by Nell Stark
“There you are!”
Thalia looked up at the interjection to the sight of Isabel Bassler approaching, expertly threading her way around the tables on four-inch stilettos. Inwardly, Thalia groaned. Isabel’s interest had been plain from the instant of their introduction, and Thalia hadn’t been able to shake her all day. This, she was learning, was one of the many problems with having a reputation for being easy; people didn’t pick up on your I’m not interested signals. Hours ago, she had cornered her friend Gene, who just so happened to be both the defending Motocross champion and an unrepentant bachelor, with one simple request: flirt adeptly enough with Isabel Bassler to redirect her attention. Apparently, he had failed.
“I’ve been searching for you since—” Isabel halted when Alix turned around, and her wine-flushed cheeks grew even darker. “My apologies, Your Serene Highness. I didn’t recognize you.”
“No apologies required, I assure you. And it’s Alix, remember?”
The words were the right ones, but something in Alix’s tone made the hairs on Thalia’s arms stand up in warning. Alix was not pleased, but she was also trying not to show it. Why? And would Isabel pick up on the undercurrent of tension?
“Alix,” Isabel said, and flashed her supermodel smile. “This has been a lovely day. Congratulations on your success.”
“Thank you for helping to make it possible.” Still the epitome of politeness, but the words were stilted.
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” She glanced between them. “A few of us have planned to carry on the party at boujis,” she continued, naming one of London’s most exclusive nightclubs. “Would you like to join?”
Thalia caught the intent look Isabel flashed her, and the subtle emphasis she placed on you. When Alix immediately replied in the negative, citing fatigue, Thalia would have laid down money that Alix was deliberately paving the way for everything Isabel’s unspoken communication was hinting at. She should have been grateful. Would have been, half a year ago.
“And I’m in training for the Monaco Grand Prix,” Thalia said. “As much as I enjoy boujis, it’s not part of my regimen.”
Isabel’s alluring mouth turned down in a pout. “Oh, but that’s weeks away, isn’t it?” She leaned in closer to reveal even more of the milky curves of her cleavage. “Surely you can allow yourself a night of fun.”
For a heartbeat, Thalia was tempted. The past few months had been ascetic by her standards, and her body was craving the physical release she continued to deny it. And why? Her will was strong enough to ensure that a single night of pleasure didn’t become a downward spiral of debauchery. Or was she susceptible to the slippery slope? She didn’t want to believe that about herself, but now—mid-season, when she was finally racing consistently well—was hardly the time to experiment with her own limits.
You need to change your attitude, your behavior, and the company you keep. Lady Rufford’s admonition still echoed in her ears. The mantra had been working so far, and Thalia was superstitious enough to believe in the possibility of jinxing herself. Besides, she wanted to prove to Alix that her word meant something—that she was above succumbing to a beautiful and famous face simply for the sake of an evening’s transitory pleasure.
“Every second counts,” she said. “But thank you for the invitation.”
Isabel closed in on herself and took a step backward. “Good night, then,” she said frostily before turning on one heel and sashaying off. Thalia redirected her gaze to her scotch, not wanting to betray her appreciation of the seductive sway of Isabel’s hips.
“Did you want to go?” Alix asked quietly, once Isabel was out of earshot.
“Yes.” Thalia saw no point in denying the truth.
“Then why didn’t you accept her invitation?”
Thalia raised her head but could find no trace of censure in Alix’s expression. She looked a little sad, of all things, but perhaps that was a manifestation of her fatigue.
“After my poor showing in Melbourne, I promised myself that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my success,” she said. “And I’m sticking to that.”
Alix nodded but didn’t reply. When her phone buzzed, she glanced down at the screen, allowing Thalia the opportunity to observe her at close quarters. She had accentuated the natural waviness of her hair for the occasion, and it curled around her shoulders, partially obscuring her profile. Thalia wanted to reach out and pull the curtain back to reveal the tan column of her neck. She wanted to lean in and kiss the corner of Alix’s mouth.
This, too, was lust—but it was also more. Isabel had offered everything Thalia was accustomed to wanting: a conflagration that would consume itself, leaving nothing but a hazy and pleasant memory in its wake. But now she found herself wanting something different. The desire she felt for Alix was laced with an unfamiliar tenderness that frightened her enough to consider going after Isabel after all.
But then Alix looked up from her phone with an apology and reached out to touch the back of Thalia’s hand. She froze. It was the second time today that their fingers had brushed. How could these tiny little touches feel so much more significant than the intimacies she had shared with dozens of lovers?
“Thank you again for your generosity today. And for your help with the planning.” Alix moved her hand away, and Thalia clutched at the bar to stop herself from taking it back and lacing their fingers together. “Without you, this wouldn’t have been a success.”
Thalia shook her head, buying time to swallow past the tightness in her throat. “You’re wrong about that. But I was happy to help.” Alix seemed ready to leave, and Thalia lighted on a way they could spend a little more time together tonight. “Let me know when you’re ready to go, and I’ll drive you back to your hotel.”
A frown line creased Alix’s forehead. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I can take the helicopter. Besides…” She eyed Thalia’s empty glass.
