by Leslie North
So long as Ella accepted his invitation.
The first appetizer was Quenelles of Pike with lobster sauce prepared by the five-star royal chef, but to Phillip, it was tasteless until Ella arrived.
A quiet murmur on the far side of the table alerted him to her presence first. He stopped chatting with one of the ladies mid-word—he’d have to make it up to her later, her father was the minister of something-or-other plus Phillip hated rudeness in general—to pivot in his seat and look for Ella.
And there she was, standing in the doorway. She was in a green dress that looked a touch too loose around the waist, probably borrowed from one of her stepsisters, but she was a vision nonetheless and Phillip drank her in like she might be a mirage in the desert, about to disappear at any second. But she didn’t. She smiled at him, a bit strained and shy but there anyway, as the footman showed her to her seat. He wanted to politely dump the nearest lady out of her chair and offer it to Ella, but seating at the official events was formal and went in order of whose family was closest to the royal line. Still, Ella wasn’t too far away—just three ladies down on the right, seated ahead of her sisters since she was the titled one.
“Miss Fernstone,” he said. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“I’m glad too, My King,” she replied graciously, a small, secret smile flitting around the corners of her mouth. My King, she’d called him. Like they belonged to each other. His grin grew and hers did too—and then she blinked and snapped her mouth shut into one of those small, close-lipped smiles she too often wore.
Hmm. He couldn’t have that.
He raised his glass. “A toast,” he called, and though his voice was quiet everyone at the table instantly fell silent and turned to him. “To this table. It’s a new acquisition, and I’ve been looking forward to the special events I would hold here. I have all kinds of ideas on how to get started.” He looked straight at Ella during the last line.
At his reference to their letters—and the special events he planned for the table—her smile grew. She fought hard to keep it close-lipped, though, and hid her expression in her wine glass.
The rest of the table drank too, looking a little confused at his strange toast, but he only had eyes for Ella. Where was that grin, the one that lit up the whole room? And then he remembered…when they were in the bathroom and her stepmother had burst into the next room, hadn’t she said something about Ella’s “ridiculous goofy grin”?
His eyes narrowed. Surely no one could truly believe that. There was nothing at all ridiculous about Ella’s smile. Her stepmother must be trying to rein Ella in, not wanting her to outshine her biological daughters.
He made it his mission to get a real smile out of Ella for the rest of the dinner. He was willing to resort to knock-knock jokes if necessary. He usually took pride in his dignity, but he was willing to throw it to the wind for one glimpse of her happiness. But when all his attempts failed and his other dinner guests went from confused to politely disgruntled at his attention to Ella, he nearly gave up.
Finally, at the end of the dinner, he motioned the waiter over and murmured a special request. Two minutes later, everyone had a glass of champagne in front of them, even though the guests had been about to take their leave. “Please, you must indulge me and try some,” Phillip said. “It’s my new favorite beverage.”
Ella snorted in a very unladylike way and finally, finally, a true smile spread across her face as she remembered that night in the garage. At the sight, Phillip wanted to jump on top of the table and declare victory. He felt larger than life, like he could conquer the world just because this woman had smiled at him at last. Recklessly, he pushed out of his seat and approached her, taking her hand and dropping a kiss on her knuckles.
“Miss Fernstone,” he said, “I would be honored if you would grant me first dance at the ball tomorrow.”
Her smile dimmed. He’d put her on the spot. He swallowed, praying, hoping he hadn’t ruined everything.
But then Ella lifted her chin, looking him in the eye, rising to the challenge. And with one simple word, she granted all of his wishes.
“Yes.”
10
Ella stood in her room surrounded by acres of torn, wrong-sized, or otherwise unsuitable dresses, held her head in her hands, and wondered what the hell she’d done. She had nothing to wear to the ball. She had no business even being at the ball. When Phillip had asked her earlier, she’d been so caught up in the moment that she’d said yes without really thinking about what it meant.
But oh, had she ever had time to think about it since then. And most of what she was thinking couldn’t be uttered in polite company.
