by Xavier Neal
His descriptions scrunch my face. “Now I know it's past your bed time. You're starting to sound insane.”
“Yet you didn't deny any of those.”
“Why are you still up?” I fasten my watch while walking. “It's after midnight. Don't you and the misses usually have a romp, some tea, and then turn in promptly at ten?”
Kristopher grouses, “Can't believe I actually look forward to those nights.”
The elevator doors close and I ask, “You're serious? You enjoy that?”
“I know it's hard to wrap your head around, Kellan, since pint induced comas are your favorite-”
“Sometimes vodka-”
“But yes. I enjoy nights where the only things I have to truly care about are getting my beautiful wife off and having her favorite type of tea to make afterward.”
Sensing what's bothering him, I give Swiss a quick glance, and question, “Do we need to talk alone?”
“No,” he lets out a heavy sigh. “No. It's fine. It'll be fine. It always is, more or less. However, I will say, father has denied your proposal once more for sharing at this season's annual brunch.”
Four times a year several socially privileged countries get together to compare tiaras and diamond cuff links or at least I'm assuming since I've never actually been invited to attend one by our father. He swears it would be social embarrassment that we would never recover from as a country. Yes. He is just as overly dramatic as Kristopher. Where do you think he inherited it from? Believe it or not, generally speaking, it's always been the women who are the calm, level headed ones in this family. Correction. Somewhat level headed. Soph did demand we stop serving figs at every breakfast by covering them in hot sauce when she thought no one was watching. Anyway, these gatherings are held and multiple financial as well as social opportunities are presented right alongside the garlic roasted red potatoes. We're talking investment chances for personal gain. New companies developing. Old companies that'll be up for buying and revamping. Charities and other programs that warrant attention, attention that if just the right amount of people give enough of it to, could tremendously make a huge fucking difference. Like my non-profit for example.
I clamp my jaw shut as I walk out of the elevator with Swiss on my heels.
“Don't pout, Kellan,” my brother insists. “I pushed for it this time. I really did. He just-”
“Went with your proposal instead?”
His silence is all the admission necessary.
And this is where actual sibling rivalry is an issue. You see, if it's what the oldest prince wants versus the younger, the oldest wins. The oldest has more to lose or gain. The oldest actually matters. Why else do you think it's so easy for me to get away whenever I've had enough of the palace walls? Fuck whoever I want with little to no scoldings?
“He's....He's having Soph and I attend this year. He believes now is an ideal time to introduce us to the customs and begin the transition of trusting the next Kenningston generation.”
The information isn't surprising nor is it comforting.
“Perhaps for the summer-”
“Don't bother,” I mumble at the same time Swiss pulls out into traffic.
“Kellan-”
“I actually do need to go.” My eyes travel out the window to the various mixture of people strolling by. I spot a couple at the corner coffee shop outside bundled together. The winter wind kicks up and he tugs her in closer. The simple action actually causes me to smile.
My father used to do that to my mother all the time when I was little. All he ever wanted was to protect her. Kris used to tell me stories of how horrible he was when she was pregnant with me. The way he had to be the one to tend to her needs. How all that mattered to him was her happiness. Not the crown. Not his social expectations. Not even the disapproval of his father for putting mom's health needs above his own. Eventually the overwhelming need to care for her, transferred to us. At least until she died. Then he managed to return to the Kenningston tradition of being a shitty parent.
After a long stretch of silence, Kristopher quietly says, “You never mentioned who you were going out with tonight.”
“An art student.”
There's an odd shuffling noise before he snaps, “What?!”
His surprise returns my smirk.
At least I know I'll always matter to Kris. Better than nothing.
“Did you...Did you make a bet on this woman?”
“Why do people keep assuming that?”
“Because why else would you go with an art student? You literally had a Hollywood starlet in your bed a week ago.”
“Had her on her knees too, but I don't hear you mentioning that.”
There's a low groan from the other end of the phone.
I chuckle just as the sight of her apartment complex comes into view. “Sleep well, big brother. I have a date to please.”
“Stay out of the papers, Kellan.”
“No promises.”
I end the call and lean closer to the window in an attempt to get a better look at the figure who appears to be waiting outside of her building. With one hand still on the wheel, Swiss begins to reach for his weapon, and commands, “Sir, be prepared to-”
All of a sudden the person begins to wave frantically and I can't help but smile.
Swiss quickly arrives at the same conclusion I have, parks alongside the curb, and unlocks the doors. Before he has a chance to offer, I give him a small pat on the shoulder to let him know I can handle opening her door.
