The Princess and the Prix

by Nell Stark

  “Alix,” she began, hoping the fine tremor of her hand wasn’t obvious. It was critical that she get this right. “Your generosity is your defining attribute, and those who have been touched by it are changed for the better. The people of Uganda. The children in that hospital in Graz. The Ruffords and Petrol Macedonia. Me.” Alix dropped her gaze, clearly self-conscious. “Your example makes me want to give back. To pay your kindness and compassion forward. Thank you.”

  “That was a generous toast,” she said.

  But Thalia shook her head. “It was only the truth.”

  As they sipped, the boat got under way. Thalia stretched out her legs and turned up her face into the breeze. “This has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world,” she said.

  Alix began to speak, then, sharing what she knew of the history of the lake and the villages along its shores. At times, she pointed out various homes and other landmarks, weaving their tales into her narrative. Thalia listened eagerly, loving how Alix paused sometimes as she translated a thought between languages, and the way her hands sliced through the air when she became especially passionate about her topic. In preparation for this stolen afternoon, she had rehearsed so many talking points in her head, but now they all went out the window. She wanted Alix to feel how good it was to be able to let down her guard; how easy it was to spend time together. Any future relationship worth its salt would be built on who they were together when no one was watching, and for now, this was as close as they could get.

  “You’ve really made a study of this place,” Thalia said during a lull.

  Alix smiled—the most carefree smile Thalia had seen from her all week. “That’s what happens when you prefer reading to practicing makeovers with your sisters.”

  At first, Thalia laughed, but then she realized Alix had given her an opening. “I’ve been trying to give myself a makeover, recently. Not physically—emotionally.”

  Alix tensed, but she didn’t close down. That was progress. “What do you mean?”

  Thalia prayed for eloquence. “I meant what I said a few days ago, about never having been in a relationship like this before. I’ve always held myself at a distance from my lovers, because they were never going to be around very long. Most of them did the same.” She glanced at Alix, but found no judgment—only attentiveness.

  “You and I have always been more than casual. But whenever something became difficult in my professional life, I pushed you away, just like I would have done with any of my…”

  “Flings? Conquests?”

  Thalia winced, but she felt a little better when she saw a small smile curving Alix’s lips. “Can we call them dates?”

  “Since I’m feeling so generous.”

  “Ha ha.” Thalia turned to face her. “I think what I’m trying to say is that for all of my adult life, I’ve been closed off emotionally. On purpose. Because I’m gay, because I’m a woman in a man’s sport…it’s easier to put up a shield so everything bounces off. Except that I want to let you in.”

  Alix was looking at her intently. “You’ve been terrible at that.”

  “I have. I know. But now that I know…I want to fix it. I want to change. I’m trying to change. And maybe it’s too late and I’ve lost you, and—”

  Alix reached across the space between them to touch her arm. “You know that’s not true.”

  “I do?”

  “Why would I have come to you in the hospital, if it was too late?” Alix’s eyes were bright and her voice trembled and her words were the most beautiful sounds Thalia had ever heard. “Why would I have brought you here, if it was too late? I’ve never been able to listen to my head, when it comes to you, and that terrifies me. But I’ve also never felt so…so alive. So present. So wanted.”

  Needing to eliminate the space between them, Thalia started to get up, but Alix beat her to it. “No, you stay still.” She moved around the table to perch on the arm of Thalia’s chair.

  “I do want you,” Thalia murmured, entwining their fingers together. “But it’s gone beyond that. I need you, Alix. I’ve fallen in love with you. With your generous heart and your scientific mind and your sarcastic wit. I’ve fallen in love with the way your body moves against mine when we’re together—with the way you feel and the way you taste. I’ve fallen in love with your independence and your strength.”

  She brought Alix’s hand to her mouth and kissed each knuckle in turn. “I love you.” Tugging her closer, she murmured it again. “I love you.” And just before their lips met, one more time.

  “I love you.”

  *

  Alix lay awake, listening to the cool breeze stir the leaves outside her bedroom window. It was past midnight, and she should have been tired, but every nerve in her body was humming in the kind of anticipation she had not felt in months.

  Thalia loves me.

  The smile stretched her cheeks, reminding her of the truth: that while they still had plenty to work out, she had been unhappy without Thalia in her life. They should take these next few weeks to focus on laying a strong foundation for their relationship as Thalia continued to heal physically. There would have to be more discussion of the past, but not at the expense of future plans.

  She touched one index finger to her lips. They were a little bruised. Thalia’s kisses had, for the most part, been gentle. Outside the door to her bedroom, she had ended up with her back to the wall while Thalia braced herself with her good arm and claimed Alix’s mouth with a tenderness that belied her hunger. But the hunger had soon gained sway, and Thalia had unbuttoned her shirt most of the way before realizing what she had done.

  “Sorry,” she had gasped, while frantically doing up the buttons. “Didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” Alix had said. And then she had done something rather uncharacteristic, by cupping the back of Thalia’s head and kissing her fiercely. She had wanted so very badly to invite Thalia into her room, but on the boat, they had agreed to take this second chance slowly. Pressing their foreheads together as she tried to catch her breath, Alix had traced Thalia’s cheekbones with her thumbs.

