"Hey," I say in a soft voice. "There's a couple empty seats in the sixth row. Come sit with me."
She looks up with red eyes, her face an icy mask. "I'm fine where I am."
"Come on. Please?"
She seems a little shocked to hear me use the magic word. She blinks, and makes a half turn, without actually looking at the Viking Twins.
"Look, I didn't ask you to go to a hotel room with me. It's over there." I point at the empty seats. "Follow me if you want."
I turn, and, like Orpheus leading Eurydice out of hell, I dare not look back. I don't have to. I smell a cool, wintery berry scent and know Ana is following me to sit beside me, joining me as I sit. She takes a moment to arrange her stuff in silence.
"If we're done playing musical chairs"—Grandolf scowls—"might I begin my lecture? We have a lot to cover today. We'll be looking at the roots of the Spanish-American War."
Ana starts to type.
I assume it's notes, but then notice she’s typing in caps.
WHAT DO YOU WANT
I slink down in the seat. I murmur, "I can help you. Let me ask you something. Are you any good at math?"
"Yes," she murmurs.
"Like, geometry?"
"Perfect score."
I slip out my last assignment and hold up the grade so she can see it. Her eyes widen a little.
"I'm a history major," I whisper, barely mouthing the words. "What do you major in, anyway?"
Her voice is very small and soft. "Business."
"Excuse me," Grandolf cuts in from fifty feet away. "Miss DeVries."
Ana bristles as Grandolf addresses her without her royal style. She swallows, hard. Her throat bobs. She glances at me as if begging for help.
Oh that is it. That is just it. I'm starting to get mad.
Calm down, Jason. Don't tilt at this windmill.
I take a deep breath.
Grandolf hides neither her contempt nor her malice with her expression. She stands, one foot out, like a conquering general, hands on her hips, chest out, chin tipped back.
"Tell us, what role did William Randolph Hearst play in the buildup to the war?"
Ana clears her throat, and I brace myself.
Her voice is clear and high. "Hearst used his newspaper network to spread propaganda that the sinking of the USS Maine in Havana Harbor was Spanish sabotage. Most historians today agree it was an accident and the Spanish were blameless. Hearst instigated the war to benefit his partnerships with—"
"Yes indeed," Grandolf snaps, annoyed. "If only you were so eloquent in your assignments. As I was saying, Hearst's business connections allowed him to profit from his manipulations of public opinion through leading and biased news stories, which today we refer to as 'yellow journalism'…."
Ana fumes in her seat, bending the top of her textbook in tight fingers. I touch her arm, just above her wrist. The skinny muscles under my fingers are as tight as steel cables.
"Hey," I murmur. "Hey, calm down."
Ana's fury melts into something else, and he lip trembles. She scrubs at her wet eyes.
"I want to leave," she says softly.
"No, that's letting her win. Stay right where you are."
I squeeze her hand, then quickly let go. Her fingers touch my palm for a moment.
From the corner of my eye, I watch her sullenly taking notes. She's very efficient and organized in her note-taking, using a divided screen to jot down questions and ideas as she goes. I only jot down what subjects Grandolf is covering so I can brush up a bit before the tests.
Anastasia is like steel, hard and brittle at the same time, but there's a softness in her too. Hit her too hard and she might shatter.
Oh stop being a romantic idiot, Jason. She doesn't need a hero.
Doesn't she, though? After all, she is a princess, and I am a knight. Sort of. A Knight.
Grandolf doesn't call on her again for the remaining forty-five minutes of lecture. In fact, she ignores us both. It's odd she hasn't called me, as she usually does once per class, often for the more difficult questions. When she's done, she practically beats the whiteboard to death scribbling down the homework assignment: more dumb review questions.
As the students file out, I rest my hand on Princess Anastasia's. "Hold up a minute."
"I have another class in fifteen minutes."
"You'll make it. I just want to ask you something."
"If it's asking me to sleep with you, the answer is no."
"I do want to ask that, just not this minute. Are you all right?"
She blinks. "All right?"
"You looked pretty broken up earlier."
She tucks the offending paper with its failing grade into her messenger bag and stands up.
"Let me walk you to your next class."
She glances at her guards and chews her lip. Something in my chest swells. She's thinking about it. She's thinking about it.
"Very well," she says. "Hands to yourself."
After I slip my bag on my shoulder, I clasp my hands behind my back and walk beside her. Her guards fall in closer, within listening distance.
Well, that's not awkward.
"If I need a tutor, I can get one from the Academic Affairs Office."
"Me too. I don't want someone from the Academic Affairs Office, Princess. I want you."
She snorts. "I had hoped you were through making lewd propositions."
"I said I want you for my tutor. You're the one that made it about sex."
Bearded Guard growls at me.
Like, literally.
I remain a perfect gentleman right up to the door of her next class.
"I'll consider your offer."
"Good. You've got my number."
She scowls.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to hit your head, seriously. If that was a football, I'd have put it right where I want it."
"Where is that?"
I grin. "Down your shirt."