You're damn right I'm a gentleman.
The moment the door is open, I immediately drink in the face and figure I've been thinking about constantly.
But it's difficult not to. She's absolutely beautiful. Even in jeans and a sweater she's manages to enslave my attention. It doesn't matter that they're faded with paint stains and a couple of holes. Do you see how they hug her hips? Expose the curves down below? How the hell could anyone resist wanting to peel those off? Then there's the fitted tight black top. The way it's clinging to her ample chest that she doesn't want just anyone exploring with their eyes or hands. That's definitely a change of pace from the women I typically come across. Nothing beats the playful smile plastered on her face though. Looking at that.....feels like I'm home. Oh God. This is exactly why I should never talk to Kristopher directly prior to a date. He's making me soft.
I fold my arms across my chest. “I'm feeling overdressed.”
Brie simply smiles. “You're on time. I'm impressed.”
With a shrug, I state, “You strike me as the type of woman who would have considered one minute over, one minute too late.”
“Smart man.”
“A compliment? That's new.”
She rolls her eyes. “I won't make a habit of it.”
“Why are you waiting outside?” I wave a hand towards the vehicle for her to get in. “It's not very warm out.”
Brie slides her body past mine at the same time she says, “Rather get pneumonia than have my roommate and her boyfriend meet you.”
I shut the door once we're both inside. “You're embarrassed to be seen with me. That's a first.”
“Don't worry,” she softly starts, “I'm sure there'll be a second.”
The comment causes Swiss to chuckle as well as me.
Why an art student? Because she's more fun than any of the others and we've only been on this date for two minutes.
My bodyguard glances over his shoulder. “Where are we headed miss?”
“The Tervin Event Center. Do you know where that is?”
He nods, turns back around, and puts the car in drive.
“How'd you do on your test?” I ask receiving a surprised look in return. When she doesn't answer or explain why the expression, I add another question. “Did I say something wrong already?”
“Just...kinda shocked you remembered.”
“Why wouldn't I?”
“I don't know...because you probably have more important things to think ab
out like running a country or something?”
“Titles and bullshit, remember?”
“I just assumed you were being over simplistic.”
“I wasn't,” I sigh, desperate to change the subject. “Besides, that test was the only reason you allowed me to save you in your moment of crisis.”
Her gag makes me snicker. “Pretty sure you caused my random moment of crisis.”
Honestly didn't. Luck was just on my side. Probably pre-paying me back for my father denying my proposal. Again.
“No. Just benefited.”
“Just blackmailed,” she bites back.
After another small laugh, I ask again, “The test? How'd you do?”
“Wondering if you're on a date with someone who only does well because of a different kind of brain?”
The sexual implication has my mind turning that direction despite the fact I know she's still just trolling for a fight. “Do you? Are you head of the class?”
Her jaw drops. “How dare you-”
“Defend myself?” I angle my body so my back is braced against the window and we're face to face. “Don't get me wrong, Brie. I appreciate anyone who can deliver a gut check as well as they take one, but you're aiming for the boys and that's not quite fair.”
She presses her lips firmly together.
“I know you think I'm a royal asshole-”
“So far so true-”
“But there's a little more to me than that.” Seeing her shoulders drop in retreat, I add, “Keep the punches coming, love, but at least make the fight just.”
Her heavily guarded nature makes every triumph I have so much more worth it. Half the fun is in the arguing and the other proving her wrong. Then again, I like being proven wrong as well. Unlike the others she's engaging a part of me that doesn't get much attention outside of my brother and Sophia's verbal lashes.
A small lull passes before she states, “I think I passed.”
Unexpected success swells my chest. “What was it on?”
“Boring art crap,” she snips. “Paraphrasing for you. You know, since all art is dreadful.”
The mocking of my accent grabs a chuckle from me. “Was that your best accent? What'd you do? Spend the afternoon watching Chris Hemsworth films only to realize too late he's Aussie and nowhere near Doctenn?”
Brie's expression oscillates between frustration and fluster. “My accent wasn't that bad!”
“It was horrific. Almost as if you had a pup's chew toy wedged in your mouth.”
She leans over and pegs me in the arm.
“Ou!”
“Be thankful it was above the belt.”
It didn't actually hurt but I am surprised she hit me. Can't say I've had a female take a swing at me since my last year in lacrosse. Long story there.
“You struck royalty.”
“I struck you. You're like diet royalty. It doesn't count,” her counter gets us both laughing again.
I shake my head. “What was the test over?”
