"'Sweets for my sweet,'" I read. "'from Jason.'"
I glare at Thorlief.
"It could be poison."
I pluck out a cherry cordial and hand it to him. He sighs and pops it in his mouth, chews it, and swallows it.
Nothing happens. I yank the ribbon off the box and take it in the house with me, then up to my study.
When I set it on my desk, I notice something… odd. There appears to be a picture under the candy.
My eyebrow twitches. I lift up a chocolate truffle and find an eye. My eye. I eat the truffle, then start picking the rest of the candies out of the box, lining them up neatly in the lid.
Most of them. I'm hungry.
When I'm done I find a set of pictures printed on the bottom of the box. One of Jason and one of myself. The legend reads, in swooping lettering, You're Already In My Heart.
I scowl at the box and throw it away. I'll have Mavra stick the candies in a baggie. No, I'll do it myself.
The cook looks up when I step into her domain.
"Princess," she says with a curtsy. "Tonight's entrée will be meatballs and cream sauce with baked potato and rice. Can I bring you anything else?"
"Thank you, no. Milk to drink. I need a plastic baggie."
She hands me one, and I thank her and head upstairs.
As I tuck the candies in their new home and lay a paperweight on my economics textbook to hold it open, I hear music, faintly, from outside. I dismiss it as a passing car.
It's not moving.
Sighing, I get up and head for the window. It opens out over the street. I lift the sash and poke my head out to see what's going on. Odd things happen on the street all the time, sometimes amusing, usually not.
When I look down, I see Jason holding up a huge stereo music player over his head. He must have it turned all the way up. As I lean out the window, the sound is almost painful. He stands with a grim look of determination on his face, meeting my gaze when I look down.
"Turn that off," I yell.
He shakes his head. "Listen."
I stick my tongue out at him and jerk back inside.
I also hit my head on the window sash.
"Ow!"
My fingers grip the window. I stop before I pull it down. The song is catchy, and I catch myself listening a bit. I finally close the window and step away, but, curious, I sit at the computer and type the lyrics I heard into the Google.
The name of the song is "I'm a Believer."
I roll my eyes, but inwardly I feel a little tickle. The lyrics have a certain optimism about them.
It's almost cute.
My phone buzzes.
Jason: You're my fairy tale.
Anastasia: Go away, Jason.
Jason: Eat dinner with me.
Anastasia: No.
Jason: Let's hang out.
Anastasia: No.
Jason: Marry me.
Anastasia: No.
Jason: One day you'll say yes.
Anastasia: I'm sending my bodyguards out.
Jason: Okay, okay, I'm leaving.
Anastasia: Good.
Jason: I'll be back.
I roll my eyes and put the phone in a drawer so I can study. I actually enjoy these courses. Economics is, as the Americans say, my jam. I pour over the book, and I can actually read it, since I know most of this already. What matters most is knowing what the professor expects me to know on the test, and making sure I am properly brushed up.
After easily breezing through my math, science, and economics work, I sigh and find myself staring at my battered copy of The Great Gatsby. As soon as I open it to the page I marked—no, the page Jason marked—I realize I am going to be hopelessly lost again. I try to read the first paragraph, and once more, my eyes slide down the page, like trying to write on a block of ice.
I sigh, hard, and prop my chin on my hand. No, I will not stop. I take my pencil and start making notes on the page, trying to learn.
The phone buzzes in the drawer. I decide I will ignore it.
Then I take it out and read his message.
Jason: Are you trying to read Gatsby yet?
Anastasia: No.
Jason: Liar.
Anastasia: How did you know?
Jason: You just told me.
The phone rings. It's his number, of course. I silence it and set it on the desk. A minute later it begins to ring again. I snatch it up and hit the Receive button, annoyed.
"What?"
"Hi, honey. Listen."
Without preamble, he begins reading the book. I move to hang up.
Then I press the phone to my ear. I listen to his voice, following him along with the pencil and mouthing the words myself.