  “Thank you for today,” she had said. “Sleep well. Good night.” And before she could change her mind, she had slipped into her room.

  Was Thalia also lying awake, she wondered. Was she also reliving the day? Was she smiling? Turning onto her side, she watched the moonlight that bathed her floor in silver, filtered by the latticework of her curtains into a pattern that resembled a fine mesh net. Its brilliance wavered as clouds scudded across the sky. The moon was nearly full, and she thought of all the myths and legends and old wives’ tales that had to do with the full moon…and then she thought of how these nights were always busiest in the ER, and that perhaps there was some kernel of truth to the idea that it pulled at the blood as it pulled at the tides, the lack of scientific verification notwithstanding.

  Her own blood was on fire. She smoothed one hand down her stomach, but was unwilling to go further. She didn’t want a release of her own making. She wanted to make love with Thalia—to yield to her touch and feel her surrender in return. She wanted to consummate the reunion they had begun this afternoon.

  Skin hot with desire, Alix threw back the covers and stared up into the dark corners of the ceiling. Why was she holding back? Were there any good, legitimate reasons not to put on her robe and slip down the staircase, down the hall, and into Thalia’s room, when that was what she wanted? Life was so short and so fragile. Why erect artificial barriers to happiness when there were already so many real ones? As they began to forge a new future together, they would need to talk in more depth about what had happened in the past. But why couldn’t those discussions be supplemented by the more intimate conversations they were clearly both craving? That closeness was just as important to their emotional connection.

  Suddenly decided, she slipped from the bed, turned on the light, and went to her chest of drawers. There was a pair of silk pajamas somewhere inside i
t. Her fingers trembled in anticipation as the cool fabric slid against her heated skin. The thought of Thalia easing the silk off her shoulders made her face warm, and a quick glance in the mirror confirmed her blush. She took a step back to survey herself with a critical eye and was pleased with what she saw—the way her short hair feathered across her forehead; the barest hint of her breasts revealed by the V-neck top; the contrast between the dark green silk and her tan skin. Thalia had always told her she was beautiful, and she thought she might actually be starting to believe it.

  As she stepped out into the corridor, Alix glanced up at the nearby security camera. It would have caught footage of her passionate embrace with Thalia earlier in the evening. A twinge of anxiety dampened her anticipation as she wondered what the guard on duty had thought then, and what he—or she—must be thinking now. But she couldn’t live in fear of her own staff, especially when she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She had to remember that. Her relationship with Thalia might appear scandalous to some people, but she couldn’t internalize their values and remain sane. Holding her head high, she walked briskly down the hall, determined not to skulk about when she had nothing to be ashamed of.

  As she descended the staircase, Alix remembered why Thalia’s bedroom was on the bottom floor. She couldn’t allow herself to forget Thalia’s injury in a moment of passion. She would have to be careful with her ribs and her shoulder, but without seeming to be. She would have to keep Thalia still, but without calling attention to her fragile body. She would have to be in charge of this dance, directing it in subtle ways. Alix smiled tightly at the quick blur of her reflection in a mirror. The promise of such a challenge was more alluring than she had expected.

  She knocked lightly on Thalia’s door, and then called, “It’s Alix,” hoping Thalia would give her permission to enter without getting up.

  When she heard a faint, “It’s open,” in reply, she moved quickly inside.

  Thalia was half sitting up, half reclining, the blanket clutched to her neck. “Is everything all right?” she asked, clearly worried.

  “Yes.” Alix sat on the bed and reached out to smooth her fingertips across the ridges of Thalia’s cheekbones. “Everything is much better than all right.”

  She leaned down to claim Thalia’s mouth in a firm, purposeful kiss meant to leave no doubt about her intentions.

  “Alix?” Thalia asked breathlessly when it finally ended. “What happened to going slowly?”

  Alix leaned down until her lips were a mere fraction of a hair’s breadth from Thalia’s. “I reconsidered,” she whispered, and kissed her. Certain that Thalia would be nude beneath the blankets, Alix began to peel them back, but Thalia trapped her hand in place.

  “Talk to me,” she said, her eyes wide and dark and pleading in the light of her bedside lamp. “Please.”

  In a moment of clarity, Alix knew exactly what to say. “I love you.”

  Thalia’s breath hitched and her eyes filled. “You…could you say that again?”

  Alix’s exhilaration fled, to be replaced by an aching tenderness. “I love you, Thalia. I love you. And I will tell you as often as you need.”

  Thalia smiled tremulously. “I might need you to tell me a lot,” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears.

  Alix kissed Thalia’s forehead. “I love you.” She kissed Thalia’s lips. “I love you.” And then she tugged at the coverlet. “And now, I want to show you.”

  The barrier fell away to reveal Thalia’s wounded body. Mottled bruises spread across her shoulder and torso, fading from purple to green at the edges.

  “I’m a mess,” Thalia said, watching her reaction.

  Alix leaned in to brush the lightest of feathery kisses across each separate mark. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I know you wish I would stop racing—”

  “No.” Alix shook her head for emphasis. “I’ll always be afraid for you, and I’ll always want you to take every precaution you can. But racing is your vocation. I love you for your calling, not in spite of it.”

