He was a fascinating man, so many little pockets of emotion and reaction. So different from her brother, whose stoicism bordered on a total lack of personality.
It made her wonder. She understood that so much of what Gabriel had done was a thank you to Alexandre, but she still existed. She breathed. She was involved.
And he was angry at her father on her behalf.
“What do you think of me, Gabriel?”
He raised an eyebrow, took a sip of his wine before responding. “That is a leading question.”
“Indeed. Answer it anyway.”
His mouth curved, ever so slightly. “You are not a princess here, Evelyne. And I am not your subject to order about.”
“Well, you are wrong on half of that,” she replied, grinning at him in humor. “America and fake identities or not, I amalwaysa princess.”
That curve of his mouth turned into a full-blown smile in return, the rage and anger gone. This had a similar effect though, a beautiful fluttering in her chest, spreading warmth through her body. Like a…blooming.
“Fair enough,principessa. What do I think of you?” He speared a piece of chicken with his fork. “You are impressive, Evelyne. This is delicious, and while you might have had ample time to teach yourself how to cook, not everyone would use their time wisely.”
It surprised her, how easily the compliment was delivered. She hesitated, shifted in her seat, not quite sure what to do withpraise.“Well. I have also spent a lot of time staring off into the ocean.”
He shrugged. “Understandable. You have withstood having to leave everything you’ve ever known behind and exist mostly alone. The surroundings are nice, no doubt, but that doesn’t make the process easy. But you have spine. Underneath that sparkle and personality. You have your brother’s strength, or you would not have survived your father.”
For a moment, she was rendered completely speechless. Compliments were not something she was used to, aside from ones about her looks. Anything complimenting herspineorstrengthwas completely foreign and…wonderful.
He must have sensed something of the enormity of her reaction, because he frowned, then shifted in his seat. Almost as though confident, carefree Gabriel Marti wasuncomfortable.
“Eat three more bites,” he ordered, like a parent would to a child. “Then I will help you clean up your mess.”
She thought to argue with him, but eating the somewhat insultingthree morebites like she was a child and having him help clean up kept them close.
So she ate a little bit of her chicken while he cleared his plate. This filled her with satisfaction too. He would not clear his plate if the food was horrible, even to assuage her ego. Gabriel wasniceto her because of Alexandre, but she did not think he cared all that much about herego.
He cleared the table with her, then moved to the sink. This was something she had come to the house knowing how to do. One of her punishments as a child for her many infractions at the dinner table had been to wash all the dishes for the palace. By hand.
Some of the women in the kitchens had been kind to her, taught her how to take care of her hands, had tried to carefully help her, but since everyone was afraid of King Enzo they had not done her work for her.
“I’ll wash, you can dry,” she told Gabriel.
“Do you know what this contraption is right here?” he asked, amused, pointing at the dishwasher.
She batted her eyelashes at him. “I thought it was a paper shredder.”
“Funny.”
Since shedidknow what it was for, and in fact how to use it—she’d even read the manual she’d found in the kitchen drawer to be sure—she handed him a dish towel. “You are meant to handwash these pans, and the knives. The kind women in the kitchens of the palace taught me this. Then, since I already have to do that, I handwash the rest. It’s just me. Or me and you, so convenience doesn’t really have much of a place here. It gives me something to do.”
If he had a reaction to that, she couldn’t read it. “Very well.” He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, pushed the sleeves up to the elbow.
Evelyne found her gaze trapped there for a moment. She studied the muscular forearms, wondered how he kept in such good shape. Was he some kind of gym rat? His hands spoke of…some kind of physical work. Though his watch was expensive, he had the slash of a faded scar over the back of his left hand.
Would his hands be rough then? What would it feel like to be touched by hands that had seen work outside typing up missives and handling phone calls in the palace? She’d only ever been with Jordi, and not often. It had been…pleasant enough, though she thought most of the enjoyment came from doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing under her father’s nose.
Perhaps for both of them.
Gabriel, on the other hand, didn’t strike her as a man who concerned himself with what he wasallowed. Didn’t her entire escape prove that? Not many would go against King Enzo’s wishes.
But he had. For Alexandre, yes, but because he was a brave man, a strong man, a smart man.
