. “Why do you not? They’re amazing people if you’d give them a chance.”
“I’m sure they are, but we’re not supposed to be in the kitchen. You know the rules.”
“The rules can fuck themselves.”
“Belle! You have not changed one bit. I actually think you’ve gotten worse.”
“Well, get used to it because I’m not changing anytime soon. What are you doing here anyway?”
She leans her shoulder against the dark wallpaper that’s been here at least a century, maybe more. It’s tattered in places, but I like the imperfections. I just wish it wasn’t so dark and dreary. “Mother’s looking for you.”
“Why?” She taps her tiara, her eyebrow going up as if it’s obvious. I huff. “For real?”
“I know you refuse to act like a princess, but heaven forbid you look like one.”
My mother’s shadow reaches the room before she does. Her disappointment is clear, though it’s hidden in her darkened silhouette. The chandelier hanging high above could light up the village, but its golden glow never reaches this room. “There you are, Arabelle.” She moves into the shadows with us and pats Marielle with her free hand. “Join the guests. They have all arrived.”
Marielle goes quickly and in silence, demure as a mouse. Makes me want to scream if only to see my mother’s reaction. I don’t, though. My mother is an amazing queen when she wants to be. But I’ve never felt she would have applied for the job if she’d had the choice.
When we’re alone, she holds up a tiara. “This was your grandmother’s. I thought with all these lovely baguettes surrounding the teardrop black diamond in the center, it would complement the dress.”
I used to admire my mother’s crown the most. It’s delicate jeweling and pretty blue stones. I would sneak into the vault when her stylist would venture in to pick her jewelry. She would catch me and let me stay as long as she did. “It is. It’s very beautiful. I’ve never worn it before.”
“I thought it was time we started treating you like the future queen you’ll be. I wore the same tiara at twenty-five. There are three others that I can show you as well as teach you the history of each and the meaning behind them.”
“I’d like that. As for tonight, I thought this was just a business meeting? A meal to get to know the guests better so you could decide who will cover the coronation?”
“There is not ‘just a business meeting’ when it comes to giving outsiders access to our private world. This will be an agreement that will span the coronation as well as coverage of your wedding and the first introduction of your children to the rest of the world. It’s an association we would like to build once and maintain for your lifetime. So you see, dear Arabelle, it’s not just a meeting, but a relationship forming.”
I underestimated the pace of my ceremonial rise. Talk of weddings and children twists my gut while my mind only thinks of one man. My lips tingle with our last kisses, my body aching for his touch once more. That last night had been incredibly wonderful but stupid on my part. I’d felt selfish asking so much from him, especially when I understood that he truly wanted more with me. Yet how could I leave without saying goodbye? Without feeling his touch once more?
I’d only canceled our weekend together because of the pressure of returning home, and how I didn’t want to grow any closer to him than I already had. But then I had to see him one last time. Had to be kissed and loved by him. Something to cling to during the lonely nights. Seeing his beautiful face when I told him I loved him? Forlorn and heartbroken? That nearly tore me in two. How unkind of fate to provide me a man to love that I can never have? And now all I’ll have are memories.
My mother sets the tiara on my head and secures it with two clips to my hair. “Keep your shoulders straight, your chin up, and the tiara should remain level on top of your head.”
I do as she says because I’m not always the rebel and I do have a role to play. My mother’s beauty rivals Grace Kelly’s, and I’ve been told I resemble her. It’s a compliment I’ve always held on to. No matter what happens, I’m protected by name and looks from the worst of the attacks.
But also, she’s my mom, and growing up, I wanted to be just like her. I just didn’t realize that came with the title of queen.
She slips out of the room as quietly as she entered with the expectation for me to follow. I don’t keep her waiting. When she walks into the living room with the guests, I pause, though, allowing them to greet the queen so I can enter without so much pomp.
I sneak a glass of champagne from a passing tray and finish it before stepping into the doorway. It doesn’t take more than a second for my heart to start beating again as it once did.
How?
I haven’t felt a rush like this in so long, too long, and it’s all from the sight of a man I never thought I’d see again.
It must be an illusion?
My mind playing tricks on me?
Champagne gone to my head?
How can it be him?
And of all people he’s talking to—he’s having a laugh with the man I’m supposed to marry.
My breath catches as I watch Hutton Everest own the room with all eyes on him. He’s wearing a tailored white dinner jacket over black pants, and James Bond doesn’t hold a candle to this man in a tux. His warm and inviting eyes find me across the heads of the other guests, and a slow smile works across his mouth like the one I remember seeing in the moonlight slipping inside the hotel room.
