An hour later, I’ve given up pretending that I’ll be productive today.
I take a hot shower, and when I get out, I slide on a soft, oversized T-shirt that hangs to my mid-thigh, which I’ve worn as anightgown for years. My hair is loose and messy because I didn’t want to wash it. Tonight, I’ll watch a terrible Steven Seagal movie and question my life choices. It’s a comfort habit.
I curl up on the couch with my laptop and choose something full of explosions out of sequence, and car chases for absolutely no reason. The booze has mellowed me out, and I let myself sink into the cushions with a bag of chips, a can of peanuts, and some pretzels.
Outside the window, the sun drops toward the horizon in shades of orange and pink. Somewhere in the palace, Louis is sitting through a welcome dinner, surrounded by women who were born with golden spoons in their mouths.
I shove another chip in my mouth and tell myself I don’t care.
Once it’s dark, a knock taps on my door. I pause mid-explosion and really hope Louis isn’t dumb enough to show up at my cottage when he should be charming his dinner guests.
I brush the chip crumbs off my shirt and walk barefoot to the door. When I pull it open, I’m suddenly aware of how few clothes I have on.
Louis stands before me in a perfectly tailored suit. His hair is styled but messy, and he cleaned up his five-o’clock shadow. His blue eyes travel down to my lips, across my breasts, to my bare thighs. His brow lifts, and I swear his pupils dilate.
“You reset the board,” he says, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Iendedthe game.” I lean against the doorframe.
“We are not fucking done,” he states matter-of-factly, like he’s not in the mood for my shit.
“Yes, we are,” I tell him without hesitation.
“Let me in,” he says.
“Is that an order, Your Highness?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest to match his stance. “I’m not someone you can boss around.”
“May I please enter so we can speak in private?” His voice is kinder. “Please?”
“Only because you used your manners.” I step back and gesture for him to enter.
He moves past me, and I catch the hint of his woodsy cologne.
I close the door and turn to find him standing in the middle of my living room, looking completely out of place. The snacks are open on the coffee table, and my laptop is frozen on an explosion.
“Is that Steven Seagal?” he asks.
“Maybe. What do you want?”
He shakes his head. “Do you like action films?”
I sigh. “It’s a comfort thing. When I can’t paint, and my mind is fucked up, I watch bad movies. It makes me feel better about life.”
His mouth curves into something close to a smile, and his head tilts. “Are youdrunk?”
I scoff. “Is this fifty questions? Seriously, it’s none of your business.”
“You are.” He loosens his tie. “Delphine?”
“I’m not a snitch.”
“She’s always been trouble.” He pulls the tie free and tosses it onto the back of my chair. “You two together will be a problem.”
“For the last time, what do you want?” I move past him to close my laptop.
He unbuttons his collar, and I try not to stare at the skin it reveals. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“While surrounded by beautiful women pining for your attention?” I slide my hand into the chip bag and eat a few. “You’re rude.”