Thalia started to bristle at the implication before logic interceded. She had never gotten behind the wheel of a car while drunk, but Alix couldn’t know that. Her reputation’s coattails were unfortunately long. “I’ve just had the one. And I promise you I wouldn’t make the offer if I were intoxicated.”
A light blush rose to Alix’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. That was callous of me. I trust you.”
“No, you don’t.” Thalia spoke without rancor, hoping her honesty would get through to Alix. “But I hope I can prove that you should. Someday.”
Clearly flustered, Alix didn’t have a ready response. “Let me drive you,” Thalia repeated, keeping her voice soft in an effort not to seem pushy. “I’m heading back to London anyway. It’s no hassle.”
Finally, Alix nodded. “All right. Thank you. I just need to let my security detail know, and to say good-bye to a few more people.”
“Take your time.” Thalia hoped her voice wasn’t betraying the triumph she felt. She signaled the bartender. “I’ll be here. Drinking coffee.”
She didn’t turn around to watch Alix walk away. But she wanted to.
Chapter Fourteen
Alix sat in the boardroom, pretending to pay attention when in fact she had lost the thread of the conversation long ago. The Grand Prix was one week away, and last-minute planning was at a fever pitch. Hotel kitchen fires, double-booked mooring pins at the marina, and a water main break downtown were only a few of the inevitable, eleventh hour crises that had begun popping up. Fortunately, every event pertaining to the royal family and the palace was well in order, so Alix didn’t need to scramble.
Surreptitiously checking her phone—though why she still felt the need to be sly when everyone else had them in their hands or out on the table, she didn’t know—Alix reread the last text from Thalia. She was at a café across the street, waiting. As soon as this was over, they would spend the remainder of the daylight hours walking the Grand Prix course. It was a fairly popular activity for tourists, but once the barriers and grandstands began to go up, they were barred from certain sections. She and Thalia w
ouldn’t have that issue.
She was looking forward to learning Thalia’s perspective on her city. The better Alix knew her, the more she wanted to understand the intricacies of Formula One. After their walk-through, she would be able to picture the circuit through Thalia’s eyes on race day.
When the chairman finally adjourned them, she quickly gathered her belongings and gestured to Claude that she wanted to leave quickly. When the president of the Casino de Monte Carlo tried to stop her, ostensibly to chat about some minor aspect of the Grand Prix weekend, she politely but firmly told him she had a prior appointment.
She found Thalia sitting at an outdoor table. Her lustrous dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a red and white Arizona Cardinals cap. That was apparently an American football team, and both the cap and hairstyle worked well as a disguise. Formula One fans were looking for the version of Thalia they saw before or after a race, or in a grainy illicit photo. This version of her was not that, and Alix much preferred her incognito.
Thalia was looking at something on her phone, and Alix was glad of the opportunity to observe her unawares. Instead of resisting the excited flutter in her chest, she relaxed into her anticipation. As the race drew closer, it would become increasingly difficult to find time to spend together. This afternoon felt like an oasis amid the stormy insanity of the world’s most highly anticipated Grand Prix.
As she drew closer, she noticed that Thalia was drinking only water. The amount of self-restraint that demonstrated was a sign of just how badly she wanted to continue her upward trajectory in Monaco. If Alix were being honest with herself, Thalia’s focus coming into this race rivaled her own as a student. When, weeks ago now, Thalia had apologized to her in the nearby Meridien, Alix had been skeptical of Thalia’s pledge to change her ways. But she had delivered on that promise, demonstrating the kind of altruism, fortitude, and perseverance that Alix couldn’t help but admire.
Thalia was absently tracing patterns in the condensation on the outside of her glass, and Alix found herself momentarily entranced by the gentle movement of her fingertips. Desire flared, and she shivered despite the warmth of the day. These sudden, visceral reactions were becoming less easy to manage. Until now, sexuality had never been an important part of her identity. She had never felt a strong biological imperative, and she had never dated anyone with whom she felt comfortable being so vulnerable. Since coming to realize the nature of her feelings for Thalia, Alix had been looking back on her life since adolescence with a critical eye. Had she been sublimating her sexual drive all along? Had she been attracted to women previously, without recognizing it?
Thalia looked up at precisely that moment, as though drawn by her busy thoughts. She smiled—not the practiced smile always ready for the media, but an eager, genuine smile that Alix had only seen directed at her. “Hi,” she called.
“Hello.” Alix took the seat across from her. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s been a real hardship to have to sit outside in this,” Thalia said dryly, indicating the perfection of the day with a wave of her hand.
“But I know you don’t like to sit still. Shall we walk?”
Thalia stood, then reached for the small backpack beside her chair. It was the kind that had a pouch filled with liquid and a plastic tube for drinking. “I’d offer to share,” she said as she put it on, “but trust me when I say you don’t want to drink this stuff.”
“Is it the same drink that you use in your car?”
“The very same. Chock full of vitamins and minerals. If you’re really curious…” She held out the mouthpiece of the tube.
Alix was poised to make her excuses when she remembered that one of the reasons for their excursion was to help her understand how it felt to race in a Grand Prix. Her ability to empathize would only be improved by sampling the drink Thalia would be guzzling.
