Tangled Games (Dating Games)

by T. K. Leigh

  “We’re the same person,” I argue.

  She smiles sweetly, resting her hand on my bicep. “No, you’re not. You may think you are, but Anderson immediately turns into Crown Prince Gabriel when the cameras are rolling or there’s a crowd. You can deny it all you want, but in your heart, you know it’s true. The second you’re back in this country, you’re different. It’s not a bad different,” she adds quickly. “I adore you, and that includes all the different versions of you. Nora’s lucky to know the side of you most people don’t get to see. As am I.”

  “How do I make her see that?” I ask in frustration, jumping to my feet and digging my hands through my hair.

  Dizzy from the sudden movement, I place my hand on the armrest of the sofa as I attempt to maintain my balance. I take several deep breaths, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to clear my vision, but everything’s still slightly blurred.

  Esme eyes me warily, her attention focused on my hand gripping the armrest. “Are you okay, Anders?”

  I take a moment to steady myself before straightening. “I’m fine.” I grit out a smile, ignoring the ache in my hip, something else that’s become more prominent lately.

  “So, how do I make her see that?” I repeat in an effort to shift the subject back to Nora and me.

  She levels a stare on me, then sighs. “I don’t think your problem is showing Nora she’s lucky to know Anderson. She knows she is. She wouldn’t have agreed to marry you if she didn’t.” Her expression softens. “Maybe she needs to get to know Prince Gabriel.”

  I grind my jaw in irritation. “But I am Prince Gabriel.”

  “To her, you’re Anderson. This man you’ve become is a stranger to her.”

  “But—”

  She places her hand on my arm, cutting me off. “Do what all strangers do when they like a girl.”

  I blink, shaking my head. “I don’t follow.”

  “Jesus Christ, Anders.” She throws up her hands in frustration. “Are you that out of touch with reality?” she retorts playfully. “You see, in the real world, when a guy likes a girl, he asks her out on something called a date.”

  “You want me to ask my fiancée out on a…date?”

  “Not a regular date. A date with Prince Gabriel.”

  “And you think that will fix this?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot. At the very least, it’ll show her you acknowledge her concerns. That you’re trying. That’s all people want out of a relationship. To know your worries don’t fall on deaf ears. To know the other person is listening. So show her that.”

  A knock on the door cuts through, and Bridge peeks his head into the office. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

  “Thanks, Nathan. We’ll be right out.”

  He bows. “Sir.” Then he does the same to Esme. “Ma’am.”

  She acknowledges him with a smile before he disappears.

  “Shall we?” I look at my sister.

  “Absolutely.”

  I begin toward the door, the stiffness in my hip and leg causing me to lose my footing and nearly topple over. I grab onto the desk as Esme rushes toward me, helping me upright.

  “Anders, you need to go to a doctor.”

  “I have,” I argue.

  “And not the bullshit neurologist on the royal household’s payroll. A real doctor.”

  “I’m fine,” I grind out.

  “You are not fine. Stop being such a stubborn ass. There’s something going on.”

  “It’s just stress. I haven’t been sleeping well, either, so that doesn’t help. You know as well as I do that stress can exacerbate some of my symptoms. Muscle strain. Dizziness. That’s all this is. I promise. I’m fine. Once things settle down and this vote on the damn referendum is over, I’ll be as good as new.”

  I straighten, pushing through the pain in my hip as I step away from her, demonstrating that I’m fully capable of walking unassisted.

  “See? I’m as good as gold. Now, let’s go. Don’t want to keep the kids waiting.” I hold out my elbow for her to take.

  She studies me for a beat, then exhales, walking toward me. “If you say so.” She lifts her eyes to mine. “But you’d tell me if it wasn’t stress. You wouldn’t keep me in the dark about your prognosis. Right?”

  My smile cracks as I peer into her vibrant, blue orbs that mirror mine. The one piece of our mother we both have. Her concern is well-founded. After all, our mother suffered from a more severe form of MS, but kept most of her symptoms from us — physical and psychological — until it was too late.

  I hate the idea of lying to my sister.

  More than that, I hate the idea of her worrying about something she has no control over.

  That I’m quickly learning I have no control over, either.

  “Of course I will, Esme.”

  “Good. Because I can’t lose you, too.”

  I lean down, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “You won’t. Promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She wraps her arms around my waist, clinging tightly to me, resting her head against my chest. “You’d better not.” She pulls back, pointing a finger in my face. “Because if you do, I swear to God, I’ll strike a deal with the devil to make sure you’re tortured for all eternity.”

  “That’s assuming I’m going to hell when I die. A pretty lofty assumption, if you ask me.”

  She places a hand on her hip. “Trust me, my darling brother. I know all your secrets. And if you go to heaven, provided such a place does exist, mankind is worse off than I originally believed.”

  I bark out a laugh, the sound filling the room.

  At my lowest moments, I can always count on Esme to lift me up, to remind me what it’s like to feel normal. She grounds me when I feel as if my world is spinning out of control. And it’s this bond that helps me finally understand Nora’s concerns.