Seeing him again makes me wonder how I ever had the willpower to leave, much less stay away. I feel the slide of the jewels on my head, so I adjust my tiara and tilt my chin up. The bad girl wants to come out and play.
My arm is caught just as I take two big strides toward him. “Oh no, you don’t,” Margie says, shaking her head.
My best friend knows all my secrets, including Hutton since she was in Austin with me. “Did you see who’s here?”
“I did, and you’re to pretend you don’t.”
“What? Why?”
Angling us back toward the hall, she says, “Because your parents will flip out if they know you . . .” She stops and looks over my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. The coast is clear.”
Margie coughs, then whispers, “You know tha
t will disqualify you from ascending to the crown.”
The decree to end all others. The most powerful law in our land in this day and age. It’s the only decree that can officially remove me from taking my rightful place on the throne. Effective only toward the queen—we must be pure virginal white on our wedding night—or we lose all our rights.
I whisper, “But we’ll never tell, and just speaking with him won’t give that away.”
“But your body language will.” How am I supposed to suppress how my body reacts to this sexy and endearing man? She adjusts my crown. “Look at you already crumpling over his presence. You must stand tall, Belle. Don’t let anyone know.”
She’s right. I swallow down the happiness that I’d started feeling and put on the mask of the royal I’m supposed to be. “I’ll be fine.”
“He’s here with his brother.”
“Why? Why are they here?”
She says, “His company is one of the contenders for the media deal.”
As I glance back at him over my shoulder, his eyes find mine again so easily like he always did in a crowded and loud bar back when we seemed like a good idea. Temporary, but always so good.
“That makes no sense. He’s in finance and works for his father in Houston.”
She eyes him, her expression souring. “Not anymore.”
I know it’s only to protect me, but I do wish she liked him. I guarded my time with him from her. She was a gray cloud on a sunny day trying to dampen my parade. I’ve been known to speak before I think, but the last few years I’ve learned to hold my tongue, to keep secrets. All because she never approved.
It’s not gone unnoticed how happy she’s been since we’ve been back. I can’t help but wonder if she’ll turn on me again now that he’s here through business or fate, now that he’s back in my life.
“Don’t do anything you shouldn’t and the night will go smoothly.”
I practically majored in doing things I shouldn’t, so tonight will be a test. It was never easy with her guarding my legacy like a pit bull, but I was never clearheaded around him. Something about that man makes me lose my better senses. A lot like seeing him wearing that tux is doing.
I turn back to Margie. “Do I look okay?”
“Like a queen.”
It’s something she’s always said to me since we were little. “You look pretty.”
Smiling, she does a little curtsy for me. “Why, thank you, my queen.”
“Those are treasonous words.”
“Then don’t tell your mother.”
We giggle just as the guests are summoned to dinner.
As much as I want to run into his arms like I did that last morning in Austin, I restrain myself and walk with Margie to the dining room near the kitchen. It’s where smaller gatherings dine, and since tonight we only have twenty guests, the more intimate of rooms was chosen.
The gentlemen wait while the queen and my father, the prince, take their seats, and then stand by while the rest of the royal family finds their place cards. It’s always a mystery who I’ll be stuck talking to for the evening. My mom loves a good mix up of people to liven the conversations. I get it, but it’s easy for her to sit at the head and preside than to be in the thick of it.
I find my card next and look left and then right, disappointed not to find the name I want placed on either side of me. I wait until the two men arrive at their seats. Mr. Bixby, an Englishman, pulls out my seat for me while Mr. Yamagata from California waits politely until I’m tucked between them.
When I look up, I’m face to face with Margie, who is great, but the dinner guest to her left is whom I’m most pleased to see.
Hutton greets me with a smile. “Princess.”
“Mr. Everest.”
“I didn’t know you knew my name.”
“You’re very memorable.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so.”
Fine. I deserve that dig, but it’s still not going to stop me from savoring every minute of this dinner. Food being the last thing on my mind. I point at his place card. “Actually, your name is on the back.”
“Ah. And here I thought you knew me.”
“I guess not.”
“Pity.”
“Is it? We have tonight to get to know each other better.”
I almost forget that there’s a world of people around us. I’ve always been so caught up in him that it’s easy to forget. I wish it were just us again. Privately. My gaze dips to his hands, and I’m reminded of the deliciously sinful ways he uses them on me, in me, all over me.
