She took his silence for agreement. “Good,” she said, opening the door again. “I expect you to be downstairs in five minutes. And speaking of things that should be cut out of your life, you really should let your hairdresser take some shears to that mane.” And with that, she was gone.
Eric huffed. “Always quick with a parting shot, that woman. Not that she’s wrong. You’re starting to look like my sheepdog.”
Phillip tugged on his jacket and didn’t deign to answer. His hair was the only part of him that didn’t have to fit his perfect traditional image, and he liked it. Plus, he hadn’t missed the maid’s appreciation of it earlier. Not that that could come to anything. His chances of having a fling with her now were about as nonexistent as his chances of marrying for love.
Eric frowned and stepped closer. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. The hairdresser, tailor, and Drake all caught the tone and made themselves scarce, finding things to do on the other side of the room as Eric put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I know you want to do this right, but I have to tell you, I’m not convinced picking one of the women Mom dug up on the basis of who checks off the most queen-like qualities is the way to go. A political marriage might’ve been okay for our parents, but you and I both know you’re a hopeless romantic. It would sap the life out of you. If you really want to marry—although I maintain that’s always a terrible idea in general—then you should marry for love. Go after that maid, if you like her so much. Give your heart a chance at calling the shots for once. You’d be happier for it, and the country probably would be too.”
Philip shrugged his brother’s hand off. “I appreciate the concern, but this is what’s best. My wife has to be a queen and as such her primary function will be to serve the country, same as me. Love would’ve been a nice addition, but if it’s not possible, I’ll just have to learn to live without it.” He allowed himself a sigh as he turned toward the door. “Besides, if I go after the maid now, it’ll just get her fired.”
Eric spread his hands, obviously uncomfortable with all the talk of love and duty. “Okay, Phil. Whatever you say.”
“Don’t call me Phil.”
Eric assumed a look of total innocence, which meant he was already plotting how to call him the hated nickname as often as possible tonight.
The tailor strode up behind them. “Sire?” he said, hand on the doorknob. The Queen Mother’s five minutes were almost up.
Phillip squared his shoulders and faced the door. Time to go find his future wife.
3
/> Ella was headed for the bar when the king entered the room.
Finally, she thought, glad for the distraction so she could nab some drinks without getting sucked into any more conversations with the surrounding nobility. Most of them were nice enough, but she was on a mission and they were the competition. Not that that ever stopped her from being polite. Which was why it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to get to the bar.
“Three merlots, please,” she told the bartender, ordering for her stepsisters and herself. She hadn’t given the stage more than a quick glance yet. Priorities were priorities; liquid fortification first, then she’d size up the king.
The bartender shook his head. “Sorry, miss, all we’re serving tonight is champagne.”
She slumped. She never drank champagne—it tasted disgusting plus it went straight to her head, and she couldn’t afford any giggling fits or finger-dancing scenes on the first night of the Summer House Party. “Just two, then,” she conceded, and stared morosely at the pale, fizzy liquid as the bartender poured it. She bet her mechanic didn’t drink champagne. He looked like a whiskey man. Scotch, maybe.
She wondered what he was doing right now. Probably fixing up another bike, covered in engine grease and managing to look all the sexier for it. She should’ve taken him up on his offer of a ride. If it weren’t for her damn sense of duty, she could be what he was doing right now.
Maybe she’d keep an eye out for him, see if the offer was still open for later. She could check “have a summer fling” and “learn to ride a motorcycle” off her bucket list, plus she’d get to see more of Danovar. She’d often been curious about her country of birth, and lo and behold, the chance to explore it with a local had dropped into her lap. It would be irresponsible, really, for her to turn him down if he made the offer again. In fact, maybe she should slip out to the garage right now. She was already wearing a black dress to help her blend into the crowd—it would help her blend into the shadows as she made her escape, too. But first she’d need to get these drinks back to her stepsisters and make sure they’d spend the rest of the night impressing the king.
The bartender slid the champagne onto the counter. She broke from her reverie and caught him just as he was about to turn back around. “Oh, and also, do you happen to have any macrobiotic snacks?” The man blinked at her, and she tried to explain. The snacks were for Daphne. Ella usually carried three or four around in her pockets, but of course this dress didn’t have any.
“Ah, sorry, miss, we don’t carry those. But we have some peanuts.”
She drooped. “That’s okay, I’ll go find the concierge and ask if he can have some delivered.” Another duty. Coming back from college had shown her just how many she’d taken on over the course of her life when it came to her stepfamily. It was her own fault, of course—she couldn’t stop her natural tendency toward helpfulness. But also, she was starting to realize, it was a little bit her stepmother’s fault too, for allowing Ella to take on duties that she should be overseeing herself. That was why Ella had to seal the deal with the king. If she wanted to get out from under this life of servanthood, she had to fulfill her bargain with her stepmother and marry off Anna or Daphne. Then Ella would be free to pursue her own dreams, instead of helping other people with theirs. And speaking of the people she was helping…
She turned and scanned the crowd for her stepsisters. Anna was skulking off by a potted plant, staring raptly at her purse. Surely her scientist stepsister hadn’t managed to sneak a research text in that tiny thing, had she? Ella groaned and started to swivel back toward the bar to grab the champagne…and then she caught a glance of the king, and froze.
His impressive muscles were hidden beneath a perfectly-pressed tux. His awesome man-bun had been rearranged, not a hair out of place. The oil and grease were gone but it was as clear as day:
The King of Danovar was her mechanic.
She cleared her throat weakly. “You know what, I will have another champagne,” she told the bartender, and downed Daphne’s. She glanced back up at the king/mechanic, remembering all those naughty things she’d thought about doing to him—and having him do to her. She set Daphne’s now-empty glass on the bar. Then she downed Anna’s too.
Oh God, this was so embarrassing. How had she not recognized him earlier? He’d had some oil on his face and he wasn’t wearing anything like what she’d expected a king to wear, but still. She could only think that she’d been too distracted by her mission with the stepsisters to realize who he was, plus she’d been out of the country so long she hadn’t seen his face on the news recently to jog her memory. What must he have thought of her, clueless and awkward as she tried to flirt with the king?
He was still giving the welcome speech. Rather dryly, she realized, even if he was well-spoken. He went on about duty for quite some time—his own duty to the country and how much it meant to him, and his future wife’s duties as queen and diplomat and philanthropist. Then he rattled off the qualities he expected of the woman he would marry like they were a list of groceries: kind, intelligent, discreet, charitable.
Someone cleared their throat at her side. Her stepmother, come to see what was taking her so long. Ella shook her head, unable to form words just yet, and her stepmother frowned and turned to check on the bartender, who was pouring the two new glasses of champagne.
The king scanned the room—and caught Ella’s eye. He paused for half a second in his speech, probably not long enough for anyone else to notice, but Ella felt it to her toes. And then he smiled, just for her.
Her answering grin spread over her face before she could think about it, and she shook her head. She wanted to be mad at him for not telling her who he was earlier, but who could be mad at him when he smiled like that?