I straighten my shoulders, trying to inject a modicum of steel in my spine. “I am. She’s my great aunt. Is that an issue?” I’m a bug under a microscope. It’s only now I realize the elevator has stopped, but the doors remain closed. There’s no escaping this conversation.
“Not an issue, perse, but I must know, what are your intentions here, really? My cousin has suffered enough at the hands of social-climbing women, and I will not see him hurt again.”
“You should know as well as any that even if I had intentions of pursuing His Royal Highness for my own social gain, it would be for nothing.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, settling me with a formidable stare. I fight a shiver. “Would it? Are you not eligible to be a part of this forced marriagefarce? Your aunt being noble should put you in some sort of position within the peerage.”
“It would, had my father not legally signed over all his claim when he and my mother moved us back to the United States when I was young.”
“Hmm.”
That’s the only answer Princess Beatrix gives. I’m still caught in her inspection of me, her trying to suss out exactly the kind of person I am. I have to respect the love she has for Prince Friedrich, but I’m not sure she believes I’m not a threat. And I’m starting to sweat a little under her intense study.
“I guess that will have to suffice for now, but I’m keeping an eye on you, Miss Sumner.”
The princess presses a button, and we start ascending once more. Stepping off the elevator, she takes my hand again, continuing the charade she began at the gate, all trace of the interrogator gone. She leads me down a pristine corridor so closed off only a low hiss of stadium noise bleeds through. I recognize one of the prince’s security officers standing outside a door about halfway down.
I do my best to keep the shock from my face as I’m ushered into a skybox directly in the middle of the stands. I have never been inside a VIP section for anything, and this exceeds anything I might have imagined.
Everything is done in white and navy blue. The floor appears to be dark blue marble, the bar counter shines bright white. The drop lighting has blue shades.All the furniture alternates between the two colors, including the plush chairs set in small clusters around the room. It would be easy to forget I’m at a soccer stadium if one wall wasn’t all glass looking out onto the pitch.
In my initial stunned survey of the space, I totally missed the tall, dark-haired man watching me as he leans his back against the bar, elbows resting on the countertop. On my second pass, though, I catch sight of the amused grin behind his well-groomed beard, and my lungs do that thing where they feel like they might implode.
“Thanks, Trix.” Prince Friedrich raises his glass to his cousin as we approach. He nods to me.
I drop into a curtsy. “Your Highness.” My skin sings as he takes my hand and lifts it to his lips.
“None of that today, Lady Sumner.”
“So that was your doing?”
His smile widens. “Couldn’t resist.”
“Mm-hm.” I purse my lips, which only makes him laugh. The sound sends all kinds of pleasure signals through me.
“I suppose I owe you a drink then?” He turns around and waves to the bartender, who is at our disposal in mere seconds. “Four more, please.” He holds up his glass, indicating his choice in alcohol.
“Fritz, you know I don’t drink that stuff,” Princess Beatrix says from very close behind me. Her arm is curled around my waist, and she clutches my hip on the other side. I feel a little odd being held like this byanother woman, especially one who just grilled me like some sort of political prisoner. But then she turns and flashes me such a smoldering smile, all pretenses of mistrust nowhere on her face, and at once I understand why so many women flock to her.
“Fine. Three whiskeys and one vodka soda,” the prince amends before turning back to me. “So, what do you think?”
“This is insane.”
I’m not doing a good job playing it cool, but tickets in the nosebleeds were the best I could afford previously. The buffet table along the wall opposite of the bar is stacked with the exact opposite of stadium food. A man in the all-black uniform of a royal protection officer is helping himself to pan-fried gnocchi in a pink sauce, stuffed sole, and prosciutto-wrapped asparagus. There’s also fresh bread and a colorful salad. The whiskey being poured for us is definitely not the same swill they over-charge the lower levels for. Now that I’ve seen how the other half lives, it’s going to be hard to slip back into the cheap sections with the boiled hotdogs and tepid beer in plastic cups.
“Wait till you see our seats.”
The prince hands me a glass of whiskey and takes the remaining two from the bar. I take a sip of my bourbon, appreciating the smooth, rich flavor as he leads me through the glass door to a private seating area. Princess Beatrix is keeping up the ruse quite well and walks between me and the prince, making a pointto steal a quick touch or flirtatious smile whenever possible.
The box sits at the top of the first tier of seating, right at centerfield, giving us the perfect view of the pitch. Another of the prince’s security team stands above the two rows of padded, high-backed stadium seats, keeping a watch on this side of the stands.
“Must be a dream assignment for him.” I nod in the direction of the man who had drawn a taser on me a few days ago, then met me at a hotel bar later that night.
Prince Friedrich looks where I had indicated. “Brenton? Hardly,” he laughs. “He’s a Shelford supporter.”
Brenton opens his jacket just a peek to show off a yellow jersey underneath.
I give a rather unmannered snort. “It’s a wonder you trust him enough to keep him around.”
