The Princess and the Prix

by Nell Stark

  Thalia looked thoughtful. “She thought you would oppose her wishes out of…what, exactly? Spite? Stubbornness?”

  “The latter. But everything we’ve ever argued about has been silly.”

  “Such as?”

  “As a young girl, I used to put up such a fight about having to wear a dress to every function or outing. And then, when I was older, she wanted me to care more deeply about superficial things—makeup, hair, clothing, boys.” When they paused at an intersection, she glanced at Thalia to gauge her reaction. Attentive and sympathetic, she reached out as if to touch Alix’s hand but then apparently thought better of it.

  Alix wanted that touch, and she wanted to tell her so. But her throat closed against the words, and logic interceded to tell her that even though they had yet to be stopped by a tourist or fan, they were both recognizable. It wasn’t safe to indulge in any kind of emotional or physical display, unless they were both prepared to face the consequences. And there could be no discussing consequences without first having talked about what was happening between them. Dating and relationships were complicated enough, she imagined, without also having to negotiate the minefield of celebrity.

  “Listen to me, complaining,” she said self-consciously. “I’ve grown up in a life filled with extraordinary privilege.”

  “Yes,” Thalia said, “but that doesn’t mean it’s been perfect. You may have a lot of privilege, but with that comes expectations and responsibilities, some of which you may want nothing to do with.”

  “Well said,” Alix murmured.

  As if sensing she would prefer to drop this conversation, Thalia pointed to the road. They were coming up on the luxurious Fairmont Hotel, and the hairpin curve it overlooked. “The Fairmont hairpin,” she said. “You have to take it very slowly, and the g-forces of decelerating into it and then accelerating out are just insane.”

  “A pain in the neck?”

  Thalia rolled her eyes. “You’re almost as sharp as that corner.”

  They walked on, skirting the ocean as they rounded the curve known as Mirabeau, which had an escape road where a driver could pull off in an emergency, and headed toward the double right-handed turn known as Le Portier. The barriers here were nearly flush with the ocean, which splashed against their feet as they made their way toward the tunnel. As Thalia explained the aerodynamics behind what made the tunnel so difficult—not to mention how quickly her eyes had to adjust if it were sunny outside—Alix felt a new appreciation for just how much mental calculation went into a Formula One race on the part of the drivers.

  The walkway ascended out of the tunnel, past the theater with its tall, arching windows and distinctive rounded cornices. Thalia had decided to regale her with stories of the most outrageous racing incidents in the history of the Monaco Grand Prix, and Alix relaxed in the spell of her storytelling. It was nice simply to listen, and not to have to think too hard about what to say next. The longer they walked side by side, the stronger grew the urge to lace their fingers together in that simplest gesture of intimacy.

  If she gave in to the urge, Thalia would be surprised. She would probably want to talk about it, and while Alix knew she should want to have that conversation, a part of her wished it could be skipped—that she could join their hands together and not have to explain her motives to anyone, least of all herself. That was cowardice, and she was ashamed of it. But shame didn’t stop the wanting.

  Even if Thalia asked no questions, they couldn’t risk detection. The crowded streets were potentially filled with prying eyes, and the last thing she wanted was for an incriminating photograph to surface. The irony would be extreme—she would be branded a lesbian before she had the chance to determine whether that was, in fact, the case.

  Even thinking the label made her wince. Sexuality had never been an important part of her identity, mostly because she hadn’t ever felt a strong pull toward either gender. Any gender, she mentally corrected herself. Her medical studies may have taught her to think outside the binary, but she had never managed to internalize that skill. But if she were queer—and if she were being honest, signs pointed to precisely that—she needed to do better at acknowledging the continuum on which both gender and sexuality operated. Which only contributed to the irony, since her fear was of the media pigeonholing her.

  The media cared, of course, because she was a princess. But she was a princess. Why was she thinking like someone without any resources? She couldn’t find anonymity on the street, but she could certainly find privacy elsewhere. Thalia was in the middle of a lengthy discussion of tires and their impact on a Formula One race, but Alix decided to interrupt her.

