Royal Marriage Market (16 page)

Last night, it was easier to converse when there was mere suspicion. Now that I possess confirmation our parents desire a match between us, my words fail me.

I have nothing to say to him.

“Are you having a good time?”

Bloody Charlotte and her optimism. I lean against the railing closest to me and gaze upon lush gardens. “What do you think?”

She chuckles at the same time the baby lets loose a ripping shout of a cry. “How are your meetings so far?”

At least, that’s what I think she says. “Boring as sod, that’s what.”

“They’re about flooring?”

Oh for— “Charlotte, I love you and Dickie dearly, but pass the baby off, okay?”

“What?”

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PASS THE BABY OFF TO THE NANNY.”

The Malaysian Supreme Head of State and the King of Cambodia both send sharp, startled glances my way. They are at a good enough distance that they cannot overhear my phone call—when I’m speaking normally, at least. I offer a sheepish smile before slipping down the path toward the stairs leading to the drive.

Thankfully, in my escape from humiliation, Charlotte gives our eardrums a break and does as asked. “Now then,” she says once the baby’s cries fade, “you were telling me about your meetings?”

“They are preposterous.” I nod at a passing groundskeeper as I turn on the drive, heading toward the rear castle grounds. “And honestly, an insult. We are being babysat. There is no real work for heirs to do here. I haven’t even had a chance to use any of His Serene Highness’ so-called talking points yet. The last meeting I was at? Nobody was allowed to speak. How is that for representing Vattenguldia on the global stage?”

“Has your father indicated who he’s angling toward yet?”

I peer into the overcast sky; it looks like the clouds will open up and cry shortly. But I don’t head back, yet. I’ll risk the rain as long as I have room to breathe. Over the course of the next five minutes, I fill Charlotte in on all the gory details that only a day and a half can bring. She listens quietly (I am certain she takes copious notes, though) while gently coaxing the full story out of me, as well as a request.

When I’m done, she says, “I am on the Mathieu angle.” And then, less sharply, “Do you at least like him?”

“I suppose he’s nice enough.”

“That is hardly a glowing recommendation, Elsa.”

“What do you want me to say? That I fell madly in love with him the moment we met?” A forced burst of laughter claws its way out of my chest. “Please. That never happens, especially at the RMM.”

“I fell in love with Josef the moment I saw him—”

I cut her off. For being so level-headed, Charlotte’s memories of how she and her husband first got together are distorted. “You tossed a drink in his face and called him an arse in front of the entire restaurant. Then you bitched non-stop about him for the next two days.”

“I most certainly did not!”

I’m undeterred. “It was so bad you had to pay me a euro for every time you said his name or called him
that arse
. I ended up with a tidy profit.”

“The point being,” she grinds out, “that love at first sight is a true possibility.”

“Love at first sight is an urban legend. Lust at first sight? I’ll concede it might exist. But neither happened with Mat,” I assure her. With Christian? Oh yes. “He is a decent bloke, but there are no sparks. None. He feels very brother-ish—or at least, what I imagine a brother feels like.”

“Oh, Elsa,” she says quietly. “That makes me so sad.”

“Did you believe there was the possibility of me coming to the Royal Marriage Market and finding true love?” I let out a scoff of derision. “Nobody here is so lucky.”

“What about your Prince Charming?”

I halt in the middle of the road. “I don’t have a Prince Charming.”

“The handsome fellow you met yesterday—”

I counter with, “The one His Serene Highness expects Isabelle to marry?”

“Do you really think that will go through, what with Isabelle and Alfons’ engagement?”

I turn back toward the main house and stare up at it. “I fear there is no engagement anymore. Isabelle refuses to discuss Alfons, let alone tell me what has her on edge—RMM notwithstanding.”

It’s just as much as a surprise to Charlotte as it had been to me.

chapter 19

Christian

Thank the bloody stars dinner is over.

Isabelle ate with us tonight, as did Maria-Elena. The She-Wolf was in high spirits, regaling the two ladies with grand stories of Aiboland and her witty, charming sons growing up in such an idyllic place. Only, the ladies forced to endure these embellished stories morphed into wooden statues the entire time, and we dutiful sons were no better.

We weren’t the only ones in just such a situation. There were miserable heirs and spares seated at similar tables under the dim glow of heat lamps and fairy lights all around us.

Afterward, when Isabelle excused herself to go powder her nose, I made a beeline straight to her sister. The gloom coloring Elsa’s face flitted in and out of view every time somebody turned and spoke to her, and I couldn’t stand the thought that she was just as miserable as I was. So, while I rationally knew that going over to her was undeniably irrational in itself, all I could fixate on was how the only moments of pleasure I’d had at all in California so far had been in her company.

Even when we were sparring. Even when she was cutting me down in a hallway. Even if we did nothing more than sit next to one another in silence.

Besides. She has a first to tempt me with.

I catch up with her just as the pair of monarchs she’d been talking to move away to another victim. “I’m disappointed in you.” Her addictive perfume leaves me dizzy, making my attempts at levity difficult. “Here you are, acting so civilized. I expected you to be running amuck.”

The smartest, slyest smile I’ve ever seen is offered just to me. “I thought we decided only virgins are running amuck this week.”

A welcome chuckle falls right out of me. “Are you finally admitting you’re not a virgin?”

“You’re a cad, and you have the world snowed when it comes to your true personality. You know that right?”

Only, she’s smiling just as broadly as I am. “I do. I also feel it’s my duty to admit that plenty of people run amuck, virgins or no. It’s apparently the thing to do.”

I can tell she wants to laugh so much, but all I get is her lips pressing together in a fit to hold in the gasps.

“You can laugh around me. I promise I won’t mind.”

“You know what I mind?” She steps closer. “How our parents watch us.”

