by J. J. McAvoy
Sure enough, her brows furrowed as she stared back. “Are you a prince and a doctor, too?”
“No, I did go to law school, though.”
“Great. More lawyers.” She muttered something else.
“What was that?” I asked, leaning closer.
She shook her head. “Nothing. What is this syndrome you say I have?”
“A hundred years ago or so, there was an earl in my country by the name of Frans Dalsgaard. He inherited not only a title but also a vast fortune when his uncle passed without a male heir. However, the earl felt guilt-ridden by this because his female cousins, there were four, were left with nothing.”
“What did he do that left him infamy for a hundred years or so?” she asked.
“He gave his uncle’s fortune back to the sisters—well, to their husbands—and allowed the eldest sister to have the estate. Stating he was well-to-do before he received the inheritance, and he would be so afterward—funny enough, he was a doctor by trade. He took care of the townspeople.”
“And for his kindness, they loved him, and he lived a happy, normal life?” she finished with her head held high.
I shook my head. “The world savaged him.”
“Why?” she cried, bowing over in irritation. She lifted her face back up and pouted at me. “Was it really that bad?”
I did my best not to laugh at her ever-changing expressions. She was hilarious. “The economy crashed that year. People couldn’t pay him for his services, but they still went to him. He asked his cousins for loans, and they refused him. His wife and son became ill, so he tried to collect debts the townspeople owed him. They almost beat him to death. His wife and son died, and he soon joined them, penniless, crippled, and sick. His remaining daughter eventually ended up marrying a local schoolteacher but also lived most of her life in poverty.”
Her pout shifted to a full-blown grimace. “That is a horrible bedtime story!”
That did it. I almost keeled over from laughter. “It is, is it not?”
“So, the moral of the story is to take your money and screw everyone else?” She still had a sour look on her face.
“Yes and no. It is more nuanced than that.” I felt like one of my past lecturers explaining this. “The core debate on this is centered on humanity. Everyone applauded Dalsgaard when he gave up the inheritance. But then when he was in need, they debased him. Why? Some scholars say it is because human beings are selfish and greedy. They did not have money, so they were glad he could not have the money, either. Also, there is a whole argument centered around his cousins and why they did not help him. So as my professor told me, do good to as many as you can, most importantly yourself.”
“In other words, take your money and run. Like I said,” she summed it up and drank.
“Yes, in short, I suppose.” I drank along with her, admiring how funny she was without trying. “What were your other reasons?”
“You don’t want to sleep anymore?”
“We have already gotten this far in, why not continue?” I replied, and I suddenly was no longer tired.
“Reason two is I’m mad at my sister.”
“You are mad at your sister?” I repeated slowly.
“She got married already. She didn’t tell me and already collected the money.”
“Did she need to tell you?”
She shot me another one of her icy glares. “Do you have siblings, Gale?”
“An elder brother named Arthur, but we just call him Arty, and a younger sister named Elizarosa, who goes by Eliza.”
“How would you feel if Arty and Eliza got married and didn’t tell you? And on top of that, they were hoping you didn’t get married so they could take all the inheritance.”
“I have never had to think about that before because it would be impossible for them to do that.”
“Think about it now then,” she demanded.
“Okay, I guess I would be upset and worried.”
“Thank you. So, I’m right to be mad. Now reason three—my mom.” Her voice softened as she spoke of her mother. “She spent her whole life catering to and sacrificing for me. I feel like if she wants me to do this, then it is the least I can do.”
“Giving up your nationality, your home, and privacy in order to make your mom happy is a bit much. I do not know what to say for that one,” I replied, only joking.
“Giving up my nationality?” she asked.
“Nobles and royals can only have allegiance to one country. Ersovia.”
“Well, you’re starting to help me think of cons, thank you.”
“Let me not help too much,” I replied, shifting more on the bed as she relaxed. “What did your mom do that made you change your mind? You were very upset at her earlier, no?”
“I was,” she stated, pouring more wine for the both of us. “Then I went to the fundraiser and watched as my stepmother embarrassed her while everyone else ignored her.”
“So, you figure if you were married to a prince, no one would dare it.”
“Yep.”
“It is a very good reason.”
“You’re just saying that because you want me to marry you.”
“Not at all. Upholding your mother’s honor is very noble. I’m impressed.” I bowed my head to her, and she just rolled her eyes.
“It’s not just that. My mom has always wanted me to be something great. It’s like something she has to prove to herself. Augusta’s mom is smart. Her mom is a member of the board for my father’s company. My mom barely finished high school.”
“So, if her daughter were the one that ended up married to a prince, she would feel better about what she failed to accomplish.” I sobered at that. I could tell her mother cared about her daughter by the way she spoke about her in the car. However, I could also sense she truly wanted to climb further up in society. Meanwhile, her daughter did not seem to care—the irony.