  “I’m sorry. I just had an idea.”

  “You were drifting off, weren’t you?” Thalia said, seeming amused rather than upset.

  “Maybe a little. I’m sorry. But my thought was that once we’ve finished our walk, we should take some refreshment on board my family’s yacht. It’s moored just down there.” She pointed to the bay.

  “Sounds perfect,” Thalia said.

  “Let me make a quick call to alert the staff.” Alix felt at once competent and illicit. An odd combination, but one that made her feel very much alive. “And then you can keep telling me about tires.”

  *

  It had been so easy. “I’m entertaining a Formula One guest,” she had told her secretary. “We’d like to spend part of the evening on the Priceless Pearl, including dinner.”

  “Very well, ma’am,” Alain had replied. “I’ll alert the staff. Do you have any dining preferences?”

  After a brief consultation with Thalia, Alix had requested seafood. They had shared their meal on the highest deck at a table facing the city as the blue sky slowly gathered hints of gold. By some tacit agreement, the conversation had remained light. Thalia had regaled her with stories from her boarding school and Karting days in England, and Alix had reciprocated as best she could. She hadn’t gotten herself into nearly as many humorous scrapes, but she did have a few funny anecdotes to share from Oxford, particularly in regard to her one, ill-advised attempt to partake in organized athletics. She had attempted to play field hockey, only to be summoned by the coach to a private meeting in which he very apologetically explained that despite her royal pedigree, she would be unable to earn a starting position on the squad.

  “I’m much better at individual sports,” she said. “Hiking and skiing, for example.”

  “Then you have the perfect temperament for a racecar driver,” Thalia said with a grin.

  Alix had very nearly blurted out something about her lack of a death wish, but caught herself at the last second. That would have been insensitive, bordering on cruel. Instead, she had deflected the conversation back to Thalia’s trajectory as a driver and learned in the process just how difficult it had been for her to break into Formula One, despite equal or better racing records. Somehow, she had failed to realize just how deep the misogyny ran, and she was impressed by Thalia’s perseverance despite having been passed over for years.

  By the time they had finished their meal, Alix had a much stronger understanding of whence the chip on Thalia’s shoulder derived. While throwing a punch would never be the answer to anything, she might at least be able to sympathize with the extreme frustration Thalia must have felt when confronting Terrence’s actions. He easily stood in as a representative of the patriarchal history and structure of Formula One—especially since he seemed to actively embrace the role.

  Once their plates had been cleared, conversation lapsed into silence. Alix, who had taken the seat facing west, couldn’t help but admire Thalia’s profile against the backdrop of what was turning into a stunning sunset. The intervening hours, supplemented by a glass of champagne, had done nothing to diminish her feelings of attraction, which were somehow enhanced by the magnificence of the horizon. Aching physically and emotionally, Alix felt paralyzed. All she could manage, through a throat tight with trepidation and desire, was, “Look behind you.”

  Thalia tu
rned and exclaimed wordlessly. When she got up and went to the railing, Alix followed her. They stood alone at the stern of the boat. The setting sun was turning the water to fire, and she felt as though it was doing the same to her blood. She dared a quick glance at Thalia beside her, bracing her arms on the railing and staring pensively into the distance.

  Alix was tired of fighting the impulse to touch her. Like Eve in Eden, she needed more than to admire from afar. She needed to know. That single imperative eclipsed the alarm bells in her brain. Heart hammering against her ribs, she raised one hand from the rail and gently rested her palm on Thalia’s back, between her shoulder blades. The light shirt did little to mask the heat pouring off her skin—heat to echo the conflagration all around them. Thalia shivered, but otherwise remained perfectly still.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a low, gravelly voice.

  “Touching you.”

  Thalia exhaled sharply and bowed her head. “You shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” Intoxicated by the power she appeared to have in this moment, Alix ran her fingertips down Thalia’s spine, eliciting another shiver. She might not have any basis for comparison, but that didn’t matter. Thalia’s responsiveness made her even more alluring.