“Art History of the Renaissance Era. This was just a basic names to philosophies test.”
“You're right. That would bore me.” When she scowls once more, I lightly laugh in response. “To be fair, I'm not a fan of any sort of history. Art or otherwise.”
“Shocking,” Brie mocks. “What do you like then? Besides sports.”
“How did you-”
“Lucky frat boy, mindless jock kinda guess,” she sneers.
“I enjoy music. Occasionally the theatre.”
“How about on a more intellectual level?”
“Environmental effects on adolescents.”
Her mouth becomes agape yet again.
I do enjoy having her make that face and not only because I enjoy the idea of sliding my cock between her lips.
Pleased with myself, I glance out the window just as we pull into the line at the event center. My eyes read and reread the sign repeatedly. Certain we're in the wrong area or at least on the wrong night, I turn to allow our eyes meet. “Monster Truck Mayhem? We're going to monster truck show?”
She battles the urge to smile. “Problem?”
I glance down at my attire and state, “You said, dress to impress.”
“Yes. But I never specified who your attire would need to impress.” Her expression becomes victorious. “Next time I advise you to get all the information before making wardrobe choices.”
Swiss pulls up to the parking lot attendant who immediately asks for payment. Brie makes a motion to reach in her pocket when I cease her movements. “I've got it.” After handing Swiss cash from my own wallet, I state to her, “This game isn't over.” Shedding my suit jacket, I drape it over the seat beside us. “And since you don't play fair, neither shall I.”
“Was that a threat?”
“It was a warning.”
Brie's eye flash a mesh of intrigue and excitement. She hesitates to drag her attention away from me as I adjust the sleeves of my white button down shirt.
Do not remind me how ridiculous I look at this moment. I do wish I had different shoes above all else. These wing tips will be absolutely ruined. If you'll excuse me, I have revenge to be plotting on this beautiful, brilliant woman.
“I've only got two tickets.” Her announcement shifts Swiss in his seat. “There might be more tickets available but-”
“It's fine,” I end the conversation before it can get the direction it was headed. “Swiss can wait in the vehicle. This isn't exactly a high threat situation. Other than the fact I'm wearing a St. Valmonte suit at a monster truck show, I highly doubt anyone will give me a second glance.”
My bodyguard's mouth cracks open to argue, yet sees the stern expression on my face and closes.
Swiss, while terrifying based on appearance, happens to be remarkably understanding. He's mastered the art of reading a situation and declaring if my request for space is acceptable or to be ignored. Most of the time we agree on how to handle my public presence. It's very rare he pulls the 'your father decrees' card.
“I'll have my phone. If I need anything, I'll call.”
“Don't worry, Army Man.” Brie leans forward towards him. “I won't let him wander into the middle of the arena to get run over or anything. Even if a big part of me does want that.”
He resists the urge to laugh but gives into the one to smile.
Not sure I enjoy them being on a team against me.
Swiss drops the two of us as close to the entrance of the event center as possible.
The moment we're headed towards the doors, Brie asks, “Does it bother you to constantly have a babysitter? I mean you clearly need one-”
“Clearly,” I echo.
“-but does it ever irritate you? Does it ever annoy the hell out of you that you can't just walk around the grocery store without an extra pair of eyes on you?”
Her odd phrasing kicks up the corner of my lip. “You get used to it.”
“Ah. But that was not the question. You really are a terrible listener.”
“I'm a fantastic listener. How else would I know the difference of your breathing changing because you’re flustered with me and it changing because you're fantasizing about me.”
Brie pins me with a disgusted look.
“You do get used to it. And honestly, it hardly registers any more. I've had security details since I was in diapers, so no it doesn't bother me. They're sort of like family after a while and as you can see, you develop a relationship that allows an amount of respectable space when the time is needed. Believe me, having Swiss around is much better than Vincent, the guard I've been ditching since I was 15. He's rarely as understanding.”
She hums, “I can't imagine having a ghost over my shoulder.”
“It's one thing to become accustom to it and completely another when you don't know anything else.”
Guards and details are mundane accessories at this point in my existence. From daily activities in the outside world to dating, they've never really registered as an issue.
With that said the women I've spent the majority of my time around also have their own eyes and ears lurking around them. Brie's not the first but she is one of the few who aren't under a watchful eye. Yes, I'm sure in some subconscious part of my brain I enjoy that fact.
At the doors, Brie presents them with her phone where she has the tickets waiting to be scanned. Afterward, the oversized woman gives my attire a long strange stare yet keeps her opinion to herself and motions for us to move along.