“I’ll try it.” In moving close enough to take a sip, their bodies were separated by mere inches. “You don’t have any infectious diseases, do you?” Alix said, mostly to distract herself from Thalia’s warm, vaguely herbal scent.
“You might catch the gay.” Her face remained deadpan, but her eyes were sparkling.
A dozen replies leapt to Alix’s lips: So what if I do? and I think I already have, and Is that what you want? She closed her mouth around the tube as much to keep herself from speaking as to take a sip. As soon as she got a taste, she stepped away.
“It reminds me of weak, too-sweet tea.”
“I can see that.” Thalia took a sip herself. “Unpleasant, but necessary. Now that we’re fortified, shall we?”
“Lead the way.”
“So, this is the start and finish line of the race.” Thalia turned toward the train station. “The start is always insane, as you’ve seen, but it’s especially important in this race because overtaking is almost impossible. I’ve been practicing mine intensely over the past week.”
Claude fell in behind them as they began to walk. Alix was glad he hadn’t insisted on more of a security presence, but she also resented that he had to be there at all. She couldn’t tell where his loyalties lay. He was already privy to how much time they were spending together, and if she and Thalia were ever to share any kind of intimate moment, she wouldn’t be able to keep it from him. Would he feel compelled to tell her father? Had he perhaps already done so? She thought back on her recent interactions with her parents, but nothing about them seemed suspicious. Her father was pleased that she was taking more of an interest in royal duties. Her mother continued to suggest beautification “remedies” and eligible bachelors, but that was nothing new.
“This is the first turn.” Thalia’s voice pulled her out of the whirlpool of her thoughts. “Named St. Devote for the church there. It’s crazy on the first lap because of all the jockeying for position, but otherwise pretty standard.”
“What’s your plan for the race?” Alix asked as they continued on along Avenue d’Ostend. “Don’t worry. You can trust me not to run to the nearest reporter.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you did. Most everyone has the same strategy here. Because overtaking is so difficult, qualifying becomes especially important. I just want to qualify as well as possible and then run a clean race.”
Thalia led them past the marina, and they traded yachting stories. Alix tried not to be jealous when Thalia mentioned an ex-girlfriend. Not for the first time, she wondered whether the interest she could sense from Thalia was simply the result of her wanting another notch—a royal notch—on her bedpost. Their interactions didn’t feel that way, but she couldn’t help considering the possibility.
Trying to put aside her fears, she focused on enjoying the beautiful day, spent in the company of someone she liked. As they walked past Casino Square, home of the Monte Carlo Casino, Alix admitted that she had never gambled even once. Thalia was so incredulous that she could barely string together a coherent sentence. But when she tried to convince Alix to go inside and remedy that deficiency, Alix staunchly refused.
“It has no appeal to me. Absolutely none. And besides, as a citizen of Monaco, I’m not allowed to gamble there.”
“Excuse me? Not allowed?”
“Mm.” Alix couldn’t help but enjoy her incredulity. “I’m not even allowed inside. It’s an old law, from over a hundred years ago—ostensibly made to protect the locals from being exploited by their own government.”
“You’re honestly telling me that if we walked up to the front door, they would turn you away.”
“They would. Very politely, but they would.”
“Unreal.” Thalia shook her head. They continued on in silence for a few minutes, before she said, “And in all your traveling, you’ve never gambled elsewhere?”
“I almost did, once, at a casino in Nice. Florestan was playing the slots.” She laughed at the memory. “I asked how he chose when to pull the lever, and when he told me there was no strategy involved whatsoever, I was entirely turned off.”
&nb
sp; “Let me get this straight,” Thalia said slowly. “You thought there was a way to influence a slot machine?”
“Why shouldn’t there be?” Alix still felt a tiny bit indignant, even after all this time. “Why can’t you try to anticipate the motion of the machine and pull the lever accordingly?”
“Because then it would be a game of skill, not luck,” Thalia said. “And the house hates games of skill.”
“Well, I hate games of luck,” Alix fired back. “Risk is unacceptable unless I know I have the power to influence the outcome.”
“You like to be in control,” Thalia murmured.
The question was surprisingly sensual, and Alix felt herself blush. Unbidden, her mind called up a scene: a room overlooking the harbor; its windows open to admit a fresh, salt-scented breeze; she pinning Thalia’s arms to her sides as they kissed slowly, deeply, sensually…
“I do when I’m taking a chance on something,” she managed to have the presence of mind to retort.
Thalia looked like she wanted to reply right away, but apparently thought the better of it. “The Monegasque royal who has never placed a bet,” she finally said, smiling. “I admire you, Princess Alix. You’re the most independent person I’ve ever met.”
Alix was more pleased by that assessment than she wanted to let on. “It has its drawbacks,” she said instead.
“Oh?”
“Sometimes I find it difficult to connect with other people, because we don’t have similar goals or values. And sometimes I can’t tell whether I’m doing something—or not doing something—because it’s really what I want, or whether I’m just being contrary. That’s what my mother used to call me when I was younger. ‘Princess Contrary.’”