It is almost a beautiful book. Certainly less dull than the sagas I was forced to read when I was younger. Taking the book in one hand and the phone in the other, I move across the hall to sit in the side chair next to my bed, with the book on my lap and Jason in my ear.
"Following so far?"
"Yes."
He stops after a few pages, and asks me questions, like he did last night.
I tense every time he breaks his narration, expecting some lewd comment or proposition, but it never comes.
My yawn interrupts him.
"You're cute when you yawn."
I roll my eyes, then realize he can't see me. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
"You just did. Moving on."
He begins to read again. Mavra brings my dinner and gives me a quizzical look. After I eat, I set the plate aside. I have a glass of milk yet to be drunk, so I dart back across the hall and grab the candy, and pop the pieces in my mouth, and wash them down with the milk while Jason reads to me. Something about his voice warms me.
"Let me ask you a question," he says, drawing in a breath.
"No."
"Are you lying down or sitting up?"
At the moment, I happen to be "Lying on my bed."
"Oh my. What are you wearing?"
"A hooded sweatshirt and jeans."
"Mmm. Ask me what I'm wearing."
"No."
"Come on, ask."
"I'm hanging up."
"Ask."
"Fine. What are you wearing?"
"Socks."
"Socks? That's it." I giggle.
"Yes."
The image of Jason wearing nothing but socks floods my mind. Damn him.
Before I can snap at him, he begins to read again.
He reads to me until my phone beeps. The battery is dying. It's full dark outside, and the clock has just ticked over nine forty-five.
"You still need help with your history homework. You should meet me in the library tomorrow."
"No I shouldn't."
"You're so cruel, Anastasia. I just want to look on your gorgeous face once more. My heart lifts at the sight of you."
"It's not your heart that's lifting."
"Why do you always have to make it weird? God, there you go with the innuendos."
"I'm hanging up."
I cut him off with the button, stick the cord in my phone, and get up to change into my sleeping clothes.
The phone buzzes. Exasperated, I yank it from the nightstand.
Jason: Are you in your jammy jams?
Anastasia: GO TO SLEEP, JASON.
Jason: I can't, you're not here.
Anastasia: Good night.
I type it angrily, not that he can tell, and put the phone in the drawer. Except I can't, because of the cord. I turn the buzzer off instead, so it won't bother me until morning, and turn on my alarm clock. My anger turns into laughter as I imagine him hunched over his phone, grinning at me. Suddenly I'm not angry at all, just warm.
Rest, I must rest.
Sleep drags me down hard, and I am out cold in minutes. When I wake up in the morning, the light warming my face, I find myself on my back, clutching Jason's hoodie to my chest. I lie there for a few moments, sniffing the fabric and feeling its warmth before I gen
tly lay it on the bed and get up to face my day.
My phone rings. I pull it out, expecting Mother to be calling.
It's Dee.
Dee never calls me.
When I answer she says, "Princess, get outside. You need to see this. Just go out in your backyard."
Bleary-eyed, I get up, pull on last night's jeans, and stumble onto the porch, barefoot. I yawn, loudly. "What am I looking for?"
"Up. Look up. The airplane."
Airplane?
I hear it before I see it. It's buzzing low over town, not far above the rooftops. An old-type biplane, bright red. Something trails behind it.
A banner.
I squint and read it as it passes.
It reads, in big bold letters, GO OUT WITH ME, ANASTASIA.
I'm not the only person watching. All of the other student renters on the street are on their back porches, either talking or texting on their phones.
A groan escapes my lips.
"He's crazy," Dee tells me over the phone. "I think he means it, Princess."
The plane makes another four laps before flying off. Presumably Jason couldn't afford any more.
As I walk to class, people pay even more attention to me than usual. Thorlief edges closer as they snap pictures of me, or text at my appearance. Ignoring them, I tromp defiantly to my first class.
Jason will be there, I realize. I sigh, expecting him to sidle up to me as soon as I step into the building.
