by Ember Casey
I look over at the scar in the middle of his chest, lightly tracing my fingers over it. He took that bullet for me. Being here in Montovia, he continues to take bullets for me. I’m sure Stephan went straight to my father to tell him of my indiscretions, and I’m sure I’ll hear all about it. I don’t want to make things more difficult for Pax. He’s already giving up so much by being here for me at all.
He stirs after another moment, looking down at me with a grin before kissing my forehead. “Ready for another round?”
I can’t help but return his smile. “We should probably dress for dinner.”
His hand grazes across my skin, running down my side before he grabs hold of my hip, pulling me next to him. “I’m sure we can find time.”
“We only have half an hour—”
“More than enough time.” His voice is almost a growl.
“Pax…” I slap playfully at his shoulder. “It’s going to take you as long to dress as it will me.”
“It takes me two seconds to get dressed. And it will probably only take you five—”
“I don’t think you were listening at your etiquette lessons today.” I slide out of his arms, sitting up on the side of the bed. “It isn’t like you can just pull on your jeans. You’ll need to shower and shave. And we’ll have to make sure—”
He cuts me off with a loud sigh. “Fine. If I can prove to you that it won’t take me half an hour, you’re going to give me the rest of the time to bend you over that chair over there.” He waggles his eyebrows, motioning in the direction of the dressing table in the corner. “And then, with the time we have left over, I’ll probably take you again over there.” He hitches a thumb in the opposite direction. “And after that—”
“I know you think you’re Hercules, but Pax…” I smile over at him. “You know what? Prove me wrong.”
He laughs as he leaps from the bed. “I love a challenge.” He races past me and goes into the washroom, starting the shower only a moment later.
I walk into my closet, pulling a formal dress from a hanger. I should probably shower myself, but if I put my hair up, I can likely get away with skipping it.
Normally, I’d call my lady’s maid to help me with dressing—the zippers on these stiff dresses are nearly impossible to pull up by myself—but considering Pax is here, I’ll let him help me, though I’m sure it will only lead to more fondling which might very likely lead to us being late for dinner.
I need to impress my family, I think. That’s the only reason Pax needs to go through these etiquette lessons at all. If I can prove to my father once and for all that Pax is worthwhile, he’ll hopefully lift his idiotic restrictions on us and recognize our relationship for what it is. I suppose if I had a lick of sense about me, I wouldn’t care what my father thinks.
But I do. I can’t give up my life here without a fight. And I’m thankful that Pax seems to understand at least a little of my reasoning.
Only a few minutes later, Pax races out of the bathroom and into my closet.
I’m still only half-dressed when he arrives, still soaking wet.
“Done.” He grins. “I say we save the suit for last, and go straight over to the chair—”
“No.” I shake my head at him, smiling. “The deal was you had to get ready first. And you can hardly put on a suit while you’re still dripping wet.”
“Fair enough.” He glances around the room. “Have a towel in here?”
I laugh. “The towels are in the washroom. If you’d taken a moment—”
He’s racing out of the room before I can finish my thought and is back again only a moment later, a fluffy beige towel in his hand. “Care to dry my back?”
“You’re incorrigible.” But I take the towel, patting at the droplets sliding down his spine. “And this does not mean—”
He cuts me off as he spins around, planting a kiss on my mouth. “It means exactly that.” He grins against my lips. “How much time do we have?”
“Eighteen minutes.”
“Plenty of time.” He slips my dress from my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. “Now, how about that reward—”
“Incorrigible.” I pick up my dress from the floor, sliding it back over my arms before I turn around. “Can you help me with the zipper, please?”
He lets out an audible sigh as he glides the zipper up my back. “I hope you know, this is just coming right back off—”
“You’ll have to work your magic around it, Hercules. I still have to do my hair. And we aren’t going to have much time—”
“I told you how much I love a challenge.” He spins me around, planting another kiss on my lips before shooing me toward the door. “You better get going. Our deal doesn’t include how long it takes you.”
“Fair enough.” I shake my head as I move toward the washroom. It only takes me a few minutes to put my hair up, and a few minutes more to put on enough makeup to satisfy my father’s requirements for dinner.
I head back for the closet as soon as I’m ready, which is much faster than I normally am.
I find Pax with the dinner suit in his hand, still on the hanger, frowning down at it.
“I thought you’d be dressed by now.” I look at the jacket. “Is there a problem—”
“This is what I’m supposed to wear?” He glares at the clothing without meeting my gaze.
“It belongs to William. He’s the closest in size to you. We’ll have a few custom-made so that they fit better—”
“It has nothing to do with how they fit.” He sets his jaw. “Have you ever felt one of these things?”
I walk over, pinching the fabric between my fingers. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Feel it. Have you ever felt anything so starchy in your life?”
My brow furrows. “It a traditional dinner suit, Pax. The shirt and jacket are starched—”
“The one in the stupid manners lesson didn’t feel like this.” He shakes his head at the clothes. “This is bullshit.”
I chew on my lip for a moment. “I’ll make sure they launder yours tomorrow to have a bit less starch. But you’ll be glad—”
“I’ll be glad?” He lifts a brow. “There is not a damn thing about this suit that I’ll be glad about, Sophia. It’s bad enough that I have to try to remember which of the fourteen fucking forks I have to use at dinner tonight.”
