Twenty-One
AURELIA
My stomach gives a loud protest,and Friedrich’s laugh shakes through us both.
“Let’s see if we can find a bit of dinner,” he says. He glances out the window, where the rain has slowed considerably. “Perhaps by then the storm will be past us.”
It’s an effort to peel myself out of his arms since all I really want to do is stay here in the fire-warmed library surrounded by old book smell and gorgeous prince. I ruined a good portion of the day hiding in the bathroom, and while I’m still kind of reeling on the inside, I put on my brave face. I only have so much time with this man, and I’m going to wring every last bit of joy from our little arrangement.
It’s time to work on putting the past completely behind me. What happened to me back in Louisiana isancient history—Jaston and the church and my shame—and I have to stop letting it color the way I look at all relationships. I place all of that back in the box, carefully stored in the darkest corner of my mind and throw the metaphorical sheet over it.
Today, Friedrich showed me I am truly safe in his care. He didn’t press, he didn’t try to make me talk, and he was ready to listen when I was ready to engage. He didn’t change his mind about our agreement and didn’t get defensive. It’s a wonderful feeling, being heard and understood.
The prince leads me down to the kitchen, which is almost as breathtaking as the library. The appliances are sleek and modern, but the rest of it looks like it could be original. Stone floors, a grey brick fireplace in one corner, a worn wooden countertop with centuries’ worth of knife marks and burnt spots. I trail my fingers along the edge of the enormous eight-burner gas stove where a small cast-iron pot sits over a low flame in one corner.
“I think I’m in love,” I say, turning to Friedrich, who is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, that brain-mushing grin on his perfect lips.
“Do you like to cook?”
“I love to cook,” I gush. I can only imagine the kind of food this kitchen has seen. I picture myself bustling around in here with several pots simmering on the stove, the counter full of dishes and scraps, the smell of fresh bread in the oven. This is a chef’s paradise.
“I want to cook for you,” I say, garnering a smile that makes my heart swell.
“We’ll make it happen.” He juts his chin towards the black pot. “What did he leave us?”
When I lift the lid, steam rises and the smell of meat and stout broth fills the kitchen. I nearly drop the lid as I’m startled by arms around my waist. Friedrich rests his chin on my shoulder and takes a huge whiff.
“Smells delicious,” he says, giving me a small squeeze and placing a light kiss on the side of my neck.
I hum and lean into him more. I love the pleasure of his suckling kisses mixed with the subtle scratch of his beard on my neck. His hands flex on my stomach, and I know he’s trying to keep himself from moving them any higher. And curse his self-control because he pulls away from me, and my entire body wants to cry. I look at him over my shoulder; his eyes are pure smolder.
“Much more of that, mi’ lady, and we won’t be eating any time soon.” He gives my bottom a little smack and turns to the cupboard on the far wall.
I ladle up some soup for us in the bowls he provides, and he slices bread for us from a loaf left on the counter. We sit at a small wooden table near the fireplace and fall into our usual easy conversation about life and goals and family—his, not mine—as we enjoy the lamb stew.
Then he asks, “Have you found a dress for the ball yet?”
“The ball?”
“Yes, the New Year’s Eve ball at the palace. For the hopefuls.”
My stomach twists. I know he asked me to be present at all the major functions for this little princess project, but the more time I spend with the prince, the harder it’s getting for me to look at those other women without feeling a bit of disdain and a lot of jealousy for a few of them. Plus, I’ve never been to a ball.
“You did get the invitation, right?” he presses. “I gave Betsy your information weeks ago.”
“Yes, I got it. I just… I don’t know, Friedrich,” I sigh. “Isn’t this just supposed to be for you and your prospects?”
“Not just. There will be some senior members of government, some members of the peerage, a few of my friends. Definitely Miles and Trixie.”
He’s searching me with those eyes again, and I can’t think straight with his piercing blue eyes staring into my soul. He reaches a hand across the table and takes mine, holding my fingers so he can rub his thumb across my knuckles.
“Please, Aurelia. I want you there.”
“Why?” I’m not trying to be argumentative; I genuinely don’t understand his motives for having me at these kinds of things. Plus, I know Margaret is on that guest list, and it’s going to be much harder to keep away from her now that there are fewer women. Maybe I can just pass it off as me standing in for my aunt or something, since there will be other members of the Emarvian aristocracy there.
“I told you before; you help make the narcissism and pettiness stand out. Plus, the images I’ve conjured in my head of you in a ball gown are sure to pale in comparison to the real thing.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I can’t stop the smile pricking at the corner of my mouth.