  She hasn’t had anyone to count on as her world spun out of control, threatening to throw her off. It used to be me, but as Anderson. Now, while we’re here, it needs to be Prince Gabriel.

  “Hey, Esme?” I ask.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  Her smile turns conniving, as if able to read my thoughts. “Anything for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nora

  “What are your plans now?” Esme approaches as I make my way out of the palace conference room where I just sat through yet another morning full of etiquette classes.

  I come to an abrupt stop, momentarily surprised to see her. Then I glance at my private secretary, almost positive I have a meeting with my publicists to go over a few events leading up to the big day, all staged to paint me as a woman worthy of marrying Prince Gabriel.

  It hasn’t escaped my notice that everything planned is to make me appear worthy, to give off this image of perfection. I’m held up to impossible standards, whereas Anderson is revered and adored, regardless of what he does. It’s such a double standard that no one can live up to, but I’m expected to do just that.

  “Actually, ma’am, your next appointment has been canceled.”

  I furrow my brow. “My publicists canceled?” I repeat, making sure I understood him and pregnancy brain hasn’t taken over already.

  “Scheduling conflict, I believe. You’re free and clear for the rest of the day.”

  “Perfect.” Esme claps excitedly. “Then we’re going out.”

  “Out?”

  “There’s this great little café in the plaza by the canals.” She grabs my hand, tugging me down the corridor. “They have the best tea and cakes around. You could use a break. Go somewhere other than home or the palace.”

  “You mean there’s a world outside of these walls?” I shoot back, only half-joking.

  She leans toward me. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone I let you know.” She winks. “We’ll stop by your place so you can change.”

  “Change?”

  “I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to put o
n a pair of jeans. Or really anything that doesn’t require you to wear bloody pantyhose.”

  “You have no idea,” I say, avoiding a few pointed stares from other members of the royal household who appear to believe the rules should be strictly adhered to. I can only imagine what they think of Esme’s jeans and open-toed sandals. Wedges, no less. But if they disapprove, Esme doesn’t seem to care.

  She doesn’t seem to care much for any of the rules.

  “Then let’s blow this joint.” With a devious grin, she hands me a pair of oversized dark sunglasses.

  Why do I feel like a prisoner about to break free from captivity?

  Because that’s exactly what I’m about to do.

  “I’d love to.”

  “He’s not lost,” Esme explains as her chief protection officer, Captain Walsh, drives around the same few blocks a couple times. “I didn’t give them much notice to advance the café.”

  “Advance the café?” I repeat.

  She smiles, but it’s more out of annoyance than amusement. “Welcome to life as a royal. You can’t go anywhere in public without a shadow.” Her eyes meet the man driving. “No offense, Archie.”

  “None taken, ma’am.”

  She looks back at me. “There’s no more popping down to the local Starbucks for a quick coffee with friends. No going for an early-morning run before the city comes to life. No strolling along the canal bridges to see the flowers on that first nice, spring day. Every single one of your movements must be approved and organized with a security team. Anywhere you want to go needs to be scouted ahead of time to make sure there are no dangers hiding within.”

  I nod. I may not be as accustomed to this as Esme, but I’ve had a little taste of royal living. People think it’s a fairy-tale life. That with a crown comes the ability to do anything you want.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “It’s not optimal, but like everyone else, all you can do is try to make the best out of the hand you’ve been dealt. Although saying it like that makes me seem ungrateful. I’m not. I appreciate having a platform to bring attention to causes I believe in. Just like you will. But everything in life comes at a price. You have to decide what yours is.” She gives me a knowing look.

  “He told you about our…disagreement, didn’t he?”

  “He did.”

  “And you think I overreacted,” I say, filling in the blanks.

  “Actually, I don’t. This life can sweep you up in its current until you can no longer fight the riptide pulling you under. If you don’t fight for yourself, no one else will. So I’m proud of you for fighting for yourself. Trust me. I know this isn’t an optimal situation for any relationship. It will test you.” She reaches across the seat and squeezes my hand. “But if there’s any couple who will persevere, it’s you two. I feel it in my soul.”

  She holds my gaze, then breaks away when the SUV comes to a stop. “Here we are.”

  Captain Walsh gets out of the SUV and swiftly makes his way to the back passenger door, opening it. Esme places her sunglasses over her eyes, then slides out gracefully. I put my own dark glasses on and join her, a few onlookers pointing and whispering. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who we are. Esme’s supermodel appearance, coupled with the security presence, is a dead giveaway. But I don’t care. I’ll take a group of onlookers pointing and snapping photos over being locked behind the walls of the palace any day.

  “This way, ma’am,” Captain Walsh says, leading us toward an outdoor table with the perfect view of the plaza and canals. Men in casual clothes sit at a few nearby tables, drinking coffee or reading a newspaper, but I have no doubt they’re part of the security team. They have the same look as every one of the protection officers I’ve met. Stoic expression. Built physique. Analytical eyes looking everywhere for a possible threat.