“There won’t be fourteen forks. I already told you that.” I let out a sigh. “I know you’re frustrated. And I’ve told you how much I appreciate you trying to do this—”
“I know. I’m just…pissed.” He glares down at the suit for another moment before lifting his gaze to mine. “It isn’t your fault. But I shouldn’t have to pretend to be something I’m not to impress a bunch of people I don’t care about.”
Tears fill my eyes. Of course he shouldn’t have to try to impress my family. I’m not sure why I ever thought he should.
He watches me in silence for a moment before hanging the suit on one of the hooks on the wall. He pulls on his underwear and a crisp white T-shirt before pulling on the trousers and beginning to button his formal dress shirt. He shakes his head, mumbling something to himself.
I take a step forward, but the sharp look he gives me makes me stop in my tracks.
“You look nice, by the way.” He works his jaw as he pulls the stiff coat on over his shirt. “Buttoned, right?”
I nod, taking another hesitant step toward him.
“What do you think?” He turns to face me, holding his hands out to his sides. “Not much to look at, right?”
“You may not want to admit it to yourself, but you look every bit as much a prince as any of my brothers.”
“You’re just saying that.” He turns to look into one of the full-length mirrors on the wall of the closet. “I look like an asswipe.”
“A very dapper asswipe at that.” I step beside him, pulling the tie off the hanger before sliding it around his neck and helping to tie it. “You really do look very handsome, Pax.�
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“Yeah, right. I’m like the Frog Prince, but no one ever bothered to change me from the frog to the prince.”
“Not true.” I rise onto my tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek. “And all it took was a kiss from the princess, right? I think you’re safe.”
He shakes his head. “I look like a doofus next to you. And I’m never going to pull off the fourteen fork thing. And…” He turns toward me, sliding his arms around my waist. “How am I supposed to keep my hands off you during dinner? That’s a rule, right?”
“What my father doesn’t see won’t hurt him.” I wink.
“Ooh, another challenge.” He grins. “I like it.”
“Good. Then you should escort me to dinner.” I hold out my hand for him to take.
And he does, sliding it around his elbow exactly as Monsieur Bonnaire showed him earlier.
“How much time do we have left?”
I glance over at the clock. “Only about thirty seconds.”
“Damn.” He rubs his chin. “Not that I’m not up for that particular challenge, but I’d at least want you to have the chance to enjoy yourself, too. Thirty seconds probably isn’t enough time.”
“You can make it up to me later.” I look up at him. “Now, would you please escort me to dinner?”
“It would be my honor, Your Highness.” He grins down at me. “I said that right, right? I call you ‘Your Highness,’ don’t I?”
“Yes.” I look toward the door, not really wanting to make eye contact. I still can’t help but think how unfair all this is—that I still outrank him and that he still has to address me as royalty, at least in front of my family.
“All right, Your Highness, let us stroll to your family’s meal.”
“Very elegant.” I smile up at him. “You’re going to do fine.”
“We’ll see about that, Princess. We’ll see.”
Pax
I don’t know how anyone does anything in these stupid suits. This thing is so stiff I can hardly use my elbows or knees. The little buttons jingle as I walk, and the sides of the collar scratch my neck, chaffing me. There’s an itch in the middle of my back, too, but there’s no way I can twist my arm far enough to reach it.
I try to keep my mood up, but it’s hard, especially since I’m forced to suppress my urge to tell jokes.
This is going to be the longest dinner of my fucking life. It was already going to be bad enough, but even when I was imagining the worst-case scenario I pictured myself having full use of my arms and legs in my attempt to flee the scene. This was already going to be socially uncomfortable. Now it’s going to be physically uncomfortable, too.
When we arrive at the dining room, most of the rest of the family is already there. William sends a smile our way, that bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing when he gave Sophia that list of names. He’s on my shit list now.
Andrew glares at me. So does Nicholas. Fuck me, I’m walking right into a nest of vipers. And the king isn’t even here yet. I start to rub my neck, but the stiff cut of this stupid dinner jacket keeps me from reaching that far. The itch in the middle of my back has gotten even worse, and I glance around the room, wondering if there’s anything I could use as a makeshift back-scratcher. Or maybe I’ll just rub up against that column in the corner the way a bear scratches its back against a tree. How many points will that cost me with the royals?
William comes over to us. “You look very appropriate, Pax.”
“Not on purpose,” I reply lightly, taking his outstretched hand. “I guess you people are rubbing off on me.”
“He’s trying,” Sophia adds. “Aren’t you, Pax?”
“Yes,” I say through my best fake smile. “I’m trying.”
William looks like he’s on the verge of laughter. “Just wait until Leo sees you. He’s going to love this.”
“Great,” I mumble under my breath, still holding my smile. I’m like a sideshow to these people—something to laugh at. I’d rather they think I was an asshole than laugh at me.
As if on cue, Sophia’s brother Leo enters next with his wife—Elle, wasn’t it?—on his arm. He takes one look at me and bursts out laughing.