  “Alix.” It was one of the few times Thalia had ever said her name, and the way she half spoke, half groaned it now made Alix feel the kind of sensual urgency she had only ever experienced by proxy in a film or book. She had thought they—the authors, the directors, the actors—had been making it up. And now here she stood, living proof that they had been right all along. It would have been an eerie feeling, had she any brainpower to spare.

  “You’re beautiful.” Unlocked by Thalia’s reaction to her simple touch, the words came easily. She had always thought so, and the shame in confessing it had finally been eclipsed by desire.

  “Why are you doing this?” The words were tortured in their uncertainty.

  Alix moved her hand up, first to caress the nape of Thalia’s neck, and then to massage the tense muscles along her collarbone. “Because I want to. I have for some time now.”

  “For some ti—” Thalia cut herself off and finally raised her head. Her eyes were darker than Alix had ever seen them. The pulse in her neck fluttered wildly like a moth against a lampshade. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” She had intended the syllable to sound firm and confident, but it emerged as a whisper.

  Thalia straightened to her full height and turned so her back was against the railing. She slid one finger through the belt loop of Alix’s slacks and tugged. “Then come here.”

  And finally, Alix knew how it felt to be fully pressed against Thalia’s lean frame. Her arms encircled Thalia’s neck as though they belonged there, and when Thalia tentatively cupped her waist, Alix finally understood why the romantic books she had read as a teen described this kind of moment in terms like “melting” and “dissolving.”

  “You feel amazing,” Thalia murmured. “I’ve wanted this too.”

  “Really?” The word came out before she could bite it back.

  Thalia frowned. “Do you not believe me?”

  “I believe you.”

  But she must have said it too quickly, because Thalia’s grip tightened, her thumbs sweeping in rhythmic arcs across Alix’s hipbones. “You don’t. Tell me why.”

  Alix cursed the inexperience that had left her unprepared to manage this kind of moment. Trying to collect herself, she looked down at their feet—her chestnut loafers alternating with Thalia’s state-of-the-art trainers—and tried to think of a way through this conversation that didn’t involve her confessing her insecurities.

  But Thalia leaned forward to press her mouth against the shell of Alix’s ear. “Tell me.”

  Now it was her turn to shiver. “Unfair,” she said breathlessly, even as Thalia withdrew. Expecting to find her smirking, Alix was surprised to be met instead by the expression she associated with Thalia as a racecar driver—intense, focused, determined.

  “You may as well walk away right now if you’re not willing to tell me.”

  Alix couldn’t have been more shocked. Thalia was notorious for being an unrepentant player who had never once claimed a steady girlfriend. She had witnessed it herself at Sasha and Kerry’s wedding—though on that day, she recalled, Maeve had been the one looking to move on. But since then, Thalia’s bad reputation had only become more firmly entrenched. She didn’t seem to care about the emotional state of her conquests…although now that Alix thought about it, she had to admit that there was no way she could actually know that. In fact, the more she tried to analyze this situation, the less certain she became of anything except for the fact that Thalia was still holding her, and it still felt amazing.

  She wasn’t going to walk away. Not now. Not yet. And really, Thalia was right. No matter what else happened, she and Thalia had been friends first, and Alix did owe her honesty.

  “I’m well aware that I’m not as attractive as the women you usually…associate with.” There. Done. Her face was warm with shame, but the truth was out there.

  Thalia’s mouth twisted and her expression softened. “Hey.” She raised one hand to brush Alix’s cheek. “Please don’t insult yourself. You are beautiful. Do you doubt me?”

  “No, of course not,” Alix said quickly.

  “Liar,” Thalia murmured, and kissed her.

  She had been kissed before—awkward, too-eager kisses from men who wanted nothing more than to stake their claim on a princess. This was nothing like that. Thalia’s lips were warm, and soft beyond anything she could have imagined, yet also firm enough to guide her in the subtle exchange. The kiss ebbed and flowed, and the longer it went on, the more Alix lost herself in it.