“I’d hoped I would be able to live up to being some great, world-famous singer, but that isn’t really working out, either.”
“You have been nominated for awards, though.”
“Never won any.”
“Still, my sister is a huge fan of yours.”
“Really?”
“She almost broke down in tears when my parents wouldn’t let her go to a concert of yours in New York. Apparently, you don’t do them often?”
“Yeah.” She brushed the curls from her face. “I get stage fright when I’m asked to sing live and on stage.”
I was shocked by that. “Really?” I thought musicians and actors lived for the limelight.
“New subject,” she stated, suddenly changing the subject. The look she gave was if it were my fault. “This is far too deep of a conversation for people who just met.”
“Deep conversations are made for wine at midnight in bedrooms.”
“Are you an expert?”
“You came to me, remember? So, are you the expert?”
“And if I were?” She held up her head.
“Teach me your ways.” I bowed my head.
She pushed my head away. “Can you believe this? That we’re strangers—”
“At this point, we are, at the very least, acquaintances.”
She thought about it. “Acquaintances who just say, ‘Oh, yeah, I’ll get married because I’m told to by my family or because I need money.’”
“Yes, that seems correct.” I chuckled, finishing off the wine. It was very sweet. “The higher you are in the world, the more strings you have attached to make sure you do not fly off, or so my father says.”
“You can’t just say father like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because your father is a king.”
I shrugged. “He is still my father, though.”
“Yeah, but I feel like when you talk about kings, you have to say it with...I don’t know, more gravitas in your voice or something.”
“For commoners maybe—”
“Oh, the commoners,” she teased.
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”
“I was expecting you to say something like, Be silent!” Her voice dropped as she teased me again.
“You are starting to make me self-conscious over how I speak.”
“Don’t be. It’s cute in a way.”
“‘It’s cute,’ you say.” I leaned closer to her, and she pushed me to the side, making a face at me.
“Oh, don’t pretend as if you haven’t ever been told that you’re handsome.”
“No, never,” I lied, pleased by the direction of this conversation.
“So you are the ugliest man in Ersovia? No wonder they had to look outside the country for someone to consent to marry you.”
“First, you accuse me of being a playboy, and then you tell me I am ugly.”
“The second part was sarcasm.”
“So, the first part is what you honestly think of me?”
She drank, not answering me.
I did not think I had ever met someone who seemed to want to fight me so much. And I just met her. “You are probably the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.”
She scoffed, “I’m just probably the only one who doesn’t treat you like a prince.”
“Yes, what is up with that?” I said with the same accent I had seen in some American movies.
She had already smacked me, pushed me, and insulted me to my face.
“Well, Your Highness,” she said. “Along with your Dalsgaard syndrome, I’m also, as people would say, coldhearted.”
“Do explain.” I shifted to face her more.
She turned as well. “I don’t do love Gale. And for some reason, no matter how rich or famous people are, I simply don’t care. I’ve met rock stars, politicians, Nobel Peace Prize winners, and each time, I have to force myself to be excited or smile for the cameras.”
“I suppose that is a side effect of being the daughter of one of the richest men in the world.”
“Oh no, because Augusta cried the first time she met Beyoncé, like full-on sobbing. Meanwhile, I was like, ‘Hi. Yes, I enjoy your music. Can you pass the dressing?’ It was pitiful. My sister calls me Odette, the Cold-hearted. So it’s not just you, Prince Gale.”
That wasn’t a worst thing for me. It was actually a breath of fresh air compared to the people always around me. However, did that mean she had never been in love?
“What does move you then?” I asked her.
“Nothing.”
“Something must. Your father’s legacy, for example. You said how you do not want to give that up.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Yeah. But that doesn’t really move me. I’m not impressed by it so much as I feel like I need to protect it for my father’s sake. I guess if anything really drew out my emotions, it would be my mom. Maybe good music and food.”
“That is a little pitiful.” I snickered.
“Don’t judge me!”
“Why not? You have been judging me since we met.”
She made a face. And I made one back.
“What happened to being a gentleman?” she had the nerve to ask.
“When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
“Back on topic,” she said to deflect. “You’ve already got a whole profile on me, and I’m only talking about me. What moves you?”
I pretended to think, looking up to the ceiling for a bit before returning my gaze to her. “Damsels in distress or pretty women in general.” I winked.
“Oh, God.” She groaned. “And you are insulted when I call you a playboy.”
“Yes, because I am more than that.”
“So, you admit it.”
Ugh. This woman. “I have had a life. Is there a crime in that?”
“Nope.” Her tone did not give me much confidence, though. “Well, if you have more depth, then what moves you, Your Highness?”
I rested back against the backboard, placing my glass on the counter. “My family. The people of Ersovia. Good books, poetry.”
“I can’t tease you when you sound sincere,” she said. “So, I’ve told you my reasons. Now, tell me why I shouldn’t go through with marrying you.”
