“BAD news, Andy.” Brooke stalked into the EO suite and flopped down in an armchair. “Kjersti is flat-out refusing to meet the prince for brunch before the harpies’ gallery opening. She’s invoked the emergency spa treatment clause in her contract.”
“Seriously?” Andy counted to ten, so so so tempted to nudge Kjersti’s fate enough that she’d trip on a random shoe, maybe break a nail, or soak her lap with the incredibly complicated coffee-equivalent beverage she demanded each morning. But he resisted, visions of mud buckets and disapproving aunts dancing in his overtired brain. “I suppose we should grant her some slack. She hasn’t had the best couple of days.”
Brooke snorted. “She’s been fine since yesterday, even before Smith’s witch-doctor—”
“I think he’s a doctor-witch.”
“Whatever. My point is that she would have been perfectly fine to go to the rugby match yesterday. She just didn’t want to.”
“To be fair, neither did the prince.”
“I don’t have to be fair, and neither do you. You’re the one who had to take up the slack because she was having a bad hair day.” She glared at the candidates’ headshots, arranged on a giant cork easel in the corner of the room, probably wishing for several darts. “Still is, if you ask me.”
“Maybe that’s why she’s insisting on the spa morning,” Andy said mildly.
“Why are you being so nice? You’re the event coordinator. You can override the spa clause and make her show up on time or be disqualified.”
Andy sighed. Honestly, he ought to do exactly what Brooke suggested, if only he could make himself focus, but he was totally off his game and he knew exactly why: he was fixated on one tall, dark, and handsome prince, with a wicked sense of humor, a weakness for romance novels, and a newly acquired taste for Peruvian food. Really, the look on the man’s face last night when he’d tasted the empanadas at Andina should be outlawed, it was so freaking hot.
“Think about it, Brooke,” he said as Smith slouched in from the bedroom to collect his usual mound of breakfast meats before retiring behind his techno-wall. “If we start throwing our weight around with the candidates, one of them is bound to notice the… shall we say, irregularities in the schedule so far? What if one of them asks who took the first two date slots? What if they actually talk to one another? We’re as much in violation of the intent of the contract, even if we’ve kept to the letter.”
Smith picked up a slice of blackened bacon—although to be fair to the kitchen staff, he’d probably singed it himself. “I take it Kjersti wasn’t ready for her close-up with the prince.”
“No.” Andy slid down in his chair until his chin rested on his chest. “I am soooo dead.”
Smith suddenly leaned forward. “Maybe we all are. Prince on the move.”
“What?” Andy scrambled up and rushed across the room to look over Smith’s shoulder. “What’s he doing? Did he call for something and nobody responded?” He fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket, but the screen didn’t display any texts or missed calls. “He’s still not really comfortable with Earthside tech. What do you suppose he’s looking for?”
“Not what,” Brooke said, a sly edge to her voice. “Who.”
Heat pooled in Andy’s belly at the same time a chill slithered down his spine. “He isn’t… I mean, my candidate masquerade is over. I can return to being myself now, and he and Kjersti will be escorted to the Athens Interstices for the harpies’ gala on time, sans brunch, and—crap!” Panic goosed Andy upright. “Chef. Did you tell him about the change in plans?”
Brooke’s eyes widened. “No. I only found out Kjersti was bailing ten minutes ago. Neptune’s balls, Andy, tell him. Tell him now.”
Smith peered at one of his screens. “You’ll have to go to the kitchens. He’s got his headset turned off again.”
“Right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Andy tore out of the room as if a pack of hellhounds was on his heels, because if Chef went off the rails…. He shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about.
He took the service elevator down to the kitchen level to lessen the risk of running into the prince or any of the candidates—assuming any of them poked their noses out of their rooms today. He’d have to ask Smith to check in with them later. Odin knew Andy’d have plenty of time, since he was essentially under house arrest in the EO suite for the rest of the event.