  I sit beside Esme, noticing all the chairs face the canals instead of each other, encouraging people to take in the beautiful surroundings.

  “It reminds me of Paris,” she remarks, placing her sunglasses on the table. I do the same. “This is how many sidewalk cafés are set up there, especially along the Seine.”

  “I haven’t been.”

  She straightens. “You haven’t?”

  “Anderson promised he’d eventually take me.” I shrug. “So we’ll see.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t, I will. Everyone needs to experience the City of Lights.” A peaceful expression washes over her, as if the mere thought of Paris reinvigorates her. “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s my favorite place on the planet.”

  I smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Good,” she replies as a man approaches. Unlike the rest of the waitstaff here, who wear just a white shirt and black pants, he’s dressed in a crisp suit, making me think he’s the owner or manager.

  “Your Highness.” He performs a slight bow. “So wonderful to see you again. Would you like your typical order?”

  “Yes. Except let’s do a green tea, one with a touch of ginger and peach, if you have one.”

  “Of course, ma’am.” After bowing once more, he retreats.

  “Don’t worry,” she says in a low voice. “It’s caffeine-free. And the ginger does wonders for any morning sickness. At least that’s what I’m told.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute…” She pushes back from the table and stands. “I need to go freshen up. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.” I watch as she retreats, a protection officer following, then shift my attention to my surroundings. I inhale the fresh air, feeling like a caged animal that’s finally been reintroduced into her natural habitat.

  Since the engagement announcement, I’ve barely spent any time in public. The only times I’ve been allowed to leave the palace, aside from being at Anderson’s estate, have been for pre-wedding planning or on a photo shoot with my publicist. Since the night the paparazzi found Anderson and me at Esme’s “safe house”, as Anderson calls it, we haven’t been seen together once.

  Almost like someone doesn’t want us to be seen together. Doesn’t want people to think we’re actually going to be married.

  Doing my best to push down the negative thoughts, I turn my attention back to the canals in front of me, marveling at the sheer number of people riding bikes here. When I sense a presence looming beside me, I look to my right, expecting to see one of the waitstaff approaching with our tea.

  Instead, my gaze falls on a suit-clad body, debonair smile, and enigmatic blue eyes.

  “Anderson? What are you—”

  “Shh,” he hushes me before I can finish. “How about some role play?” He winks.

  Role play? Here? Sure, we once did just that at least once a week in New York to keep things fun, meeting at various spots in the city and pretending to fall in love as different people all over again. But how is that going to help our situation? I’m not interested in falling in love with a stranger.

  I inhale a sharp breath, the realization washing over me.

  “Or perhaps real play might be more appropriate right now,” he says.

  “Real play?” I repeat.

  He nods slowly, keeping his hopeful eyes locked on mine. “Yes. Real play.”

  I blow out a small laugh. “I think that’s exactly what we need.”

  “As do I.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anderson

  “My name’s Gabriel.” I extend my hand, pleading with Nora to take it. Like she holds my entire future in her hands.

  In a way, she does.

  Finally, she places her hand in mine. “Nora.”

  “Nora,” I croon in a husky voice that sends a visible shiver through her. She can try to deny it all she wants, but her body still responds to me the same way it did the first time our eyes locked in that Chicago diner. “That’s a beautiful name.”

  Gaze trained on her, I gradually lift her hand to my lips. Her complexion reddens, chest heaving with her increasing breaths. When I brush my mouth
against her knuckles, I swear a tiny moan escapes her throat.

  God, that sound does things to me.

  I release my grip on her before I can’t resist the temptation to yank her from the chair and pin her against the wall as I give her a taste of precisely what she’ll miss if she leaves. But I don’t, remembering the part I’m here to play.

  “Would you like some company?” I gesture to the empty chair.

  “I’d love some.”

  “Wonderful.” Unbuttoning my suit jacket, I lower myself into Esme’s chair. “I get the feeling you’re not from around here.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a hunch, although that adorable American accent of yours is a dead giveaway.”

  She’s about to respond when the owner of the café approaches. Noticing me beside Nora, he straightens, my presence obviously taking him by surprise. But he recovers quickly and bows.

  “Your Highness.”

  “Good to see you, Lewis.”

  “Here are the tea, scones, and sandwiches Her Highness ordered, sir.”

  “Lovely. Thank you.”

  “Of course.” He gives Nora a smile and, after another quick bow toward me, retreats.

  I grab the pot and pour liquid into the two small teacups before adding a bit of sweetener to both. I slide her cup and saucer toward her, ensuring the handle points in the correct direction.

  “A toast.” I lift my teacup.

  “With tea?”

  “Why not?”

  “What shall we drink to?” She raises her cup.

  “What do you say to second chances and fresh starts?”

  A shy grin tugs on her lips, her eyes gleaming. “I think it’s perfect. To second chances and fresh starts.”

  We clink teacups and take a sip. After returning my cup to its saucer, I grab her plate, serving her a few finger sandwiches from the three-tiered presentation.