“You must leave here. I cannot dress in front of a man.”
“Princess, you overestimate your charms by a long way. You could parade stark naked in front of me and I wouldn’t be interested. Hurry up and get dressed. You can peel the shrimp.”
It took Aria a moment to recover. “You cannot be allowed to talk to me like that.”
He stopped in front of her then grabbed the heavy black dress she was clutching. As she watched, horrified, he took his knife and slashed away the long sleeves then tore off about a foot of the skirt. He handed it back to her. “That should help. And you ought to throw away about half of that underwear. You pass out from the heat, don’t expect me to rescue you. I learned my lesson the first time.”
He took a fishing net from the ground, walked away, and stood at the end of the little stream.
Aria could not believe what had just happened. Her aunt had told her that Americans were barbarians, that they had no manners, and that the men were not to be trusted, but surely this man was worse than the rest. Surely the whole country was not populated by men like him—men who had no respect for authority.
Ten minutes later Aria was still standing there when he turned back with a net full of wriggling shrimp.
“You waiting for your maid? Here, let me help.” He tossed the shrimp down then grabbed the dress from her and roughly pulled it down over her head, scraping her nose on the buckram in the waist. He jerked it into place, shoved her arms through the now-short sleeves, then buttoned the back with as much gentleness as a shark attacking its prey.
Throughout this, Aria kept her back rigid. This man was insane. This man’s mind was not functioning properly. She moved away from him and sat down on a wooden crate. Her dress was quite short now, to the middle of her calves, and her arms were bare. “You may serve me breakfast now,” she said as politely as possible.
He didn’t look at her but threw the net of squirming shrimp into her lap.
Aria did not scream, did not jump up, did not show the revulsion she felt. “May I borrow your knife?” she whispered.
He turned toward her, a look of interest on his face, and handed her the knife.
A princess ate whatever was put before her, she chanted. One must never offend one’s subjects by refusing to eat their food. She carefully opened the net, her stomach backing up at the sight of the bug-eyed creatures with their many legs. Taking a deep breath to still her churning stomach, she speared a shrimp with the knife point then brought it slowly, ever so slowly to her mouth. A leg touched her lip and she closed her eyes, her stomach rebelling.
The man’s hand clamped down on hers just as she was about to put the shrimp into her mouth. She opened her eyes to look at him.
“Are you that hungry?” he asked softly.
“I’m sure your food is delicious. It’s just that I’ve never eaten it before. I’m sure that I’ll enjoy it just as much as you do.”
He looked at her oddly then took the skewered shrimp and the netful from her. “First they have to be cleaned then cooked.”
She watched as he dumped the load of shrimp into a pot of boiling water.
“Have you never seen a shrimp before?”
“Of course, but they have been served to me on a plate and they bore no resemblance to those pink wiggling things. I did not recognize them.”
“Yet you were going to eat it raw. Where do you come from?”
“Lanconia.”
“Ah yes, I’ve heard of it. Mountains and goats and grapes, right? What are you doing in America?”
“Your government invited me. I’m sure they are frantic since I have disappeared. You must—”
“Don’t start that again. If there was any way to get you off this island, I would. Believe me, sister.”
“I am not your sister, I am—”
“A royal pain in the neck. Here, cut the heads off these and shell them while I make a sauce.”
“I beg your pardon. I am not a scullery maid, nor am I your personal maid.”
He was standing over her, blocking the sunlight. Once again he had on shorts and an unbuttoned shirt. His legs were in front of her face and they were too large, too brown, too hairy.
“You’re in America now, Princess, and we’re all equal here. You eat; you work. I’m not serving you meals on a gold plate.” He tossed the knife and a flat piece of driftwood at her feet. “Cut and shell.”