She relaxed a little at that. He had a point.
The chauffeur opened the door to the limo, and a voice began to ring out over the crowd. “Griffin, Viscount Montagne Verdi.”
Heads turned just as Maylee slid out of the limo. Her eyes widened, and her stomach felt like it was trying to make an escape from her gut.
But Griffin was right there, shielding her from prying eyes as she got out of the car. She tugged at her low-cut bodice again to make sure everything was proper, touched her jewelry, and then smiled at Griffin when she noticed he was fighting a laugh at her actions. “Easy for you to laugh,” she muttered, but she put her hand in the crook of his arm that he offered.
And they went in.
***
Griffin wasn’t surprised to see that the party was wall-to-wall. Everyone who was slightly anyone in Bellissime and several surrounding countries had been invited, and no one wanted to miss out. As soon as they entered the room, the temperature went up by a few degrees simply from the crush of bodies, and he heard Maylee’s uncomfortable gasp as they made their way in.
His hand tightened on the fingers that lay on his sleeve. “Everything all right?”
“I didn’t expect to see so many people.”
He did. But that wouldn’t make her feel better, so he simply patted her hand. “I’ll help you find my mother’s equerry.”
“What’s an equerry again?” she asked as they descended the stairs into the ballroom.
“It’s a word that the royal family uses for personal assistant,” Griffin said in a dry voice. “But my mother would never be so common as to use an assistant.”
He heard Maylee stifle a giggle. If she could laugh, she’d be okay. He knew she was incredibly nervous—hell, this wasn’t fun for him, either—but he doubted he was feeling the same levels of panic that were written across her face.
A visiting dignitary nodded at Griffin as he passed by, followed by a Hollywood actress. The royal family was nowhere to be found. Damn it all, where were those cowards hiding? If he had to be out here, mingling, so did they.
With Maylee clinging to his side, it would be almost impossible to navigate the room quickly. Even now, people pressed and brushed up against them, casting him curious looks and Maylee scrutinizing ones. They knew who he was, and they were trying to figure out who she was. Nearby, a photographer was taking photos of people as they mingled. Princess Alex must have allowed one or two of the papers into the ball as a show of good faith, but Griffin was displeased to see it. He carefully steered Maylee in the other direction.
They made their way to the far side of the room and turned. Maylee gave him a nervous look and swallowed hard.
That made him concerned. “Are you all right?”
She grimaced. “I haven’t eaten anything. My stomach couldn’t handle it.”
Griffin frowned and waved over a waiter with an hors d’oeuvres tray. The man arrived with a flourish and presented his tray. “Lobster wrapped in cucumber and prosciutto?”
Maylee took one of the little confections and popped the entire thing into her mouth, chewing like a chipmunk. He knew it was nerves, but he had to smother a laugh. “It’s good,” she mumbled, putting a hand in front of her mouth to cover it. “Thank you.”
“Eat another,” Griffin insisted.
She plucked one off the tray, and the waiter nodded and moved on. Immediately, another waiter came up with a small crystal finger bowl on his tray, a linen napkin beside it. The queen was a stickler for finger bowls, so guests could wash their fingers after snacking. Griffin was used to seeing the little delicate bowls at parties, a slice of lemon floating atop the water to keep it fresh.
Maylee crammed the other hors d’ouevre in her mouth and then reached for the finger bowl. She picked it up and lifted it to her lips.
Dear God.
Griffin leaned in, stopping her before she could make a fool of herself. “Maylee. You don’t drink that.”
“Oh.” She looked at the little crystal bowl in her hand, then back at him. “It’s not a cocktail?”
“It’s for you to wash your hands.” He gestured at the napkin, ignoring the shocked look of the waiter that held the empty tray.
“Oh,” she repeated, and an embarrassed look crossed her face. She returned the bowl to the tray and gave Griffin an uncertain look. “That was stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She blinked rapidly, as if she were fighting the urge to cry.
“Not at all,” Griffin said, and dipped his fingers into the bowl to show her how it was done. Then, he wiped his fingers on the napkin and gave the waiter a challenging look, as if daring him to mock Maylee in front of his face.
The man nodded at Griffin, waited patiently until Maylee finished cleaning her fingers, and then moved on to the next guest.
As soon as he was gone, Maylee turned to Griffin and gave him a frantic look. “I don’t think I can do this, Mr. Griffin.”
“Nonsense,” Griffin said. “You’re doing fine.”
“I’m not,” her whisper rising to a hysterical note. “I’m going to embarrass both of us! I don’t know what to do in parties like this. I—”
“Shhh,” Griffin said, and reached out and caressed her cheek. “You’re fine.”
She looked startled at his touch. He didn’t blame her; he was a little startled that he’d done it, himself. But it had felt right and natural to comfort her. She was his to protect, damn it.
“You’re fine, and you’re beautiful,” Griffin reassured her in a low voice, and leaned in. “And I would bet my entire wallet that one of these Hollywood types does the same thing that you did.”
She gave him another nervous giggle that nearly broke his heart. “Your wallet is always empty, Mr. Griffin. That’s not much of a bet.”
That little tease of hers made him feel better. “You’ve figured me out, have you?”