“Whoa, look at this guy,” he says through his laughter. “He looks like one of us.”
“Doesn’t he?” William says, his grin widening.
“Looks like you’re doing a good job training this one, Sister,” Leo says to Sophia.
My hands clench at my sides. “No one is training anyone. I just agreed to wear a stupid suit for dinner. All of you are wearing the same damn thing.”
Sophia’s hand tightens on my arm. “Language,” she whispers under her breath. Neither William nor Leo seems to care about my language, but her other brothers are still glaring at me. I straighten my shoulders, pretending I don’t care.
What a load of fuckwads, the whole bunch. But I know I need to control my temper, especially once the king gets here.
Sophia nudges me toward the long, ornate table.
“My father will sit at that end,” she points out. “So you’ll sit in that seat, there.”
Worst seat in the house. But I smile and say, “Sounds great.”
“You’ll do fine,” William says on my other side. “Just smile and nod and try not to bring up that sex tape.”
Leo guffaws, and I shoot them both glares before I can stop myself. I’m about to give them a piece of my mind when the king and queen walk through the door.
Immediately, the room goes quiet. Even Leo stops laughing. All of the children and stop and look toward their royal parents, and I have to admit I’m a little impressed—I consider myself and my sisters to be pretty close to our mom, but even we don’t all go silent with respect when she enters a room. It’s a little creepy, actually.
The king’s eyes find me immediately, narrowing slightly. He looks me up and down, studying my suit, and he must approve because he doesn’t say anything as he sweeps further into the room. The queen catches my eye, giving me an encouraging smile, but it’s not really that comforting.
The king strides over to his seat, and the others follow, moving to their places around the table. Sophia nudges me closer to the chair on the king’s right, and she stands behind the one to my right. I start to sit down, but she grabs my wrist, stopping me.
Oh, that’s right. No one else is allowed to sit before the king does. I remember that much from my lesson this afternoon.
The king noticed that I almost fucked up. He keeps his eyes on me as he sits, stiff-backed, in the ornate chair at the head of the table. After he’s seated, no one else moves until the queen does, and then everyone takes their places together.
This is definitely creepy, I think. And for some reason I agreed to be a part of this.
When I glance at my wife, though, I remember why. This is for Sophia. I just need to keep repeating that to myself over and over and over again.
The king raises his hand, and instantly, servants appear with trays of food. I swear, it’s like they popped right out of the walls. They descend on the table, placing covered dishes in front of each of us. A silver platter full of fruit and another of fresh bread are placed in the center of the table.
I guess this isn’t all bad, I think, inhaling the delicious scent of whatever is hidden beneath my platter. I literally get to eat like a king tonight. I just need to keep my mouth shut, and maybe this thing won’t be a complete disaster.
Once everyone’s been served, the servants come by and lift the lids off the dishes in front of us. Underneath is an entire chicken—I think—on top of a fancy-looking, creamy grain of some sort. A few steamed leafy greens are curled along the edge of the plate.
It smells fucking amazing. I almost grab my fork and dig right in, but then I remember that no one is allowed to touch their fork until the king does.
I’m pretty sure he knows exactly how hungry I am because he takes his sweet time reaching for his silverware. I swear, it takes him a full five minutes to take his napkin, flutter it, l
ay it gently across his lap, then reach for his fork. His fingers drift over the line of forks, as if he can’t decide which he wants to pick up, and I manage to bite my tongue before I can crack a joke about how even he can’t seem to keep all the silverware straight.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally begins to eat. I grab my fork so fast I nearly knock it off the table, and Sophia glances at me out of the corner of her eye.
I’ve got to be more careful. I start to dig in, but just as I do, a servant leans over me with a bottle of wine. It’s only sheer luck that keeps me from knocking the bottle right out of his hand as he pours me a glass. Frowning, I sit back in my chair, back straight, and wait for him to finish so I can start eating.
Finally, he moves on to Sophia. Thank God. I lean forward again, scooping up a big bite of chicken, and it’s halfway to my mouth before the king speaks.
“How were your travels, Mr. Donovan?” he says. “Uneventful, I presume?”
With a silent curse, I lower my fork. I can’t eat when His Royal Snootiness wants to make small talk.
“Great,” I say. “Completely uneventful.” Satisfied with myself, I raise my fork again. This time I make it sixty percent of the way before the king speaks.
“I trust your accommodations are up to your standards?” he asks me, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s.
“They’re great,” I say, lowering my fork again. “The best accommodations I’ve ever had.”
See? I tell myself. I can do this. Easy peasy.
“And I see my daughter has found you some appropriate clothing,” the kings says.
Fuck, this dude is never going to let me eat. My stomach is starting to grumble audibly.
“She did,” I reply with a forced smile. I can’t wait to get out of this fucking suit.
The king picks at his food with his fork, and I see my chance. I quickly raise my fork and shove the huge bite of chicken into my mouth.
“Tell me a little about your family,” the king says, the moment the food is stuffed in my mouth.
Are you fucking serious? I start to chew, but the piece of chicken is too big to swallow quickly. Meanwhile, the king is staring at me, those sharp eyes judging me silently, watching me try to choke down my food.