“You do realize my whole goal in coming here was to give you a reason to marry me.”
“Yes, but you promised to be honest, remember?” she shot back.
This time, it was me who glared at her. But she just kept the same expression on her face. “I don’t have any.”
“Liar!”
I laughed and shook my head. “Fine, you’ll be in the press a lot.”
“I’m sort of use to that already. Come on. You can do better than that. Let me have it.” She waved her hands at me.
She had no idea how different her press and royal press were. They were two different beasts.
“Come on, next reason?” She waved me on.
“You’ll need to learn Ersovian.”
She paused, thinking about it and nodded. “That’s not too bad, either. Is your language really hard? Say something for me.”
“You are very bossy. You know that?” I said in Ersovian.
A look of suspicion came over her face. And you would think she understood what I meant. “What did you say?”
“That you look pretty,” I lied.
“Yeah, that was a lie, but I’ll let it go.” She was spot on. “Anyway, learning a third language isn’t that bad.”
“A third?” That was not in her profile.
“My dad made my sister and me learn Mandarin. He said it was the language of the future.” She shrugged. “Why do you look so impressed. I bet you know like six or something.”
“Seven actually,” I said proudly. “But not Mandarin.”
“Of course, you do...What are other cons?”
I sighed, scratching the back of my head. “I do not know. Running a bunch of charities? Learning the ten thousand and one palace rules. Not being able to state your opinions in public. Moving?”
“Ugh! That’s almost my life now.” She groaned, shifting.
Noticing she was about to fall over, I grabbed her glass and the bottle from her hands, and she curled up into a ball beside me.
“You should say something like I’d have an evil mother-in-law—”
“That would be my mother, and she’s one of the most kindhearted women I have ever met.”
“Well, you are her son, so of course, that’s how you see her. But it’s good you feel that way,” she muttered, fluffing the pillow under her head. “Would I have to give up my music?”
I thought about it. “No, I do not think so. Since you can sing from anywhere, it’s fine, so long as the proceeds go to a charity. My brother’s wife is a famous painter. She did not have to stop that.”
She frowned. “You really aren’t helping me right now, Gale.”
“No, but I believe I am helping myself.” I smiled down at her.
“This is an arranged marriage. We can’t just say yes like this. There have to be some negatives we aren’t thinking about,” she muttered, clearly struggling to keep her eyes open. Then out of nowhere. “Oh, right, I bet you have a lot of exes that would try to destroy me or something.”
Damn.
“You do!” She pointed at me, grinning like she’d won the lottery.
“They would not try to destroy you. They would be jealous, of course, but still.” My past was a little more recent, but it was still the past. “I bet you have men that would want to kill me, too.”
She shook her head and shrugged. “All my exes are married now.”
“Just because they are married does not mean they do not still want you.” Some of mine were married when I met them. But I was not going to admit that, or she really would just get up and walk away.
She snickered. “You have no idea how good I am at burning bridges.”
“Then tell me.”
“Oh, also”—she was very good at changing the subject—“we don’t even know if we will like each other. What if we can’t stand each other?”
/> “We are doing fine, now, aren’t we?”
“Today doesn’t count.”
“Why?”
“Because...just because,” she grumbled with her eyes closed.
“That’s very clear.”
“Shut up.”
I snickered.
“You’re laughing at me, but I’m serious. You came all the way here, but what if you hate me? More importantly, what if I hate you?”
More importantly. “How about you and I get to know each other more while I’m here.” That was originally my goal, but something had shifted in the last twenty-four hours.
“Get to know each other?” She grimaced against the pillow. “That sounds like dating.”
“Yes, I believe that is what the commoners call it.”
“Dating sucks. It’s too stressful. You’re always trying so hard to make the best first impression or say the right thing.”
“You are very difficult. You know that, right? You will not agree just to get married, but you also dislike dating.”
She smiled, partially asleep. “I know. My mom is always annoyed with me about it. Are you giving up on me already, Your Highness?”
“For the sake of my country and pride, I refuse.”
“Don’t say you weren’t warned,” she whispered, relaxing into the bed. “I’ve come full circle. Thank you. I’m not getting married.”
“Does that mean yes to the dating then?”
“I’m sorry for waking you,” she said instead, gently nestling into the pillow.
“It’s fine, but I doubt you will remember in the morning.”
“I will. I have a high toleran...” And she was sleep. Her chest rose and fell slowly, her curls falling over her face.
When I noticed her dress rising as she shifted on top of the sheets, I got off of the bed, taking the glasses with me. I glanced over my shoulder at her as she moved into the center, shaking my head.
“What am I going to do with you, Cinderella?”
Chapter 10
I’m dying.
I had to be dying.
The only logical reason for my brain to feel like this was death.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
“Make it stop.” I groaned, reaching over to the bedside table to stop my phone.