Instead he waves as I pass him in the hall. He and his two enormous roommates are passing out yellow t-shirts from a stack of boxes set up along the wall. They are wearing shirts of their own, all three identical.
Emblazoned on the chest of each shirt is a big blue outline of a heart. Inside the heart, it reads:
JASON
ANA
I grit my teeth and storm into the lecture hall. When I make it to the front row, I find all the seats filled with flowers, with my customary place in the center of the row stacked with boxes of candy and wrapped gifts.
My face turns beet-red. All this, for me? I can't let everyone else see these. If Grandolf finds me standing over a pile of gifts from Jason….
"Hurry," I tell Thorlief and Bjorn. "Clear it away."
I join in, dragging a garbage can from the corner of the room to dispose of all of it. Behind me, dozens of students file in wearing the shirts. Not all, but most.
Jason finally walks in and looks right at me, waving a shirt.
"Want one?"
I stick my tongue out at him.
I finally take my seat, with a pile of still-wrapped gifts at my feet. The other students are murmuring to each other, looking at me, looking at him. I sit up straight and stare forward, arms folded over my chest.
The professor walks through the hallway door at the bottom of the lecture hall, by the lectern and whiteboard. She sips coffee from a paper cup and begins setting up.
Then she glances at me and her eyes to wide. She stands straighter and looks at the t-shirts, the gifts at my feet, at Jason, at nothing in particular. A vein throbs on her forehead, and I swear I see a capillary burst into a little red spot in her twitching eye.
"What… what…?" she starts, then grits her teeth. "Let me be well understood. Any antics like this in my class tomorrow, and I will dock a full letter grade from the midterm of anyone who participates. Jason, see me after class."
Then she turns and begins her lecture. She delivers most of it to the blackboard, and one out of every three times she writes something, the chalk snaps in her hand and she goes to get another one.
The lecture ends twenty minutes early and concludes with, "Hand your papers to the assistants and get out."
Her fleet of young, male teacher’s assistants collect the papers. As soon as mine leaves my hand, I grab everything and rush to depart the hall. The way Grandolf was looking at me, I'm lucky I'm not smoldering. Thorlief and Bjorn gather up the presents and carry them in big armfuls.
"Get rid of those," I command. "Bjorn, take them back to the house."
"As my princess commands."
Thorlief piles his fellow guard's arms up with all the gifts and sends him shakily on his way, hanging close to me as I walk to my next class.
Thankfully, there are no antics there. I keep my head down and focus, and it passes quickly enough.
Until I'm on my way out.
Jason: Study tonight?
Anastasia: No
Jason: Please?
Anastasia: Go away.
Jason: Grandolf is going to be hard on you on the midterm.
Anastasia: Whose fault is that?
Jason: I won't let you fail.
Anastasia: I can take care of myself.
Jason: You don't have to.
Groaning, I find a quiet spot to sit with Thorlief and eat my packed lunch that Mavra made for me. I fear if I go outside, Jason will have another stunt waiting for me. It fills me up well enough, and then on I go to class again.
By the end of the day, I have gotten used to the t-shirts. It seems like half of campus is wearing them. Over the last two years, I had thought the student body had grown used to me. The stares became fewer and fewer until it seemed they had forgotten about me. I was happy enough with that.
Now everyone is staring me again, whispering to each other. It seems everywhere I go, I am the topic of conversation.
"There you are," Jason yells, running up to me. "Let's grab a bite to eat and go study, huh?"
Thorlief glares at him. Bjorn has rejoined us, and the two flank me with their massive arms crossed over their broad chests.
Jason is undeterred. He strides right up, grinning. "Did you open your presents?"
"No. I threw them away."
Why won't he listen? If he keeps pursuing me like this, he's going to get hurt. Can't he see the bodyguards staring him down?
"You're lying. What's your favorite flower?"
"I hate flowers."
"Right." He rolls his eyes. "Come on, you have to have one. Tell me."