The elevator pinged and the doors opened on a scene of organized chaos. Brownies, bwci, flower fairies, all scurrying, scampering, or flitting (as the case may be), all in uniforms—either resort black and gold, or Enchanted Occasions gray and navy. Andy smiled at his staff, raising a hand at Forrest, sequestered behind the glass walls of his florist’s cubicle, up to his elbows in irises and forsythia.
When Andy pushed open the swinging doors into the kitchen, the noise tripled. Chef loomed over the stove, one hand flipping vegetables in a sauté pan, his second hand steadying a metal bowl while his third hand wielded a whisk. His fourth hand groped the shelf overhead.
“Tessmacher!” he bellowed. “Where the fuck is the basil?”
“Coming, Chef.”
Before the harried little bwci could scuttle across the kitchen, Andy plucked the basil out of Tessmacher’s hands, and jerked his head toward the door, the cue that he was about to deliver news that Chef didn’t want to hear.
The kitchen staff, way too familiar with this particular drill, disappeared through the door as if they could teleport—and to be fair, some of them could.
He approached the stove, standing well out of Chef’s reach. “Chef. I need to talk to you.”
Chef’s head snapped around, jaw jutted forward, which made his tusks even more prominent. “Later, Skuldsson. I’ve got a brunch to turn out in seven minutes, and if you make my popovers fall, I’ll—”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you, Chef. Brunch is canceled.”
Chef’s massive shoulders fell. “Canceled?” Andy was constantly amazed that a goblin berserker of Chef’s size could sound so heartbroken. But he was passionate about his food.
“The candidate isn’t quite ready to meet the prince after her unfortunate bout of illness—”
“It wasn’t the buffet.” He lowered his head, his eyes glowing red. “If anyone says different—”
“No, no. We know exactly what happened, and it had nothing to do with your work. By the way, the prince was absolutely thrilled with dinner the first night.”
“If he was so thrilled, why did he go Earthside for dinner last night?” Wow, a pout looked really odd on an eight-foot-tall guy with six-inch tusks.
“That had nothing to do with your food. He wanted to avoid the rugby scrum, that’s all, and time got away from us… er… him.”
“Oh.” Chef turned off the heat under the pan and flung the whisk against the wall—although he set the bowl down carefully. “There goes a perfectly good soufflé. Someone,” he growled, “will pay.”
Andy made a mental note to send the flower fairy Incident Response Team in as soon as he left. They never failed to calm Chef down. “I know it’s a lot to ask after all the work you put into the brunch menu, but could you arrange an early dinner for when the prince and the candidate return from the harpies’ gala?”
Chef drew himself up to his full height, his white hat brushing the row of copper pans hanging overhead. “If anyone claims I am incapable of so paltry a task, I will meet them in the fighting pits this very night!”
“How about we put that off and just make dinner, okay? Besides, I’m sure the prince needs breakfast anyway, even if not the full brunch experience.”
Chef snapped his fingers, his claws clacking. “Consider it done. Now, for this afternoon… I wonder if I can still get quail eggs and baby asparagus?” He turned away, obviously dismissing Andy’s presence while he got busy with revising his menu.
Andy chuckled as he left the kitchen. The staff stood clustered outside, looking up at him with wide eyes in all colors and configu
rations “It’s okay, guys. Brunch is canceled—”
A collective “Oooooooh” arose from the group, and they glanced fearfully at each other.
“But dinner is on.” They all sighed gustily. “Meltdown averted, so it’s safe to return. Carry on.”
They all scurried past him. With another wave at Forrest, Andy got back in the elevator, humming as it ascended to the main floor, but the hum died when he realized that he really needed to contact Mikos and let him know about the series of near-disasters that had plagued them so far. Andy had serious doubts that Brooke had even mentioned it.
Of course she didn’t. Even if he’d been a fake candidate for two days, he was still the event coordinator. Reporting to the boss was his job. At least he’d be able to let Mikos know that they were back on track. Everything should proceed perfectly from now on. He smiled as the elevator doors slid open and he stepped out.
Directly into Prince Reyner’s arms.