“Oh, I think I have you pegged.”
God, was she flirting with him? He liked that. He liked that a lot. “I think you’d be wrong about a few things.”
“Is that so? Try me.”
I don’t think you realize I want to kiss the hell out of that little smile of yours right now, he thought, but said nothing. He was just happy her nerves were fading. “I would love to, but alas, I see my mother’s equerry.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay right here.”
She pointed at her feet, indicating she’d stay put, and winked at him.
And he laughed.
Five minutes later, he had Maylee sent off with the equerry, who was all gentle smiles and encouragement to poor frightened Maylee. He made a mental note to give the man a raise, since Griffin was the one who paid for all of his mother’s servants anyhow. When the two left, Griffin waded into the crowd, looking for family members. He could do his time, spend a while talking to George and his mother, greet Alex and Luke Houston and the queen, and hopefully do one dance or two and then escape.
An arm went around his shoulders. “There you are, little brother.”
George. Well, one obstacle down. “Hello, Your Grace.”
George laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “So formal. Mother must be getting to you.”
“Not at all,” Griffin said, allowing George to steer him to a group of his friends. They were all titled men, all about the same age, and all incredible ass**les. Griffin had hated them and their foxhunting, woman-chasing, champagne-swilling ways for as long as he could remember. They were definitely not his kind of friends to hang out with. He’d rather have Logan, Hunter, Jonathan, Cade, and Reese and all of their finance talk any day. He didn’t need his brother’s friends.
“So,” George said, steering him right into the crowd of bored nobles. “Tell us about that fancy little piece you came in with.”
“She’s my assistant,” Griffin said flatly, a surge of anger building. “Off limits.”
“So you’re sticking your prick into her?” another man said to him, a cheesy smirk on his long face. “Are her tits real? I heard all American girls have fake tits.”
“I am not going to answer that.”
“That means he doesn’t know,” George said with a laugh.
“It means I’m not going to answer it,” Griffin repeated, his voice stiff with fury. God, he hated these spoiled bastards. They thought they were better than everyone, and thus treated the rest of the world like it was shit beneath their feet. “She is my employee.”
“Yes, but George f**ks his little employees all the time.”
“And I see she’s wearing the Verdi emeralds,” George said in a sly voice, and Griffin mentally winced. “So she must be doing something right.”
“That is none of your concern, George,” Griffin said. He wanted to tug at his chokingly tight tie, but decorum insisted that he not touch it for fear of leaving it askew. His appearance had to be perfect at all times. George could spill filth to his friends in private, but his appearance—and smile—was always immaculate for the public.
“I never thought you’d be the kind to fall for an American,” the man next to him said. “Doesn’t she have the most ridiculous drawl?”
A surge of anger made Griffin see red. Not only because it was rude to talk about Americans when their crown princess was marrying one, but because Griffin saw himself saying the same things just a few short days ago. Mocking Maylee’s accent. Condescending to her because of who and what she was.
Hearing it from these asses made him realize just how wrong he’d been. He’d been no better than the spoiled men before him, and that was revolting to realize.
What an unmitigated ass he was.
“Oh, come on,” said George. “Relax. It’s good that I found you. Someone’s been asking for you tonight.”
Distracted, Griffin scanned the room. “Who?”
“I’ll show you,” George said, and steered his brother away from the men. He looped an arm around Griffin’s shoulders—no mean feat, since Griffin was taller than him by two inches—and leaned in. “So where did you send your succulent little assistant off to?”
“She’s with Mother’s equerry,” Griffin said absently. He tried to pick familiar faces out of the crowd, but it was nothing but a sea of tuxedos and jewel-toned dresses. “Why?”
“No reason,” George said smoothly. “Ah. Here we are,” his brother said as they came upon a group of ladies on the edge of the ballroom floor. “Your Highness, I think I’ve found the man you were looking for.”
At the sound of the title, Griffin stifled a groan, though he kept his face impassive.
The woman who turned around was stunningly beautiful. Tall, blonde, and Nordic, Princess Heloise of Saxe-Gallia, a tiny country on the other side of Denmark, turned and gave Griffin a predatory smile. She swept past her ladies and extended her hand toward him.
Griffin was forced to bow over her hand and kiss it. “Your Highness. It is lovely to see you.” Such a lie. He couldn’t stand Heloise. They’d been tossed together at royal functions since they were both children. His mother wanted him to marry Heloise. Heloise, however, wanted to be famous . . . Hollywood famous. So she dressed scandalously and acted even more so. Even tonight, she was wearing a sweeping white gown that was a bit too low cut to be appropriate for someone else’s wedding. “Why, Viscount Montagne Verdi. I was hoping I’d see you here tonight.”
“I’m flattered,” Griffin said in a polite voice. He took the hand she kept extending at him and tucked it into his arm, since George had trapped him here.
“Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone to catch up,” George said with a wink at Griffin. He pulled away, and Griffin saw that George headed to the back of the ballroom, in the direction that he’d left Maylee and his mother’s equerry. Damn his conniving brother. He was going after Maylee, was he? As soon as he extracted himself from the princess’s grasping hands, he’d make sure his brother knew to stay far the f**k away—