A half-smile is better than nothing, but it’s the devious glint in his eyes that has my body humming. He says, “Here’s to getting to know each other better.”
“My apologies. I don’t have wine to cheers to that toast.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Why does he have to be so gorgeous and so utterly maddening? “I’m good for my word. Good as gold.”
“I suspected as much.” His shoulders drop as he relaxes.
Mr. Bixby says, “Chin-chin to all of us getting to know you better, Princess Arabelle.”
My wine glass is filled, so I reach for it and tap it against his glass and then to Mr. Yamagata’s before I turn to Hutton. “I gave you my word, but I still owe you a proper toast.” Our glasses come together across the large table, and our eyes stay fixed on each other.
Glaring at me from three seats down and across, Marielle says, “I hope you’re not going to monopolize Mr. Everest’s attention all night, sister. I would like to socialize without yelling to include the entire table of guests.”
Jealousy spreads through my chest. “I wasn’t monopolizing his time. I was simply becoming acquainted.”
She touches his arm, says, “I have so many questions about your business . . .” and continues to flirt with him over four courses.
By dessert, my favorite part of the meal, I’ve lost my appetite.
I stare at them, not hearing anything Bixby or Yamagata has said to me. My blinders are on, my full focus on the man sitting catty-corner. Margie’s kicked the toe of my shoes twice, but even that couldn’t rally a reminder of the role of the joyous and charming princess I’m supposed to be playing. Instead, I’ve relegated myself to the expectations of my youth—pretty and quiet—as my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach.
Is his interest in her more than surface deep? Marielle doesn’t have the same obligations that I have to the crown. She’s held to entirely different standards. Is that something that Hutton finds attractive? Could his affections really transfer from me to her?
I take a deep breath, because I no longer have any claim on him, and that’s heartbreaking.
My sister has never cared about business dinners or the people who attended them. Until now. Not only has she stolen Hutton’s attention with talk of media coverage and ratings, but she’s smiling at the man I love as though she could fall in love with him as well. If only my heart could behave like the poised and detached shell I’m portraying.
Not with him.
Never with him.
10
Hutton
Fuck.
I don’t know how much more I can take of this torture.
She’s so close.
But just out of reach.
Ally looks incredible. I can imagine taking that dress off her, the strapless bra she’s hiding beneath the silky fabric that reveals the curve of her body my hands remember so well.
Shifting in my seat, I’m careful not to look at her for more than a few seconds, or I’ll give my thoughts life and expose both of us.
I wonder if she’s wearing a thong or lacy underpants, maybe even the pale pink cotton panties that used to drive me wild. Naked or dressed, she’s always driven me crazy. I’ve never had a craving to be with a woman more than I do her. Feelings of possessiveness tighten my chest every time Bixby speaks to her, Yamagata smiles at her, or that asshole down at the other end of the table across from my brother
calls her name as if he has some damn claim to her.
Fuck him.
The asshole needs to learn some fucking respect. She’s not just a princess; she’s the woman who holds my heart in her hands, and she makes it so damn hard to figure out if I want it back or I want her instead.
Her.
When I look up, her blue eyes are just as vibrant as ever. For a brief second, I think back on the photos I’ve seen online over the last month where there was no luster or life in them.
Did I bring the life back to her eyes, or is she acclimating into her fairy tale again? I hope it’s the former, but I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.
After dinner, we’re led to another fancy gilded room with a roaring fire in a fireplace large enough to fit my kitchen island. I guess that’s all they had to stay warm back in the day. It’s still hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I’m in a palace in the middle of Europe and my ex-girl—my Ally—is a princess standing ten feet from me.
Bennett brings me a drink, though I have no idea where the bar is. He says, “Dinner was interesting.”
“Very.”
“Did you close the deal?”
“I couldn’t get time alone with her.”
He scrunches his face. “I meant the media deal, not your ex.”
Ex. I hate that fucking term.
She’s my now.
She’s my next.
She’s my always.
Damn it. “Don’t worry. I talked about the company all night to Marielle.”
“I saw you scored the princesses at your end. I met their brother, Jakob. He’s taking us out tomorrow night. Seems like a cool guy, plus I think he’s part of the team making the actual final decision.”
Sipping my drink, I look across the room at my princess with the crooked tiara. I like that she’s not perfect in appearance, though I find her perfect for me. The only problem is so do half the men here. You would think this dinner is to find a suitor instead of a business deal. But maybe with royal families, that’s one and the same.