CON steadied Andy as the man nearly caromed off Con’s chest. He could no more have suppressed his satisfied grin than he could fly. He’d hoped to see Andy again, and here he was. Although Con admitted to himself that it wasn’t exactly a coincidence—hadn’t he gone strolling through the hallways hoping for just such an encounter?
“Whoa, there. In a hurry?”
Andy’s glance darted left and right, as if he was searching for a quick escape route. He snatched something off his ear and stuffed it into his pocket. “Oh. I… that is… good morning, Your Highness.”
“Good morning. I wonder if….” Con frowned as he took in Andy’s appearance. He was once again wearing the Enchanted Occasions gray jacket. “Haven’t they located your clothing yet? I’m sure you could send someone through to your home realm.” He grinned. “Which you still haven’t revealed, by the way.”
“Oh. Heh. No, I guess not.” Andy gulped, then straightened his shoulders and met Con’s gaze with one of his customary brilliant smiles. “I see you’ve decided on an alternative wardrobe style this morning too.”
Con glanced down at his chest, smoothing his hands over the gray sweatshirt that urged people to “Keep Portland Weird”—a gift from Andy on their excursion yesterday. “Yes. I’m quite fond of it. It’s far more comfortable than those miserable velvet tunics. Plus, you gave it to me.” He tried—and failed—to keep the suggestive note out of his voice. But, sod it, he wanted Andy to know how much Con liked him. How much Rey is supposed to like him. Damn it. He kept forgetting this wasn’t about him.
Andy bit his lip and dipped his chin, clearly uncomfortable with the implication.
Con restrained himself—he wanted to give Andy a consoling hug, but settled for gripping his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be inappropriate.”
“No, no.” Andy heaved a huge sigh, his chest rising. “This whole week is about you finding your consort, the person who’ll make you happy. You’re perfectly within your rights to let the candidates know when you like them.”
Con perked up. “Really? In that case—”
“The thing is….” Andy dropped his gaze to the middle of Con’s chest. “It can’t be me.”
Con scowled. “Is that because I haven’t met anyone else yet? Because I know enough about what I like—”
“It’s not that you haven’t met anyone else, Your Highness. It’s that you haven’t met anyone at all.”
“What do you mean? I’ve spent the better part of two days with you. Granted, in the grand scheme of life, that’s not long, but—”
“I’m not a candidate.” Andy winced, as if he expected a blow.
“You’re not…. You don’t want to marry the prince… er… me? Then why are you here? And why did Brooke present you as a candidate? Who are you?”
“I’m Anders Skuldsson. Not Sir Anders. Just plain old Andy. I work for Enchanted Occasions. I’m the event coordinator in charge of the week’s festivities. Your… your mother requested me specifically.”
He’s not a candidate. He doesn’t want to marry Rey. Con’s grin grew until he probably looked toothier than a vampire. Settle down. That doesn’t mean he’d be interested in me. Although there was a lot better chance now than before.
Andy was watching him half-fearfully, confusion flickering across his face. “Your Highness? You’re not angry?”
“What? No. Not angry at all. Why the deception, though?”
“Well, the thing is… there was an unfortunate projectile vomiting epidemic.”
Con blinked. “Uh….”
“I know. Revolting, right? One of the candidates, a light elf, poisoned the adaptation elixir, and once Talus got involved—”
“Talus. He didn’t—” Con’s stomach roiled, and he swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat. “He didn’t kill the fellow, did he?”
“No, no. Just visited the… uh… same fate on him as he’d visited on the others.”
Con’s nausea retreated. Thank the Goddess for that. “Sounds like Talus. He was the embodiment of implacable justice back in his day. Sometimes he reverts to type.”
“Yeah. You… uh… you won’t tell him about the deception, will you?” Andy smacked his forehead with the heel of one hand. “What am I saying? He’ll find out as soon as he sees me in this outfit, same as you did.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let him visit any retribution on you, especially since no harm was done. You made my first two days very enjoyable. Why would I complain?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not eligible to meet with you as an equal?”