Luckily, she wasn’t in polite company, so she indulged her petty urge and kicked the nearest dress with a curse. The innocent taffeta fluffed wanly in response and then fell flat again.
Why did she have to say yes? She’d as good as told Phillip she would enter the running for queen. And God help her, a part of her did want to do exactly that—but what about the obligation-free life she’d planned out in the States, that she’d worked so hard for, sacrificed so much to gain? If Phillip had his way, she’d trade her self-inflicted servitude to her stepfamily for a duty to serve an entire damn country. Yes, she was starting to love Danovar, and yes, she could finally admit to herself that she was falling for Phillip too, but this wasn’t the way she’d thought things would go. And what about after the wedding, a few years down the road? Even now Phillip was always rushing from appointment to appointment, putting out fires and giving interviews and tending to the needs of his people. After he’d won her and the novelty of their relationship wore off, would either of them have any time left for each other? Or would their relationship become merely another duty to them both? She couldn’t stand that, for both her sake and his.
She flopped onto the bed and groaned.
“Problems?” said Anna’s voice from the doorway. Her stepsister strode into the room and closed the door behind her, surveying the dresses strewn everywhere and the collapsed Ella.
“Yes,” Ella muttered. “I have made a bad, bad decision and I don’t know how to get out of it without breaking someone’s heart.”
Anna raised an eyebrow, stepping over a small mountain of tulle. “You mean the king’s? Or yours?”
Ella lifted her head and winced. “Was it that obvious?”
“I know you well enough to see that you’re head-over-heels for him, and I also know you two have been sneaking off to make cow-eyes at each other while you pretend to try to find him another woman to marry. But yes, that dinner did make his feelings for you pretty obvious to everyone else too.”
Ella flopped back down and groaned again, throwing her arm over her face.
Anna shoved a tattered yellow dress away and sat beside her. “Honestly, I don’t see what the problem is. He seems like a perfectly nice guy, unlike that ridiculous playboy brother of his. Phillip takes things seriously. It looks like he wants to take you seriously. I don’t know why you would want to fight that.”
“Are you about to go all logical on me?” Ella demanded, her voice muffled by her arm.
Anna ignored her, taking a deep breath to prepare for her inevitable lecture—but then Anna’s mom opened the door, peering in at the two of them. Saved by the stepmother!
The woman frowned. “I came to get Daphne’s dress. I hope it’s not one of the ones on the floor?”
Ella sighed and climbed to her feet, retrieving the pink dress she’d finished pressing earlier. “Here you go,” she said, and started to close the door, but her stepmother’s foot darted out to stop it.
“Anna, your hair is a mess. Ella, could you fix it for her before the ball? You’re so good at that.”
The compliments were always what did her in. If her stepmother had been cruel or demanding, Ella would have had no problem brushing her off, but instead she genuinely admired Ella’s skills. The woman hadn’t quite been a mother to her, but neither was she an enemy—just loving but s
elf-absorbed, and driven to see her biological daughters succeed above all else. Ella couldn’t quite manage to fault her for that. So, even though Ella had been the one invited to the ball, she once again had no choice but to agree to put someone else’s desires before her own.
“Of course,” she told her stepmother, defeated.
“Thank you, dear.” Her stepmother drew her foot back and marched off with the dress to Daphne’s room, probably to berate her to leave off flirting with the guards and pay more attention to the true prize of the Summer House Party.
Ella closed the door and turned back around to see Anna, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “What?” Ella asked.
Anna shook her head and stood. “I can manage my own hair. And it’s time you focused on yourself, rather than constantly helping everyone else. You know what—I’m going to help with your hair. You were the one the king invited, after all. The rest of us might as well be furniture as far as he’s concerned.”
Ella blinked. “Uh,” she managed, but Anna wasn’t done. She pushed Ella down onto the couch, pulled out her ever-present ponytail, and started tugging at her hair.
“Have you considered that being queen would allow you to do great things, to have purpose?” Anna asked. “No matter what you choose to do with your life, whether it’s training horses or serving a country, you’re going to be beholden to something. Why not be beholden to something that matters, side by side with someone you love?”