My joviality fades as I glance discreetly in the direction she indicates. Although Prince Gustav and the She-Wolf are mingling with a few of the other microstate sovereigns, their attentions are squarely focused on us. Worse, it’s obvious my mother isn’t pleased that I’m with this Vattenguldian girl instead of the other.

Fuck her. “Care for a stroll?”

The relief shining from Elsa’s eyes is worth the blistering lecture I’m sure to receive later. I lead her through the throng of people, away from our parents’ disapproving oversight and toward a much quieter, less populated area of the gardens.

A deep sigh of relief slips through her lips. “You are my favorite right now.”

My pulse jumps at her statement, as does my dick. Damn, does this woman look gorgeous tonight. She’s wearing a shimmery black dress that reminds me of something straight from the past, something that belongs to this place and its history, and her beauty is equally ethereal in the alabaster lamplight around us.

As I drink the sight of her in, I realize, very clearly, just how attracted to her I am. Painfully so, and after such a surprisingly short time—more than any other woman I’ve ever encountered.

My equilibrium promptly disappears.

I say, hoping that I sound merely amused and not rattled by this revelation, “I bet you tell that to all the fellows who take you away from the RMM.”

She digs through her small clutch she’s been carrying and extracts a ball of paper. “Speaking of, have you seen this?”

The Valkyrie is angry. Interesting. I pry the crinkled ball out of her hand and lean in toward one of the nearby globe lamps. “Whatever it is, I’m fairly certain it’s not my fault.”

“Oh, ha ha.” She sighs as I unfold the wrinkled mess. “I wasn’t assigning blame. I simply yearn for someone to share in my outrage.”

In my hands is a recently released itinerary outlining a sunrise hike for crown heirs
. Foster critical relationships and bond with your peers in glorious nature,
it says in bold letters. There is a generic picture of people I don’t know, holding hands and grinning like maniacal fools as they wander down a trail.
Be prepared to write a thoughtful essay afterward detailing the benefits of strong relationships between modern royals in the twenty-first century, to be shared at a special luncheon just for heirs.

I ask, “Is this a joke?”

“Bittner gave it to me; apologetically, too. So I’m thinking, no. He’s not the sort to pull pranks. Did Parker not give you yours yet?”

Parker probably took one look at the asinine paper and threw it into the nearest trash receptacle. Which is exactly what I’m going to do with Elsa’s missive. I reform it back into the ball I received it in and stuff it into my pocket. “No. And if he’s loyal to me at all, he never will.”
      

She leans against a white wall. “When did the Decennial Summit become the equivalent of summer camp for heirs?”

“If that’s the case, perhaps we ought to request campfire songs and roasted marshmallows.”

She toes one of the painted tiles below our feet. “Have you ever been to summer camp before?”

“Alas, no, but I have watched films depicting it. Marshmallows are frequently involved.”

She’s amused. “Why, Christian. Are you marshmallow obsessed?”

Clapping and cheering sound; we peer around the bushes we’re hiding behind in an effort to find the source of such gaiety. There are champagne glasses lifted in the air and smiles on many a monarch’s face.

It’s a toe curdling, hideous sight.

“What in the world?” Elsa mutters, her eyes narrowing as she leans forward.

But I don’t care about whatever’s going on with everyone else. I’m much more focused on the woman in front of me. Because, let’s face it, those cheers can come from nothing good. Not here, at least. Not at the RMM.

“What were you asking?” I prompt.

Her attention returns to me. And I’ve got to admit, I really like it there. Her lips, which are stained in a really delicious looking red tonight, curve into an astute smirk. This small movement hypnotizes me. “We were discussing your apparent obsession with marshmallows.”

I’m wondering what it’d be like to taste those red lips. She’s thinking about marshmallows. I want to laugh, even if it’s damn near impossible to pull my eyes away from her gorgeous mouth. How is this possible? How can I be so attracted to someone two days after an introduction? “Truth be told,” I murmur, “I’ve never had one before. They always seemed questionable to me.”

Elsa nearly chokes on the hilarity trying to get out, and I swear, in this moment, I want nothing more than to actually hear it. It’s my newest goal: I will hear her laugh before the end of the Summit.

“What’s so questionable about a marshmallow?”

I shrug, grinning. “It’s difficult to articulate.”

“You’ll be wretched at your essay then. If you cannot articulate why marshmallows are suspect and unworthy of your affection, how in the world will you be able to argue the importance of royals sticking together?”

“As I highly doubt I’ll be writing such a composition, it won’t be a problem at all.”

She smiles up at me, her lips tugging up on one side just a bit higher than the other, and it feels like somebody came along and hit me on the back of my head. Damn, this woman is sexy. What if I did kiss her? I’m not imagining this spark between us, am I?

I stuff my hands into my pockets.

“That makes two of us,” she says to me. “Will those be our firsts? Standing up to the man and refusing ridiculous essays?”

“It depends.” It doesn’t appear she can tell I’m utterly turned on right now, thank God. “Have you stood up to the man and refused to write a paper before?”

Her head cocks to the side as she pretends to think, long dark hair spilling across a bared, creamy shoulder. Images of me wrapping that gorgeous hair around my fist as I find out if her lips are as delectable as they look fill my mind. I’m forced to slump against the wall to hide my growing attraction to her. Christ.
Get it together, Chris.
I’ve never been so physically out of control around a woman before. Why her? Why now? Why here, at the bloody RMM of all places? “For all you know,” she’s saying, “I did horribly at university because I refused the man his essays all the time.”

I raise one of my eyebrows meaningfully. Please. Elsa’s toed the line just as well as I have over the years, of that I’m sure.

She rolls her eyes and gently kicks the side of my shoe. “Fine. I never refused an assignment. This would be my first time doing so. Are you in or not?”