“Nonsense. Of course you are. But I’m guessing we have to get back to the official agenda now, don’t we?”
Andy nodded, his hopeful expression making him look absurdly young—and completely adorable. “Yes. Exactly. In fact—” He checked his watch. “—you’ll need to change for your next date right now. You’ll be attending the gala following the latest opening in the harpies’ gallery in the Athens Interstices, followed by an early dinner in your suite. Your evening will be your own, unless you’d like to mingle with the other candidates in their lounge for drinks.”
“Not likely. An evening to myself will be absolutely necessary after an afternoon staring at harpy art.” Con gestured down the hallway. “Since you’re the man in charge, will you walk with me and give me the details of my companion for the day?”
Andy’s smile was brighter than dragon flame. “Of course, Your Highness. It would be my pleasure.” He punched the elevator call button and gestured Con inside when it arrived.
Con stepped back instead. “Let’s take the stairs.”
“Very well.”
An awkward silence descended as the two of them walked down the hall to the stairwell, but Con found himself edging closer to Andy, the bulky sleeve of his sweatshirt brushing Andy’s arm. Why in all the hells would that sensation—a minimum of four degrees removed from actual skin contact—cause Con’s throat to thicken and his groin to tighten? It wasn’t even a desire for more, at least not at this precise moment. Rather, it was the awareness that Andy was close enough to touch, even though neither of them acted on it, that was almost unbearably exciting. Con was tempted to place his hand on the small of Andy’s back—but that would ruin it.
Besides, he’s off-limits for Rey—and right now, you’re Rey. Con glanced down at the sunny halo of Andy’s curls. What would Andy do if he found out Con was practicing his own deception? He’d looked so worried when he’d confessed, as if he was afraid of some extreme reprisal—which wasn’t entirely improbable, considering Rey’s reputation for volatility and the fact that Talus was actually on-site.
Anyway, Con could hardly expose Andy to punishment for a deception that was far too similar to Con’s own.
At the top of the flight, Con held the door for Andy. “So. My companion?” Andy seemed to shake himself. Perhaps he wasn’t as indifferent to Con as his professionalism demanded? Con could only hope.
“You’ll be meeting Kjersti, a light elf of the Stjarna clan.
”
“Indeed. What can you tell me about her?”
Andy glanced up at Con through his lashes, and another jolt of desire hit Con’s chest. “Well, her official bio on the event webpage says she likes long walks under the Northern Lights. Her favorite color is diamond.”
Con lifted an eyebrow as they reached the door of his suite. “Diamond isn’t a color.”
“It is when your clan specializes in gem mining.” Andy paused, peering up into Con’s face. “I thought I’d showed you how to navigate to the bio page on the iPad the other night when we….” A blush infused his cheeks with pink. Delectable.
“You did. Don’t blame yourself for my negligence. I’ll remedy the situation before I leave.”
“All right, but….” His brow wrinkled. “Haven’t you already met her?”
Con’s breath caught and he cursed inwardly. Could he risk his own confession? Andy had trusted Con with the truth. If Con were to tell Andy that he wasn’t really the prince, perhaps the two of them would have a chance to go on a date of their own—as themselves.
Con desperately wanted somebody to see him, to want him, not the illusion of his half brother. After impersonating Rey so much, Con barely had a life of his own. What would it be like to approach a man as himself?
But now was not the time. He’d promised Rey. It wouldn’t be much longer now.
He shrugged. “It never hurts to be reminded.” He caught Andy’s hand. He would have liked to raise it to his lips, brush a kiss across the palm, but he settled for a squeeze instead. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be ready in time.”
“You’re welcome, Your Highness. And please don’t rush unduly—we’re here to serve you, after all.” Andy tugged his hand free and walked away down the hall, glancing over his shoulder to smile at Con once before disappearing around the corner.
Con let himself into his suite, the warmth of Andy’s skin lingering on his hand. He stalked into the bedroom, flinging open the closet with its vast array of red velvet. Would Andy be attracted to Con once this masquerade was over and Con was no longer decked out in the trappings of royalty?
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