"Your ball is never going down my shirt, Jason."
She turns and walks into the classroom. I give her a casual wave, and her guards give me red-hot-iron death stares that could melt granite.
I nonchalantly walk away to my next class. Then I break into a full-tilt run, because it's on the other fucking side of campus.
When I get there I check my phone as I slip into my seat. I have one new message.
Anastasia: You may tutor me. Text later. Anastasia Carolien Jacobina Katrien De Vries, Princess of Jyvaslka, Duchess of Karin.
Jason: You sign your texts.
Anastasia: I can't talk now. I am in class.
Jason: You sign your texts with your full name and titles.
Anastasia: Be quiet, Jason.
Jason: You can just ignore me.
Anastasia: You will not have the last word.
Jason: Yes I will.
Anastasia: No you won't.
Jason: Yes I will….
This goes on for five minutes until I give up and let her win. I can picture the scowl on her face perfectly. It brings a grin to mine.
I feel like I can fly.
Chapter Five
Ana
My major course load days are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. In the morning I have History 204: American History from 1865 to the Present, then Applied Microeconomics, then after my lunch break, Religious History, and, finally, Creative Writing.
As I walk out of my final class of the day, I begin to forget I have two burly men hovering over my shoulders. I barely pay them any attention as I purchase a bottle of water from a vending machine, having exhausted my squeeze bottle earlier in the day. I gulp half of it down and pull my buzzing phone from my pocket.
I initially labeled Jason's number Jason in my phone. Then I changed my mind and decided he should he Horny Man instead.
Are we going to study now?
How about now?
Now?
What about now?
I'm waiting
I text him back.
M
eet me in the library in half an hour. I must go to the pit stop.
The Pit Stop is a small market store in the dining hall across the street. There are a number of restaurants there, but none to my liking. Or perhaps they would be, if I'd ever bothered to try them.
I still don't know what Sbarro is.
In the minimarket, I find a can of tuna, a box of crackers, a small fried apple pie, a quart of milk, and an orange. I also find Jason buying a hand-held basket full of protein and granola bars sufficient to feed a small army, and a half gallon of chocolate milk of his own.
He looks at my selection and raises an eyebrow.
"Canned tuna?"
I set it neatly on the counter and go back to pick up a chilled packet of mayonnaise and a spork. A curious utensil. I make my purchase and walk to the library.
Jason rushes to catch up to me, carrying his enormous meal stuffed into a bag that strains at the sides to fit it all. "Let's eat."
"I said I will study with you. Not eat with you."
"We'll eat and study."
"You are trying to make this a date."
"Food makes it a date?"
"Food makes it a date," I decree.
"The calendar makes it a date, baby. Come on, I'm hungry as hell and I like watching you eat."
"We cannot eat in the library, whether we wish it or no."
"You can eat in the study nooks. Come on, live a little. Let's eat in the library."
"I know what you want to eat in the library."
"You know," he says, smirking at me, "you're the one that keeps making innuendos, not me. Then again, you are carrying a can of tuna. That one's too easy."
"I will eat with you in the study nook if you shut up. But it is still not a date."
"Fine with me. Come on, I just need to feed the beast."
We cross the street and walk back up to the Parkman Library, and take the elevator up to the second floor. The study nooks are small rooms lined with couches set up around a table. After I sit down and Jason sits a foot away, Bjorn and Thorlief squeeze in and both fold their arms, staring at him.
"I can't work with them in here," Jason says. "They throw off the feng shui of the whole room."
"He's not going to touch me," I tell them.
"Nope," he agrees.
"If he touches me I'll scream and you'll break his legs," I tell them.
Thorlief gives me a peculiar look I can’t read, and leads Bjorn away.
"Yep," he agrees. "Wait, what?"
I give him a sharp smile and spread a napkin on the table, then open my pocketknife and use the can-opener attachment on the tuna. I drop the wet lid neatly in my now-empty bag, squeeze out the mayonnaise, and mix it into the meat with my spork.
"Are you seriously going to eat tuna out of a can with mayonnaise on it?"
"I like fish."
"It's not even cold. Why do they even sell that in the minimart?"
I shrug and eat small bites from the can, then peel my orange.
When I dip a segment of the fruit in the tuna and pop it in my mouth, Jason makes a disgusted noise, as if he's about to spit out his Super Protein XXXTreme Power Bar 9000.
It actually said that on the label.
He stares in horror. "What are you doing?"
"You don't eat fruit with fish?"
"No!"
I shrug. "I do." I pop the next piece in my mouth, but salt it first.
Jason looks at me as though I have two heads.
"Does this mean you no longer find me attractive?"
"Sugar Buns, I could watch you eat an orange all day. Even if you do put tuna salad on it. Shitty tuna salad. You know tuna salad has onions, right?"
"I don't like onions," I sneer, then wash down my meal with half of my milk carton.
Jason eats his energy bars so fast they seem to disappear as soon as he peels back the wrapper, all the while chugging his chocolate milk.
