Don't Promise (Don't 3)

“Yes?”

“Don’t think for a second that you aren’t stunning in glasses and yoga pants.” He winked and let me continue to the bedroom.

I blushed. I don’t know how he did that.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I called.

A short woman with her hair pulled into a tight chignon entered. Her blond hair was much lighter than mine. I guessed she was maybe thirty-five. “I’m Ayla. His Majesty sent me to present a wardrobe.” She bowed and I felt completely out of place.

I shook my head, trying to convey that protocol was unnecessary with me. I didn’t have an ounce of royal blood.

“I’m Molly. Thanks for your help. I know this was last minute.”

She walked toward me with a garment bag in her arms. She draped it across the bed and unzipped the center.

“We have to work quickly. You only have a few minutes before you need to meet the car downstairs. The king is never late.”

“I’m starting to figure that out.” I looked at the outfits she had selected. I wondered how Damon had described me. How did she know my size?

“This one?” She held up a blush dress that was sleeveless and fell to my knees.

“Yes.” I took the hanger. I didn’t need to go through every dress in the collection. “I’ll change and be right out.” I wasn’t picky about clothes.

“I have pearls,” she called after me. “A gift from the prime minister.”

“Thank you.” I let the silk trickle over my head and wash down my limbs. I looked in the mirror. I had never worn anything like this dress. It wasn’t flashy or revealing. But it wasn’t so modest that I felt matronly. It was fitted with graceful lines.

I turned to observe the back. There were tiny buttons that stopped shy of my backside.

Ayla knocked. “Molly, we need to go. Does it fit?”

I opened the door. “I think so.”

“Oh, it’s perfect.” She grinned. “Here are your pearls. Turn around for me.”

I squatted enough for her to get the strand around my neck and fasten it. “The prime minister left these for His Majesty. They are a specialty from the Bostique Islands, and this seems like the perfect occasion for them. Let me see.”

I turned to face her.

“Stunning. Just like a princess.” She smiled.

I clutched at the necklace. I was afraid of the word. Suddenly afraid of the woman I saw in the mirror. Because I was thinking the same thing. I looked like a princess. And that terrified me.

The sun blazed overhead as we walked through the grove. Damon listened as the farmers explained the growing process of the olive trees. I walked next to him, but was careful to hang back a few inches. I realized I was his date, but it felt more natural to let him lead.

I wasn’t in a position to offer him advice or even interject questions to the farmers. I started to realize there were times when I wasn’t going to be an equal. And if I dated the king, that was going to be showcased in public.

I observed the interaction with new interest. He leaned in, listening intently to the thick Spanish accent. Damon easily moved back and forth between the languages.

Ayla was also in our caravan. But she was in a group that waited for us by the cars. Once we stepped into the grove, I was on my own. I had to hope I didn’t screw up some kind of royal rule. I also had to try not to melt in the hot sun and ruin my beautiful dress. It was hard to walk in heels and navigate the rocky terrain.

Damon offered his hand when we reached a root patch. I thought I heard a camera snap when I took his palm.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He grinned, but began asking more questions about the water levels in the area. The farmers argued over how much rainfall they had in the past two weeks. I maneuvered over the next set of rocks successfully.