Tangled Games (Dating Games)

by T. K. Leigh

  “Thing?”

  “Yeah.” She gives him a knowing look, as if speaking a language only they can understand.

  Growing up in this world, I suppose you have to develop a way of communicating only those you trust can understand. And if there’s one person Anderson trusts in this world besides Creed, it’s Esme.

  “Nora needs a bit of normalcy in her life. Especially after today. So be there. Eight o’clock. And for fuck’s sake, don’t wear a suit, or I’ll hang you from your bloody tie. Got it?”

  He laughs. “Got it.”

  “Good.”

  “Excuse me,” the older man in the dark uniform interrupts. “His and Her Majesty are ready for you in the private drawing room. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Major General Lawson.”

  Picking up on the fact that he has the same last name as Creed, I snap my eyes to Anderson. He gives a slight nod, answering my unspoken question. That the man who appears to be in charge of the security of this palace is Creed’s father. Talk about some big shoes to fill.

  I glance at Creed, then Major General Lawson, noticing a resemblance. Both are impressive physically. Not just their height, but also their muscular build. Both have dark, impassive eyes. Both strong noses and square jaws. The only difference is their hair. Creed still boasts a full head of dark hair, trimmed but not in military precision, whereas his father is shaved bald.

  “I won’t keep you any longer,” Esme says, forcing my attention back to her. “I’ll see you out there anyway.” She wraps me in another hug, squeezing me tighter than normal. “Congratulations, sweetie. And I promise, it’ll be worth it.” She holds my gaze before floating away.

  Once she disappears, we follow Major General Lawson up the grand staircase. I try not to gawk at my surroundings. It’s a little surreal to be inside the palace I’ve only read about in history books.

  Will I also be in those books one day?

  The thought is crazy, especially after living most of my life feeling inadequate.

  After walking through a maze of corridors, we come to a stop outside a wall that, upon closer inspection, is actually a concealed door. Another man in a black suit hurries to meet us.

  “Your Highness,” he bows at Anderson before looking to Creed’s father. “Major General Lawson.”

  “Colonel Winters.”

  “My father’s private secretary,” Anderson explains under his breath.

  I nod in understanding as Colonel Winters gently presses the hidden door, which automatically opens inward. He strides inside, snapping his heels together.

  “Your Majesties,” he says with a bow. “His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel and Ms. Nora Tremblay.”

  Panic rises inside me as I glance at Anderson. It’s always nerve-wracking to meet the parents of the man you’ve fallen in love with. But meeting his father and grandmother when they’re royalty is a level of anxiety I never knew existed.

  What do I do? What do I say? What’s the protocol? Who do I curtsey to first? Am I supposed to curtsey to Anderson, too?

  As if sensing my unease, he leans toward my ear. “Just follow my lead. After greeting them, I’ll introduce you. You need to do a small curtsey when they greet you. Okay?”

  I don’t even have a chance to respond before he leads me into the room, leaving Creed and his father in the hallway. I want to tell my feet to stop, to carry me back to a less stressful life, but they won’t listen, automatically following Anderson.

  “Your Majesty.” He releases me and bows his head slightly. I watch as an older version of Anderson shakes his hand, the gesture feeling oddly formal and lacking any closeness or affection. As if Anderson’s an employee, not a son.

  “Gabriel.”

  Then Anderson turns toward the woman at his father’s side. She’s tall and slender, much like Esme. Her silvery platinum hair is styled in a trendy pixie cut, reminiscent of Jamie Lee Curtis. In fact, everything about her reminds me of the actress, even down to the penetrating gaze that studies and analyzes every inch of me. She certainly doesn’t exhibit any warmth or affection toward me. But as her eyes focus on Anderson, she smiles.

  “Gabriel, darling.”

  “Grandmother.” He bows. She inclines her head before offering her cheek, which he kisses.

  When he returns to me, he straightens his posture, turning into a person I haven’t seen much of since our relationship began. He turns into Prince Gabriel.

