Читать книгу The Royal Treatment - MaryJanice Davidson - Страница 20

“Ah, Lady Christina, I’m not sure how to ask this…”

“Well, first off, I’m not a lady,” she said.

“No kidding,” David said, grinning. He stopped grinning when one of the royal wedding designers forced a pointed black shoe onto his left foot. “Uh, can we try one that’s not so—er—Machiavellian? Also, I can’t feel my toes.”

“I mean,” Christina said, flipping through one of eighteen sketchbooks, “it’s not my title or anything. I’m just plain old Christina.”

“Not true,” David grunted, trying to free himself of the shoe.

“Oh, so I’ve had a title all these years that I never knew about? Hmm, let’s think about this; do you think I inherited it from my truck driver dad or my waitress mom?”

“With due respect, my lady, the king tells me your title is Lady Christina of Allen Hall.”

She nearly fell out of her chair. “Since when? And where the hell is that? And do ladies wear blue jeans? Because, if nobody’s noticed, jeans make up about ninety-eight percent of my wardrobe.”

David snickered. “Allen Hall is the part of the palace where Dad lets me keep the penguins.”

“Oh, ugh! Very fucking funny. Remind me to kick the king in the slats when I see him next.”

“Looks better on the invitations if you’ve got a title, even if it’s minor. I thought you’d be happy.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention the last two weeks, boy-o.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, shrugging into the black silk coat held by another designer. “I didn’t really think you’d be happy. But you know Dad…once he’s got his mind made up…”

“Oh, yeah, he’s not like anybody else I know.” Christina glared at David for good measure, completely overlooking the fact that she could be talking about herself. “Now, what were you asking me, Harry?”

“Horrance, my lady. And I was asking—ah—if your dress—your wedding gown, rather—if it—ah—”

“White,” she said firmly.

“Right, then,” Horrance said hurriedly, clapping a sketchbook shut and unwrapping a fresh one. He squinted at Christina and started sketching broad swoops across the paper.

“Reeeeeally?” David asked with a friendly leer.

“Sure,” she replied evenly. “It’s my first wedding, isn’t it?”

“Ah…hmm.” The six people in the room could easily read the MYOB vibes Lady Christina was giving off, so David acted the gentleman and changed the subject. “What d’you think of this suitcoat?”

“I think it makes you look embalmed.”

Horrance whimpered.

“Hey, it’s nice and all,” she added, backpedaling madly, “but it’s just not him. You know what you should wear? White. It’d really set off your hair.” Your gorgeous, thick, black-as-sin hair…mmm…

“The bride wears white,” Horrance’s assistant—what was his name? Jerry? Jerkin?—said firmly.

“Well, were you in the military? Because you could wear your uniform—”

“No. I was busy getting my doctorate in marine biology.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Alaska doesn’t require military service from its royals.”

“Whatever. So, on top of everything else, you’re an egghead. Well, I can overlook that.” Was it Jeremiah? Julian? “Fine, don’t wear white. But don’t wear a tuxedo, either. I hate the penguin look. No offense, Dr. Prince David of the Penguins.”

“Mock all you will…”

“Okey-dokey!”

“…but I remind you, you’ll be Mrs. Dr. Prince David of the Penguins.”

“Oh, barf. Is there time to cancel this thing yet?”

She heard a light tap at her door and groaned into her pillow. After a moment, she rolled over and said, “Nicholas! It’s after midnight, you little twerp! Enough of these weird, late-night excursions! Go to sleep!”

A head poked into the room. Not Nicholas’s. “Remind me to have a talk with the royal twerp,” David said. “Although I can hardly blame him for being unable to stay away. May I come in?”

“What is it with you people? Don’t any of you need sleep?”

“We take long naps in the morning.” He stepped into the room. “Interesting day today, hmm?”

“If you say so. But if I have to look at one more peau de soie shoe, I’m going to barf. What the hell is peau de soie, anyway?”

“You’re asking me? And there’s no way your shoes are going to be less comfortable than mine.”