  When Thalia’s tongue pushed gently inside her mouth, a low moan caught her unawares. Immediately self-conscious, she tried to pull away. But Thalia’s arms tightened and she deepened the kiss, proving to Alix through the gentle movements of her mouth just how avidly she wanted to be right here and now.

  As her restraint disintegrated, Alix pressed closer, hips circling in an instinctual desire for relief. Some distant part of her mind knew she was being far too forward, but she simply didn’t care. Her desire, so long in hibernation, had finally woken hungry and impatient. But instead of taking the blatant invitation, Thalia began to gentle their kisses, bringing Alix reluctantly back down to earth. Shifting away from her mouth, Thalia pressed her lips along Alix’s jawline, then down to skate across her neck.

  “Oh, yes,” Alix murmured as her skin prickled delightfully in response.

  It seemed, then, that Thalia spent years on her neck—first kissing, then gently suckling, then nibbling with a flash of teeth that would immediately be soothed by the soft heat of her mouth. Her attentions were utterly distracting, and Alix soon felt herself even more molten than she had been previously.

  In a meager attempt at retaliation, she let her fingers play in the short hairs on the nape of Thalia’s neck. Her first reaction was to pull Alix tightly against her thigh, and a jolt of need shot through Alix’s body in response to the possessive action. Thalia’s head jerked up, her expression panicked, and she tried to take a step backward. But there was nowhere to go.

  “What’s wrong?” Alix asked, not halting her gentle stroking.

  “You need to stop doing that,” she said through gritted teeth. “Please.”

  Alix stilled her hand. “This?”

  Thalia exhaled slowly, as if in relief. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Can you tell me why?” It wasn’t because Thalia hadn’t been enjoying herself—Alix was certain of that much. Rather, she seemed to be having some kind of internal battle.

  “The way you were touching me…” She swallowed hard. “My body was interpreting that as a signal to do things you’re not ready for. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I haven’t taken this kind of thing slowly in a very long time.”

  Although Thalia’s presumption of her naïveté was
correct, Alix felt affronted. “How do you know what I’m ready for?”

  “Okay, you’re right,” she said. “I don’t. But I also don’t ever want to assume, or presume, or do anything you’d find upsetting.”

  “I appreciate that,” Alix said. “But not assuming goes both ways.”

  It took a moment for her words to register, but when they did, Thalia pulled her closer. Alix wondered whether the movement had been premeditated or involuntary. Presumably, the latter. “For my own peace of mind,” Thalia said, despite their lips being mere inches apart, “I need you to answer some questions. Honestly. Will you?”

  “Yes.” Alix wouldn’t have hesitated even had she wanted to. This was her chance to shatter Thalia’s assumptions—or, of course, to fulfill them. She didn’t want to do the latter by playing the role of the naïvely questioning woman, but what if that was the only role that fit?

  “Have you ever felt this way about a woman before?”

  “No.” Suddenly, the way forward was clear. Her position was about parity, not exclusion. “But I’ve never felt this way about a man before, either.”

  Clearly nonplussed, Thalia blinked at her. “I’m sorry?”

  Alix took a deep breath. If she confessed her inexperience, would Thalia read it as inadequacy? “I’ve never felt this way. Period.”

  “Describe to me how you feel.”

  “Exhilarated. Frightened.” She swallowed hard. The truth was the truth, and sugarcoating it would only make everything worse. “Wanting.”

  Thalia’s jaw clenched. “Have you ever made love? Had sex?”

  Alix didn’t want to admit the truth, and that made her angry at herself. There was nothing wrong with her. She had never wanted to explore that level of intimacy with anyone. It wasn’t a flaw—just a fact. “No.”

  “And do you want to right now? Do you want your first time to be with me?”

  Forcing herself not to look away despite the blush she could feel rising to her cheeks, Alix tried to process her reaction to the question. Desire, yes, but also trepidation. “I don’t know,” she finally said. It was the most honest answer she could offer.