  “I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Nora Tremblay. Nora.” He smiles down at me. “This is my father, King Gabriel.”

  Nerves spiral through me, piercing and deep. All I can do is pray I get the greetings correct and don’t look like an idiot when I curtsey. I haven’t exactly needed to curtsey to anyone in the past, oh…lifetime. Now I wish I’d spent last night learning all these archaic customs and rules instead of wrapped in Anderson’s arms as we made love. Four times, if he’s to be believed.

  Doing my best to maintain my balance, I move one foot behind the other, lowering my head slightly as I bend my knees. “Your Majesty.”

  My gesture seems to pass muster as he offers me his hand, which I take. “Pleasure, Ms. Tremblay.”

  I smile before Anderson turns toward his grandmother.

  “Grandmother, I’d like you to meet Ms. Nora Tremblay. Nora, this is my grandmother, Queen Veronica, the queen mother.”

  I go through the same motions, even more cognizant of my movements this time. I picture myself losing my balance and stumbling. It would be my luck to do something like that.

  When I first met Hunter’s parents, I’d spilled my drink across the table at the restaurant, soaking his mother’s dress. I’d never been so horrified. Thankfully, she laughed it off. I expected her to forbid her son from ever seeing me again because I didn’t measure up. But she didn’t. She embraced me, despite what I viewed as my failings. It made me realize my relationship with my own mother had been incredibly unhealthy.

  “We’ll have to work on that, won’t we?” Queen Veronica snips out, her nose upturned.

  I open my mouth, unsure how to respond.

  “It’s my fault,” Anderson interjects. “I sprang this on her. I have no doubt once Nora begins her instruction, she’ll catch on rather quickly.”

  I keep my expression neutral, like I used to whenever my mother criticized me in that passive-aggressive way she always did. Much like it seems Queen Veronica does.

  “One hopes so. Thankfully, all she’ll need to do today is stand there and smile.” She turns her annoyed stare toward me. “You can manage that, can’t you?”

  “I’ll try not to disappoint,” I counter, doing everything to bite back any snarkiness begging to be set free.

  “We should get on with it.” King Gabriel smiles a congenial smile.

  I still don’t know what to think about him. He’s a bit of a conundrum. Over time, I’ll probably have a better read on him, but right now, I sense he never learned how to balance being both a king and a father. It’s like he wants to be a father to Anderson right now and celebrate in this moment, but he remembers who he is and the responsibilities placed on his shoulders.

  I hope Anderson doesn’t turn out the same way.

  “Your Majesties, if you’re ready.” Colonel Winters appears out of thin air.

  “We are,” Queen Veronica responds.

  “Very well.” He turns on his heels with precision, escorting us out of the drawing room. Creed and Major General Lawson join us for the journey through the corridors. When we approach a large metal door, Major General Lawson punches a code into it and it swings inward. Once we’re all inside, he closes the door, leading us through what feels like an underground network of tunnels.

  “These are the palace safe rooms,” Anderson explains. “If it’s ever under attack, the royal family and staff will be evacuated here. It’s pretty much an underground fortress. And is also where the royal vault is located.”

  Goosebumps prickle my nape. This all seem
s like a dream. Secret tunnels. Safe rooms. Royal vault.

  For the past year, I’ve kept waiting to wake up in a dingy motel room on Route 66 to learn I dreamed the entire thing. That I imagined Anderson.

  But as Major General Lawson unlocks another metal door and leads us into what can only be described as a jewelry vault on steroids, I know I’m not dreaming. No way in a million years would I be able to imagine this.

  Thick glass covers the floor-to-ceiling display cases containing priceless jewels. Centuries-old rings. Brilliant earrings. Necklaces of all shapes and sizes. Even dozens of intricate tiaras. You name it, and it’s here, everything marked, as if a historical archive.

  “That’s the coronation crown, scepter, and mantle,” Anderson’s grandmother tells me, gesturing to a glass case in the far corner.