  When Thalia appeared to be at a loss for words, Alix knew it was the right time for a different kind of communication. Carefully, she settled herself along Thalia’s uninjured side and then rested her palm against Thalia’s abdomen, delighting in the flicker of muscles that welcomed her touch. “I want you to lie perfectly still, now,” she murmured, “or I’m afraid I’ll have to stop.”

  Thalia swallowed noisily and her eyes grew even darker.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” The word was barely audible.

  Alix bent her head but paused when her mouth was an inch above Thalia’s. Slowly, she slid her fingers down until they encountered the wet warmth of Thalia’s desire.

  “I’m going to make love to you now,” she whispered. “For the first time.” And as she gently slid into the embrace of Thalia’s body, Alix sealed the promise with a kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  All too soon, reality intruded. Thalia wanted to be a visible, supportive presence at the British Grand Prix, as well she should, and she departed from Villa Canella in time to join her team for the practice sessions that preceded qualifying. Still, their first night apart was torturous, and it got Alix thinking about the necessary limits to any relationship that was secret. The secrecy was her own doing, of course, and the facts were clear: if she wanted the right to accompany Thalia to certain events and places, their relationship had to become public.

  There was only one person who could truly empathize with her situation—and so it was that Alix found herself requesting a meeting from Princess Sasha to discuss a sensitive personal matter. They could talk over a meal, Alix said. She would buy.

  “Oh, well in that case,” Sasha teased her, “I’m in.”

  “You’re always welcome in Monaco,” Alix said, relieved that Sasha had accepted her invitation. “Or I’m happy to come to you in London.”

  “Let’s split the difference,” Sasha said after a moment’s consideration. “I know a place in Paris with great food and better privacy.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s called Oubliette.” Sasha gave her the address. “Dress casual. I’ll take care of the reservation. Are you free tonight?”

  “Tonight is perfect,” Alix said, knowing she would be grateful for the distraction.

  After disconnecting, she called her secretary, who would make the necessary travel arrangements. He seemed surprised by Alix’s request but didn’t hesitate to do her bidding. Camille and Florestan had done these sorts of things before, of course—haring off to Prague or Paris or Reykjavik without any notice, usually to patronize some chic nightclub. But this was the first time Alix had ever flexed her royal muscle in such a way.

  When her driver pulled up to the restaurant’s address, Alix thought Sasha must have made a mistake. They were in a small backstreet just below Montmartre on a block shared by a Laundromat, a dry cleaner, and an adult video store. Claude bristled and insisted she stay in the car while he investigated. As he got out, Alix peered at the gray door crowned by the right number: 222. It was unmarked except for a small stenciled “O” just beneath the peephole. Perhaps they had the right place after all.

  Alix saw Claude’s mouth moving and realized he was somehow having a conversation with the people inside. After a few moments, he returned to open her door. “Stay close, please, ma’am,” he said, as he shepherded her through the door, holding aside the thick black curtain that obscured its entrance.

  Once inside, a bald, clean-shaven man materialized before them with a low bow. When she greeted him, he bowed again but did not speak. He was dressed entirely in white, from his collared shirt to his slacks to his belt to his shoes. Silently, he led them down a short corridor and down a small flight of stairs into a small, recessed chamber with one table in the center. Sasha must have reserved the entire room in order to arrange for a quiet place to talk where their privacy could be maintained.

  Alix sat in the chair facing the d
oorway and examined her surroundings. From her perspective, she was able to witness the comings and goings of the staff, presumably back and forth between the kitchen. All wore white. None of them were speaking. Were they mute by nature or necessity?

  An oubliette, a forgotten place, was historically a deep and narrow prison cell with sheer walls, its only entrance a hatch at the top of the cell. The ancestor of solitary confinement, it was a place designed to make its captives lose hope. But the atmosphere of the restaurant was mysterious rather than sinister. Tapestries covered most of the walls, depicting abstract patterns woven in muted, earthy colors. A low fountain trickled into a stone basin in one corner, and neatly trimmed bonsai trees filled the other three. Soft electronica played from hidden speakers, providing a rhythm for her thoughts. Protected from the prying eyes of the outside world, attended to by silent staff, she felt safe and contemplative. Oubliette wasn’t a dungeon, but a space where you could forget external pressures. It was the perfect venue for the conversation she was about to have.

  When a blond woman wearing black cargo pants and a gray crewneck top entered the room and moved directly toward her with a smile of recognition, Alix was momentarily taken aback—first by a bolt of attraction and then by panic. Who was this person? But as the woman drew closer, Alix realized with surprise that it was, in fact, Princess Sasha. She stood, and Sasha came around the side of the table to embrace her.

  “I should have warned you about the wig,” she said by way of greeting.

  “It’s an effective disguise.” Until now, Alix had never felt a visceral response to any woman other than Thalia, and she was disconcerted by her reaction. What did it mean? Shoving the question aside, she took her seat and fell back on politeness, asking Sasha how her travel had been.

  “The Chunnel makes everything easy.” She smiled. “Kerry decided to come with me—we’ve both been working like mad and needed a brief escape.”