“I need to see Fred. Together, I’m sure we can come up with a plan.”
Francesca nods. “Crisis management. PR triage.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“In his study, of course,” she replies.
“Right then.” I square my shoulders. “Thanks for the info, Fran. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
She squeezes my hand. “Go get ‘em, Asti.”
After a brief diversion to my rooms to collect something, I arrive at Frederic’s study and lift my hand to knock. I pause. What would it mean if the alliance between our countries were to fall apart before it’s even properly formed?
Could this be my way out?
If I want a way out, that is. Which I do. I think. But then there was that kiss… Is one magical kiss enough to base an entire relationship on?
The weight of it all has me staring at the door, motionless,only for it to fly open. I stagger back in shock as Frederic stops a fraction of a second before bowling me right over.
“Astrid,” he exclaims in surprise.
I hold the paper up. “Have you seen this?” I ask without preamble.
His features pinch. “I have.” He stands back for me. “I suppose we should talk.”
“I suppose we should.” I enter the room with its rows and rows of books, high ceilings, and view out to the gardens. He gestures at a seat by his desk, and I sink into it, clasping my hands together in my lap. A clock ticks on the mantelpiece, the only sound in the room.
“What I don't understand is why they didn't use one of the better photos,” I blurt before he’s even taken a seat.
He raises a brow. Because of course Fred can raise just one. He’s so controlled he can probably raise just one ear, too, maybe flare one nostril. “Better photos?” he asks as he sits behind his huge desk, where he always sits when we’re alone together in this room.
“You know, the ones where we— ” I worry my lip as my belly tightens. I swallow, heat rising in my cheeks once more. I need to just say it. “The ones of us kissing.”
He reels back as though I’ve threatened him with a hot poker. “Oh. Yes. Of course.That.” He clears his throat.
Flustered much, Fred?
I try to suppress a smile. He’s so obviously uncomfortable at the mere mention of our kiss.
“We didn’t send the press those. We felt they were too… intimate,” he says finally.
“Of course they were intimate. They were two people kissing.”
“Precisely.”
“Precisely?” I blink at him across the expanse of his desk. “Why didn’t you? If you want this thing between us to look convincing, you could have given them the kissing pics.”
“Of course I want this to look convincing.”
“Well, you can’t get more convincing than a kiss like that one. From where I was standing, it was a pretty good kiss.”
A pretty good kiss? Try sensational.
Ooops. I’ve shown my hand in one short sentence. I may as well have just jumped up onto his desk and shouted,that kiss was incredible! Let’s do it again!at the top of my lungs.
I peer at him. He’s giving me a look I’ve grown to know well in my week here in Villadorata. It’s the one that tells me he thinks I'm a little bit ridiculous. Or I’m a lot ridiculous.
But wasn't there truth in that kiss?