  I take several slow steps toward it, the sound of my heels on the floor echoing in the vast room. When my gaze falls on a mannequin adorned in a military dress uniform, my pulse increases.

  Almost from the beginning, I’ve known Anderson was a prince. I’ve seen photos of him at official events, dressed in his military uniform, always the picture of poise and authority.

  But the reality that he’ll one day be king never truly sank in until this moment. Being here, seeing the crown amongst a treasure trove of jewels, makes it all real.

  Anderson approaches behind me, his reflection in the glass nearly lining up with that of the crown and mantle.

  “You’re going to be king,” I murmur, the words escaping me before I can stop them.

  He smiles, placing his hands on my shoulders as I gawk at our reflection — me a nobody, him a remarkable man whose life somehow intersected with mine.

  “First time I came down here, I thought the same thing. And right over here…” He touches a hand to the small of my back, leading me toward the glittering tiaras placed on black velvet, “are the family’s tiaras, one of which you’ll wear on our wedding day.”

  He stops me in front of one of them, a thick band of diamonds surrounding a large sapphire in the center, the blue color making my eyes pop even more. My jaw goes slack at the reflection of me in a tiara. And not a cheap costume tiara like I donned when I played dress-up as a little girl.

  A real tiara worth thousands of dollars.

  “We’re running short on time, so if I might suggest we take a look at the rings,” Colonel Winters says in an even tone.

  “Certainly, Frederick.” King Gabriel nods in his direction as a man in a suit appears from the shadows. I’m starting to think that being able to blend into the background and appear only when needed is a prerequisite to work here.

  The man approaches one of the cases and removes a velvet-lined display, six rings placed in the grooves. He brings it to a nearby table, and Anderson leads me toward it.

  “I did my best to choose a selection of rings my lady might prefer, based on your skin tone and the size ring you wear,” the man says.

  “Which one do you like?” Anderson asks.

  I shake my head, the glittering stones almost blinding me. They’re much bigger and extravagant than I pictured myself wearing. I want to tell him the ring he already bought me is perfect, that I can’t imagine myself wearing something so…grandiose.

  I don’t have a choice, though. I need to learn to play by their rules, and that includes wearing a ring from the royal vault as a sign of the king’s approval of our union.

  Swallowing down my protest, I study the different rings, trying to select one I wouldn’t mind wearing the rest of my life, at least at public events. They’re all beautiful. Some all diamonds. Others different jewels — sapphire, ruby, emerald.

  But there’s one that calls to me. A blue stone that reminds me of Anderson’s eyes — light around the edges, transitioning to a stormy blue in the center.

  “This one, I think.” I point to the stone that’s flanked by dozens of smaller diamonds.

  “Lovely choice, ma’am.” The man removes it from the display. “That’s an eight carat tanzanite stone surrounded by an additional two carats worth of diamonds. Do you know much about tanzanite?”

  “I don’t.”

  “It’s one of the rarest stones in existence. In fact, it’s a thousand times rarer than diamonds. The stone was named by Tiffany’s after its place of origin in Northern Tanzania. It’s estimated there’s only a thirty-year supply left. In my opinion, it’s the perfect choice to commemorate a once-in-a-lifetime love.” He beams and hands Anderson the ring.

  Anderson takes my left hand in his, his eyes trained on mine as he removes his original engagement ring. When he brings the tanzanite ring up to the same finger, he arches a single brow.

  He doesn’t make any move to put the ring on my finger yet, giving me one last chance to change my mind. I don’t need him to say it. Once we do this, once I walk out of those doors to meet the press for the first time and his father announces his formal approval of our engagement, there’s no backing out.

  But I couldn’t walk away from Anderson even if I wanted to.

  My stare unwavering, I nod.

  He slides the ring onto my finger, then raises it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. Neither one of us says a word, but I can’t help but feel like there’s been a shift inside of me.

  I pray it’s for the better, not the worse.

