20
Fran didn’t know how to waltz, but she figured no one would be able to see her feet anyway, and she was so grateful for Ari’s rescue that she would have agreed to do the Chicken Dance at this point.
He folded her hand into his arm and they moved toward the dance floor. She didn’t miss the way heads turned as they walked.
“Is this your first dance of the night?” she asked suddenly. “And is that significant? Everyone is staring at us.”
“It is, it is and they are,” Ari said, facing her as they stepped onto the ballroom floor. “I expect you’ll have to get used to it.”
“Haveyougotten used to it?” Fran suspected that Ari knew she was redirecting, but she didn’t care. She felt like she was having an out of body experience, dancing with him on the smooth hardwood floors, the music flowing around them like something out of a fairytale. The way Ari held her, and the decisive way he moved, allowed her to step naturally back and forth, then to the side, as if she’d been waltzing for years. Maybe there was something to these dresses, she thought. They carried a superpower all their own.
To her surprise, Ari answered the question seriously. “I got used to it, as you say, at a very young age,” he said. “When you grow up with the scrutiny of others on you, it becomes second nature.” He lifted one shoulder. “You learn very quickly not to search for yourself online or on TV. You’ll find things you won’t be happy about, but the thing that’s out there—it’s not you, not really. It’s the perceptions of others as they see you through their own filters.”
“Perception becomes reality,” Fran murmured.
“In their minds, yes, but not in your mind. It doesn’t have to be that way. Can’t be, truly, if you plan on maintaining your sanity. You have to accept that there are two versions of you. The one that you are, and the one that someone else thinks you are.” He shook his head. “More than two, of course. A hundred thousand versions of you that live in the minds of people you’ve never met, will never meet.”
Fran smiled wryly. “You sure you don’t want to take a run at psychology? Because they’d be all over this.”
“I think I’ll have my hands full with my own occupation,” Ari said. When she lifted her brows, he nodded. “The doctors believe it’s going to cause no damage for me to take on more responsibility. More importantly, the council is meeting this week, and they’re expected to vote to reverse the accession so that Kristos can return to his military commission. They see the value of the increased attention Garronia has received. We’ll be welcomed on international tour in the wake of my return, even if it’s mainly out of curiosity. That entrée will give my father plenty of opportunity to discuss the issues that are hampering Garronia’s growth. It’s a win-win.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Mind?” he glanced down at her, startled. “No. I don’t care how we get in the door of other world leaders. If I could do it wearing a clown costume, I probably would. What’s important isn’t how you get across the threshold, but what is worked out on the other side. That’s how it’s always been.”
She nodded. “Your parents are so happy to have you back,” she said. “Beyond the obvious, I can see why. You’ll make a good king one day.”
He tightened his grip on her hands, but he didn’t say anything more, and Francesca allowed herself to be swept along with the music of the dance. It ended far too soon and she caught sight of the queen moving forward, another impossibly beautiful Garronois girl by her side. “I think your dance card is about to get full,” she said, and Ari looked up as well. His smile was automatic, gracious and appeared authentically warm. “Do you know her?”
“Haven’t a clue,” he admitted, then he glanced down at her. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”
“No!” she blurted as he chuckled. “That would cause an international incident and we’ve already had enough of those.”
“I suppose for one night, I’ll bow to your wishes,” he said, and he did bow to her, the movement so graceful and aristocratic that she found herself inclining her head back to him. “You’ll be okay while I take care of these dances?”
She nodded. “Of course I will.”
“Good.” And then he leaned forward. Catching up her hand, he raised it to his lips, kissing it soundly as his gaze bored into hers. “Because when it is done, I’m coming for you.”
Ari stepped back from Fran as his mother and the girl she was tugging along burst onto the dance floor, and the music started up with another trill of violins. Fran’s heart was thundering in her ears, her breath fitful, and she whirled around. Her mascara was about to give up the ghost, she knew. She needed to find a bathroom!
She pushed through the crowd as slowly as she could manage, but her mind was whirling. Ari didn’t look at her with the gaze of a young man infatuated with his caretaker, he looked at her like he was truly in love. She may not have had extensive experience with boyfriends, but she had seen that expression before. Granted, not on such an impossibly perfect face, and never while she was wearing a gown that cost more than a flight around the world…
She burst into the hallway, scanning right and left. She was almost certain that there was a bathroom down this hallway. As she walked, she dabbed her eyes with her fingertips, grimacing as she brushed across the tips of her lashes. Waterproof mascara wasn’t supposed to streak, but her tears were going to be industrial strength.
She rounded a corner and noticed the plant stand, perfectly centered down the long hallway. She headed toward it. There was water in that plant stand. Surely that meant a bathroom was nearby. And there were two doors beyond the stand, so maybe through there?
And why did she feel so much like crying, anyway? So what if Ari was falling for her. He’d been through a lot; he was probably still reeling. He couldn’t be held accountable for his emotions. She certainly didn’t hold him accountable. She also didn’t expect him to act on them. Not in the cold light of day, not when—
“Francesca Simmons?”
Fran stopped and turned back, but the tough-looking man in the black suit was no one she’d ever seen before. His accent was thick, his face hard, and she nodded quickly with embarrassment. Clearly she’d stumbled down the wrong corridor of the castle, and was breaching some restricted zone.
“Yes!” she said. “Sorry, I must have gotten lost.”
The man didn’t respond verbally, though. He lifted his hand and jerked his fingers upright, and then two other men entered the hallway from the doors facing the corridor. To Fran’s absolute shock, both of them were carrying guns.
“What?” She stepped back automatically. “What’re you doing—hey!”
