His eyes are wide and bewildered. “No, I suppose it’s appropriate. It’s just so…human. I didn’t expect the princess to own such complicated garments.”
I turn back around, jaw shifting side to side. “You mean not as simple as the dresses you usually have adorning your bedroom floor?”
“Ouch, you wound me,” he says, but his tone sounds far from offended. I feel his hand brush the back of my dress, sending an unexpected shiver up my spine, then a tug as he begins tightening the laces. “I figured we should talk.”
I recall him saying as much when he came to my door. “About what?”
“Our arrangement.” Another tug of the laces, and the bust finally remains in place on its own.
I lower my arms, trying not to focus on the fact that a man—a prince—is dressing me. My violinist lover hardly aided in removing my clothing during our tryst. For some reason, being laced into an evening gown during casual conversation feels far more intimate than I ever would have guessed. “What about it?” I ask, my voice coming out a little breathless.
“I just wanted to make my intentions clear. I will allow you to continue impersonating the princess until your bargain with her is complete. You mentioned previously our contrived courtship wasn’t meant to last beyond the social season. Am I correct to assume you are to leave at the month’s end?”
“I can’t talk about the bargain,” I remind him. Besides, I can’t have him knowing the truth—that my stay will be far shorter than a month.
Less than two weeks. Then freedom.
Another tug. “Fine. Regardless, I expect you to act as she would. That means allowing your maids to do what their position entails.”
“Yes, Franco, that lesson has been learned.”
“It also means you should court me as she would. Ornotas she would, considering she left. I want you to court me as someone giving serious thought to becoming my mate. You will attend public events with me. Since I cannot lie, you shall introduce yourself when Maisie’s name must be stated, and you shall answer any questions where direct untruths about you are required. Then, before you leave, you must publicly affirmyou—as Princess Maisie—are the one who desired for our pairing to go no further.”
I blink a few times. Did I hear him right? The breaker of many hearts wantsmeto publicly sever our courtship? That means my first assumption about his motive was incorrect. “I don’t understand. You want me to reject you?”
“Yes,” he says. “Oh, but you must not give some slanderous reason for why I’m at fault. We shall part amicably.”
I consider his words backward and forward and can only find one reason why he’d desire such an outcome. “You want to repair your reputation, don’t you?”
He doesn’t immediately answer. When he does, his voice is quiet. “In a way, I suppose that’s true. Although, I doubt it’s for the reasons you think.”
I scoff at that.
Franco gives a final pull of the laces and begins to tie them off. Once the duty is done, I expect him to return to the other side of the screen, but when I glance over my shoulder at him, he’s still there, fingers lingering at the ends of my laces. His gaze meets mine, and he takes a hasty step back. I quickly return to facing forward. “You can leave now.”
Without a word, he moves to the other side of the screen while I gather my composure. Brushing out my skirts, I will my flushed cheeks to cool, hoping the glamour will hide as much redness as possible. To give me a little more time, I gather the hair ribbons up from the floor and pretend to search for a place to tie them. When I catch sight of my shoes peeking from beneath my dress, an idea strikes me—a precaution. Crouching down, I tie the ribbons around each of my shoes, much like the prince had done with the strips he tore from my chemise. For all I know, he plans on flying me to the opera. For the love of the breeze, I hope that isn’t the case.
Once my wits are well within my control, I step out from behind the screen. Franco stands several feet away. Taking in my first full look at him since he entered the room, I realize he’s dressed far more elegantly than I’ve yet to witness. Instead of a carelessly unbuttoned shirt, he wears full evening attire with a jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. Not a single article is without some hint of fae flamboyance. His jacket is of the deepest, darkest violet, his brocade waistcoat a few shades lighter. His trousers are slim and black like before, but this time, they are of an iridescent silk that matches his cravat. Despite my elegant dinner dress, I feel like a pauper next to him.
Which means, I suppose, I feel like myself.
His eyes flick briefly over my body, then lock on mine. I avert my gaze and move to the wardrobe in search of gloves. I recall seeing a pair on the bed, but I’ll take any excuse to turn my back to him once more. Why does he have me so flustered? As I search through the wardrobe drawers, feigning indecision, I feel his eyes burning into my back.
“Why do you dislike me so?” he says, tone more curious than condemning. When I turn around, I find him lounging at the end of my bed, toying with the white silk gloves my stepsisters had indeed laid out. He extends his hand, offering the gloves.
I stride over to him and snatch them away. “Whatever do you mean?”
He leans to the side in a lazy slouch. “If I’m correct about Maisie’s motives, then I can understand why she wouldn’t like me. What’s your excuse? We haven’t met before—”
I snort a laugh as I pull on a glove.
His eyes brighten with amusement. “So, wehavemet?”
My posture goes rigid. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Then say what you mean.”
I put on the second glove but say nothing, lips pursed tight.