  Chapter Twelve

  Anderson

  “Is it possible to pull a muscle in your face?” Nora remarks later in the evening as Creed drives from my estate on the outskirts of the city and toward the vibrant city center. “Because I’m pretty sure I have.”

  “How so?” I ask, stealing a glance at her.

  There’s something different about her now that our engagement has been made official and my father has announced to the world that, in eight weeks, she’ll be the Crown Princess of Belmont, and eventually queen consort. But all of that comes second to the most important aspect of my father’s announcement. In eight weeks, I’ll be her husband, our hearts and souls bound together even more so than they are now. Most men might be nervous. Not me. If possible, I would have married her today.

  I truly am the luckiest bastard in the world.

  “From smiling all day for the cameras. If this is to become a regular thing, I may have to work face exercises into my workout routine.”

  Chuckling, I grab her right hand, lifting it to my lips, brushing them against her finger where the engagement ring I got her sits, the family ring on the left. It meant a lot she insisted on still wearing my ring.

  “I can think of a few ways to stretch those face muscles.” I mischievously waggle my brows.

  “I bet you can.”

  “We’ll start when we get home, if you’d like.”

  “Is that right?” She pulls her hand from mine and shoots me a playful glare.

  “You’re the one who said your face muscles could use a workout. I’m simply offering my services. Consider me your…personal trainer.”

  Her lips pinch together into a tight line. “I wouldn’t want to burden you. Shouldn’t you check with your private secretary first to make sure you have room in your schedule for what I can only assume could be a rather time-consuming task?”

  I dip my head toward her, my mouth a breath away from her neck. “I’ll make the time to feel your lips on my cock.” I linger there for a beat. I don’t even need to look at her to know her expression is flushed, her breaths coming quicker. Then I pull away, confirming my original suspicions. “I think two hours a day is a good start.” I lean back in the seat, extending my legs as far in front of me as possible and place my hands behind my head, the picture of relaxation. “Feel free to start now.”

  “Such an opportunist.”

  “Like I said, I’m simply offering to help.”

  She curves toward me, trailing her fingers down the t-shirt I changed into, per Esme’s instructions to not wear a suit. As her hand approaches my belt, she stops. “Baby, you wouldn’t be able to last two minutes.”

&nb
sp; I raise a brow. “Don’t think so?”

  “I know so. If memory serves correctly, last time I sucked your dick, you went quick.”

  I graze my lips against hers, a lightness in my chest at our easy banter and conversation. It reminds me of the people we were back in New York. Gives me hope we’ll still be those people, despite the uncertain road we’re about to embark on.

  “What can I say? You give damn good head, gorgeous.”

  She seals her mouth over mine, her tongue teasing, giving me a taste of exactly what she can do with that tongue on other parts of my body. “Likewise…” Pulling back, she smirks. “Gorgeous,” she adds, mimicking my accent to the best of her ability.

  When the SUV comes to a stop in front of a brick row house across from one of the many canals snaking through the capital city, Nora peers out the window.

  “No gated drive or elaborate palace for Esme?” she asks as Creed slides out of the SUV.

  “Her formal residence has all of that.”

  “Formal residence? Then where are we?”

  “Somewhere she goes to escape it all.”

  Nora’s door opens, and Creed helps her find her footing. When I step out, I glance up and down the quiet street to make sure no one is around to catch a glimpse of us. As expected, I notice a few dark SUVs at either entrance of the block, preventing vehicular and pedestrian traffic from coming this way for the few seconds it takes us to go from the SUV and up the front steps of Esme’s townhouse.

  “I’ll keep an eye on things,” Creed tells me. “Call when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Enjoy your evening, Your Highness.” He bows, then looks to Nora. “My lady.”

  “Creed.”

  He remains in place, as he’s been trained. It’s not until I punch a code into the keypad by the front door and it opens that he retreats.

  “That’s going to take some getting used to,” Nora mumbles under her breath as we step inside the house, closing the door behind us.

  “What is?”

  “Everyone calling me ‘my lady’.” She plays up the British in her intonation.