She laughed as he sat down on the edge of her bed, and propped herself up on her elbows. “Since I plan to wear flats—and I thought the designer dude was going to cry when I told him—I’ll give you that one. And d’you know what’s worse? This was just, like, preliminary stuff. We’re going to have meetings and meetings, every day. Flowers, shoes, dresses, food, cakes, time, place, shoes—”

“While we’re on the topic of fashion…” She could see him a little better now, in spite of the room’s gloom, and once again wondered if his hair would feel like it looked…like coarse silk. “What’s this about a white wedding gown?”

“Oh, are we gonna do that? Because the time to do that was before you asked me to marry you.”

“I’m just curious,” he said mildly.

“Sure you are. Let’s put it this way: I’m not a virgin, but I’m not a slut, either.”

“You can’t know,” he said, perfectly straight-faced, “how relieved I am.”

“Listen up, wise guy—I can count the number of partners I’ve had on one hand.” She paused and added pointedly, “Can you?”

“Ah…not on one hand, no…in fact, I think I might need a third hand…maybe…and possibly a few of my toes…”

“Hypocrite!”

“Well, I am six years older than you. Oof!” He said “oof!” because she’d swung her pillow, sidearm, into his face. “Ah-ha! Now the truth comes out—you’re going to be an abusive wife, I can sense it.”

“Sure I am. Look, if you really want chapter and verse, we can do that. I mean…you’re right, it’s a fair question. But I expect reciprocation.”

He shook his head. “No need.”

“Chickenshit.”

“No, it’s like I said, I was just curious. It’s in the past, it has nothing to do with me, or us, and besides that, it’s your own personal business. That’s not the main reason I came in here, anyway.”

“Yeah? Other than keeping me from much-deserved sleep, what are you doing here?”

“I like teasing you. It’s…something different. Your reaction, I mean.”

“Super. Listen, not that this isn’t fascinating and all…”

“You’re fascinating.” Was he leaning in? He was! The lean-in! Oooh, prelude to a kiss. Their second kiss. Excellent. She’d been ready to make a move herself if he wasn’t going to. “I didn’t expect that. I knew you’d be pretty, but…”

He’s really got to work on this romantic prince thing. Because he just sucks at it. Well, maybe princes don’t have to try as hard. “Thanks.”

“…but I didn’t expect…the sheer excitement…I think it’s the force of your personality…”

“David. Will you shut up and kiss me?”

“…it’s really extraordinary, you fairly vibrate with life…”

“David. Seriously.”

“…and—ack!”

He said “ack” because someone had grabbed him by the shirt collar and hauled him off the bed. A very large someone, even broader than David. In fact, it was—

“Ah-ha! Trying to get some nookie before the big day, eh?” The king shook the prince like a terrier would shake a rat. “Nice try.”

“Al!” she said furiously. “Get lost! Go to bed!” On top of being weird, they’re all insomniacs…bizarre! “Don’t make me kick your big butt out of here.”

“Save it, sweetie. And you…time to go to your own room. I’m a modern guy—”

“A modern idiot is more like it,” Sweetie snapped.

“—but I can’t have premarital royal sex going on under my rooftop.”

“It’s none of your damned business if I want to have sex with a duck!” she screeched.

“No,” Prince David said, extricating himself from his father’s grasp, “but it’s mine.” He straightened his shirt and jerked his head, tossing his dark hair out of his face. “Oh, and my lord king, if you ever yank me away from my fiancée again, I’ll break out all your teeth.”

“Whoa,” the king and Christina said in unison.

David treated them to a frigid bow. “Good night.”

“Did you hear that?” the king cried as the door slammed. “He threatened felony assault!”

“He’s not the only one.”

“On his sovereign! Awww, they grow up so fast.” He tapped his chest, which was currently covered with a T-shirt that read, I’M THE KING, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? “Gets me right here.”

“I’m going to get you right there. Go away.”

“Calm down—I’m going, I’m going.”

What a bunch of nutjobs, she thought, lying back down. I must be out of my mind.

Sure you are. Then how come you can’t wipe that silly grin off your face?

Sleep was hard in coming; she spent entirely too much time thinking about the lean-in, and replaying the look in his eyes. For the first time, she didn’t worry so much about what she was getting herself into.