“Ah, right. I offer my deepest condolences.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. It has indeed been a difficult few weeks.”
He leans in, his lips nearly brushing the curve of my ear, and a chill runs through me. My chest aches at the familiarity as I’m washed in the smell of him, like earth and wood and sweet smoke, though I’ve never seen him indulge even a cigar. “I wish I could have been there for you.”
I can only nod. My heart is in my throat, and I’m dangerously close to ruining my mascara.
He straightens and pulls at the end of his jacket.Blue eyes trace me up and down. I’m in perhaps the least funereal dress imaginable, an off-the-shoulder A-line with a huge full skirt that hits below the knee. The shade of green reminds me of retro kitchen appliances you would see in a Sears catalogue from the fifties. “Trixie would have loved to see you like this.”
“Oh, she’s already in the ballroom,” I say with a chuckle. “Can’t keep that girl from a party, can we?”
“Damn, guess I’ll be spending the entire evening fighting her for just a moment of your time.”
He wants a moment of my time. What does he think that will achieve?But as my heart kicks into overdrive, I couldn’t care less what his intentions are. I think this may be the first time I’ve smiled in over a week, and it feels good.Hemakes me feel good. And I miss feeling good.
“And what will the rest of those in attendance think of you spending the entire party with me?” I ask shyly, tracing circles on the floor with the toe of my cream-colored pump.
There’s that panty-dropping smile.I’m absolutely defenseless against it. “That I’m a caring and empathetic prince who comes to the aid of his people in their time of mourning?”
I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“Dammit, you’re right.” He sighs. “But I will steal at least one dance.”
Margaret clears her throat again and clasps my arm possessively in both her hands. “Apologies for interrupting and thank you for your kind words, YourHighness,” she butts in. “But you appear to be holding up the line.”
He looks over his shoulder at the empty foyer, turning back to fix my friend with a sorrowful expression. “Always the perceptive eye, Lady Margaret.” He sweeps into a flourishing bow.
I roll my eyes before dipping into a small bow as well. “Drama queen,” I mutter and warm at the chuckle that wells up from his chest.
When we made the rules for our little sexual arrangement, we had agreed to remain friends when it inevitably ended. Up until now, I didn’t see how I could ever manage to be friends with him after such heartache. But his kindness now, the easy joking, makes me think friendship may still be a possibility.
Margaret turns me roughly to her, her hands clenched on my shoulders. “Aurelia, do not encourage him.”
“What?”
“You two were all flirty and cute, and I saw the expressions on both your faces.”
I can’t meet her eyes and instead study the pattern in the marble floor. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re finally getting all your pieces back together, don’t let him in again because I don’t know if you’ll be able to come back from him breaking you another time.”
These people know how to party! I had been to a handful of events with Aunt Sarah over the years, but never anything so lively. I didn’t expect anyone to get into the spirit of the event I tried to curate in celebration of my aunt’s incredible life. But as the night wears on and the drinks continue to flow, more and more people take to the dance floor. Many women are similarly dressed to me, big skirts and midcentury style dresses; I guess they knew Aunt Sarah’s predilection towards big band and jazz music.
The band pauses periodically to allow for toasts in her honor, and I continue to be shocked, delighted, and a bit touched by some of their speeches. Like one from an older gentleman in black pants and a white jacket who talks about how he and Aunt Sarah had outrun the Irish Guards in Galway when they visited in their mid-twenties and found themselves in a spot of trouble with the law for getting inebriated on a Sunday. Or a middle-aged woman who speaks about how Aunt Sarah had helped her get back on her feet after a particularly nasty divorce; her young daughter was the inspiration for Aunt Sarah’s fund to send underprivileged girls to prestigious private schools. The woman credits my aunt with giving her daughter the opportunity to go to a great university and is now in her final year of law school. Another man, who has to be at least thirty years younger than my aunt, begins a story about a torrid love affair, but is quickly shuffled off by the not-funeral director.
In between speeches and individual conversationsas her friends and peers take time to offer sympathy and talk about Aunt Sarah, I find myself looking for the prince. He is rarely out of my line of sight, even when he’s on the dance floor, and my gracious, can that man dance! His body moves like a weed in the water, smooth and fluid, twisting and turning and bending with such purpose and beautiful intentionality. He feels the music and it flows through each step, through his arms and hips.Oh, those hips.And he had the audacity to presume we could dance together tonight. The waltz he roped me into at the New Year’s Eve ball definitely does not translate. I’m certain I will break his ankle if we even try.
“Aurelia, I know that look, and please don’t.” Margaret has hardly left my side all night, which is helpful when I’m navigating this unfamiliar social situation amongst the highest members of society, but she also makes it hard for me to catch even just a moment with Prince Friedrich. And now I’ve been found out.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You and the prince have been eye-fucking all night.”
I almost choke on the Sazerac I’ve been nursing. “Can you keep your voice down? Criminy! And we have not been eye-banging.”
Margaret gives me the ‘sure Jan’ face. “Girl, you were just watching him dance like you were imagining him doing it naked.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks as I catch sight of himagain, twirling his cousin around the dance floor like a top. My friend snaps in my face.