"No."
"Favorite food?"
"Cod."
"Eww, really?"
"Yes, really. It's better than some disgusting cheeseburger."
"Have you ever had a cheeseburger?"
"Yes, they serve them in the cafeteria."
"Ah," he says, "so you haven't." He offers his hand. "Come on, I'll go get you one before we go study."
"We're not going to go study, and I'm not eating dinner with you. I can't."
"You can't or you don't want to?"
Damn him, I do want to. Doesn't he listen?
"I told you, it's not you. I can't go out with you."
I stride past him, turning up my nose.
For a moment. Then I look back. He stands in place, watching me walk away, a sad look on his face. Part of me wants to run back and apologize, of all things. When he spots me looking, he locks gazes with me and smiles.
I can feel myself blushing. Damn him.
I brace myself for whatever surprise awaits me when I return to the house. There is nothing on the sidewalk this time, or posted to the door.
Instead, after I close the door behind me and start trudging up to my study, past the pile of unopened presents, the doorbell rings.
Thorlief looks at me and I nod. He opens the door.
Standing on the porch is one of Jason's gargantuan twin housemates, dressed in a red uniform with an absurdly small hat perched on his head.
"Candygram for Anastasia."
"What?" Thorlief snaps.
"Candygram for Anastasia."
He thrusts out his hands, holding another heart-shaped box of candy in his sausage-sized fingers. Thorlief tries to take it, and he snatches it back.
"Candygram for Anastasia."
"Tell him I've had enough," I say, yanking the box from his hands. I nod, and Thorlief slams the door shut.
"This is beginning to annoy me," Thorlief says.
"You?" I say wryly.
I
peel the box open and look inside. More candy, with a note. On it is inscribed a poem, in gold lettering.
Dearest Ana,
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I want to date you
I crumple the paper and throw it in the trash bin. I keep the candy. He buys good candy. I turn to the giant pile of presents. I should just throw them all in the trash, but I think of the sad look in his eyes and sit down on the sofa to peel off the wrapping paper anyway.
The first box is full of more candy. The second contains one of the t-shirts. The third holds a pair of matching lounge pants with "Jason" printed down one leg and "Anastasia" printed down the other. In the fourth box, I find a pair of socks with one of our names printed on each. Then a hoodie. Then in the last box, a pair of underwear. Printed on the seat is the same heart logo and JASON + ANA as the t-shirts.
I throw the boxes aside and storm upstairs. My phone buzzes on the way up. I yank it out of my pocket, expecting another text.
It's Mother. She must be angry, Jyvaslka is twelve hours behind the East Coast.
I sit at the computer to take her call.
Her scowling face fills my screen, and she folds her arms over her chest. I can see she has just woken up from her puffy eyes and the fact she's wearing a pink leopard-print dressing gown.
"Anastasia," she says, her voice dull with fatigue, "what is the meaning of this?"
I swallow hard as she holds up her iPad and shows me the cover story of The Royal Exposé.
Quarterback's Quest, it reads.
"'Can Jason Powell melt the ice princess's frozen heart'?" Mother reads, glaring at me. "'Get the inside scoop on Princess Anastasia's newest suitor. Are the lesbian rumors true? Could she be bi?'"
"I'm not a lesbian," I shout.
"I know that, but apparently the entire Western world isn't so sure!"
"Mother, it's just a newspaper."
"Your minder Bjorn spoke to me about this. This absurd spectacle must end, Anastasia. I won't have some American jock"—she says the word like a curse— "making a joke of my daughter and heir."
"He's not a jock," I shout, clenching my fists at my sides. "Don't talk about him that way!"
She blinks and jerks back from the camera. "What did you say?"
My chest freezes, and I feel like I'm twelve again, trying to sink through the floor and disappear to avoid her wrath.
"Anastasia, do not dare contradict me. I am your queen, not merely your mother. One word from me and you will be on a plane home by daybreak. Is that clear?"
Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) Page 10