"You keep looking at the bottle," he says, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm.
"I have never had chocolate milk."
He gapes at me. "Are you sure you're not really an alien?"
I snatch the bottle from him and take it in both hands, and tip it back.
I lower it slowly, swirling the sweet milk in my mouth. I have never tasted such a complex flavor before, so many notes, though the sweetness nearly overwhelms it.
"You're looking at that bottle like you want to take it home."
"I'm more likely to take the bottle home than I am you."
"You're breaking my heart."
"I don't think it's your heart that pines for me."
"Oh it does. The other part gets wood for you."
I roll my eyes. "That was almost clever."
"Thanks. Come sit on my lap and we'll talk about the Gospel of Wealth." He pats his knee.
I start to blush.
Stop it, Anastasia.
"Are you forgetting I threatened to have your arms broken?"
"It was my legs, and you only said that so you could get me alone and ravish me."
"It was your legs, and it was five minutes ago. I have a good memory."
"So you remember this morning when you were sitting on—"
A flush creeps up my neck. I do in fact remember. I remember well. I glance at his crotch and remember very intensely. I look up and he's grinning.
"You are so damn cute. Cuter when you're embarrassed."
"Are we going to study? If not, I am leaving."
He lets out a long sigh. "Yeah. Do you want to go first, or should I?"
"We shall study your subject first. Show me where you are having trouble."
He sits up and spreads out an exam paper on the table. I slide it over in front of me and look it up and down. He is going through these geometry problems all wrong. I tap the page with my pencil.
"You don't know what you're doing."
"Right. That would be the problem, Princess."
"You weren't paying attention to the fundamentals."
"Right, right."
"Are you listening to me, or am I just here to be ogled?"
"I'm listening, seriously."
I sit up. "Each one of these problems builds on a simpler exercise. Let's us consider the cylinder. What is a cylinder?"
"My—"
"I'm leaving," I tell him and start packing my things.
"Okay, okay. A cylinder is a round thing that's flat on both ends."
"Good enough. Does it have anything in common with other shapes?"
"Yeah, a circle."
"Good." I draw a rough circle on a piece of scratch paper. "A cylinder's two-dimensional basis is a circle. Now, how does one calculate the area of a square?"
"Length times width." He rolls his eyes. "Are we going back to grade school?"
I ignore his sally. "How do we transform a square into a cube?"
"Depth."
"Depth or height, yes, and we multiply the length times the width times the height. In effect, we stretch the square into a cube and measure it that way. Does that make sense?"
"Wait, you do the same thing with a cylinder? Just stretch it?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't they tell me that?"
I shrug. "That is not how they wish to teach you, I suppose."
"Show me how it works. Take me through it step by step."
For the next hour, he is perfectly serious and a perfect gentleman. I take him through the volume and surface area of a cylinder, cone, and pyramid.
"How is it you had difficulty with this before? Were you faking being unable to complete these assignments to get closer to me?"
"No," he says, smirking. "I don't need tricks to get closer to you. Okay, it's your turn. Let's do you."
I raise my eyebrow and press my trembling lips tightly together. Do not smile, Anastasia.
"I meant do your studies, not something perverted. Why would you think that? You have such a dirty mind for such a pretty girl."
I start to blush again and wi
ll myself to stop. It only makes my cheeks burn hotter. I try to distract him by pulling out my textbook.
"I'm behind on the reading. I need help with it. I…." I can't finish the sentence. I look down at the floor.
He brushes my arm with the back of his hand. "Tell me."
"I have trouble reading English."
"That's okay. I can't even try to read… whatever you speak."
"No, you can't," My voice chokes a little. "That's different. I'm expected to—"
"Hey, calm down. You don't need to get so upset. It's not that important."
"Yes it is," I shout.
"Hey, library. Shush."
I sink into the seat and sigh. My eyes burn with tears. "It is important."
"Why does it matter so much? I'll get you through it."
I look at my feet. I always look at my feet when I'm nervous.
Unless Mother snatches up my chin.
I look up abruptly.
"Princess? Ana?"
"I didn't give you permission to call me that."
"I don't need permission. People call each other by name when they're friends. I'm tired of the princess. I like Ana better."
I bite my lip. "Mother attended this institution," I tell him. "She never failed a class, or an exam, or a paper, or an assignment. She did it all perfectly. She mastered English before she even arrived. I don't know how she did it. It is such a difficult language to read. I keep jumbling things up."
"I'll help. Come here."
I glare at him.
"I mean it, I'm not making a dumb joke about sitting on my lap. Sit next to me and we'll read and talk about the book. Come on. It's just you and me, and I don't care if you stumble."
I consider it for a moment, then slide along the seat until I'm next to him, hip to hip. He is true to his word and doesn't throw his arm over my shoulders or try to take me into his lap. I am overwhelmed by his presence anyway. He's so big.
He pulls my book into his lap and spreads it open.
"You said you're behind. The marker?"
I nod and he opens the book.
"Read aloud."
Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) Page 7