Ella stared straight ahead as Anna fiddled with her hair, stunned. She hadn’t really thought of it like that before, but her stepsister was right. Being a queen could let her do some pretty amazing things. She’d only thought of the obligations, but those obligations came with some heady rewards—enacting positive change for a whole country, being in a position of power that would enable her to help others in a whole new way.
And…she could be with Phillip. For real this time, in front of the whole world. She could tell him she was falling in love with him and not care who overheard.
She blinked. Where had that thought come from? It was far too soon to talk about love, wasn’t it? But once the thought was in her head, she couldn’t get rid of it, nor did she truly want to. Just like her letter’s closing earlier, it felt right.
With one final twist, Anna finished her hair and then turned her to face the mirror. “What do you think?” she asked.
Ella stared at herself. She’d had no idea Anna had the skills, but her blond locks tumbled across one shoulder in a half-updo that looked both effortless and gorgeous—like she was one of those women who could roll out of bed, slip a few pins in their hair, and walk out on a runway five minutes later. “Wow,” she managed. “It looks amazing.”
Anna smiled. “It’s about time you had someone take care of you.”
Overwhelmed, Ella pulled her in for a hug. “Thank you.”
“No problem, sis. You know what, you should take one of my dresses, too. I hardly ever wear them so they’re not in nearly as bad a shape as Daphne’s. You can wear my silver gown and those glittery heels.”
Ella balked. “But you were supposed to wear that!”
Anna shrugged. “We can trade. Besides, you know that silver dress looks just like that prom dress you begged Mom to get you back in high school. She never had enough money to buy us all good dresses, remember? And you were always the one who backed down. Well, now it’s your turn to get the good dress. Plus, I’d be more than happy to wear that drab black outfit of yours and fade into the crowd. The sooner I get you married to the king, the sooner I can get back to my work.”
Ella laughed at the sudden reversal of their roles, nearly giddy at the shiny new future her stepsister had laid out so neatly for her. It sounded amazing, impossible: wear the shiny dress, court the handsome king, be a positive force for change in the world. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
Ella was ready for her turn to shine.
11
Phillip had made small talk and smiled his official king smile and complimented more dresses than he could count. The ball had only started twenty minutes ago but he already felt like he might fall on his own ceremonial sword if he had to bow over one more lady’s hand, if that lady wasn’t Ella.
He glanced at the stairs where the ladies had been making their entrance. Empty. The last trickle of fashionably-late guests had arrived a few minutes ago and it was starting to look like she wasn’t coming. Internally, he cursed himself. It had to be his fault. He’d pushed too hard, put too much attention on her, tried to move too quickly. Maybe she had just meant she was ready for a new pair of shoes.
In the corner, the band started to warm up. Phillip tugged at his collar. If Ella didn’t get here in the next few minutes, he’d have to pick someone else for the first dance. Should he randomly choose one of the other eligible ladies? His mother, perhaps? He shot one last desperate glance at the stairs—and his heart stopped.
Ella had arrived.
She stepped onto the landing, one hand resting delicately on the railing and the other lifting her dress as she descended. She was in a silky silver gown that cascaded across her curves like liquid moonlight, and she was wearing those glittering shoes—he remembered handing one of those to her the first time they’d met. Her hair was swept half up, the rest of it tumbling across one shoulder in an even sexier version of her normal ponytail. Her gaze was steady and sweet when it landed on him, and he had to catch his breath. She looked like every good dream he’d ever had. She looked like a fairytale come to life. She looked like a queen.
She reached him, extending her hand for him to bow over. “My lady,” he murmured, and she smiled again, accepting the title. His heart pounded. This was it; she was making it official. She was willing to give up her old dreams for the chance to be his queen. No one could ever have given him a better gift.
The band slid into the first song, a royal waltz. He swept her out onto the dance floor. When they moved into the dance’s steps, he marveled at the way she felt in his arms. A few other couples—the ladies sullen, but that was no longer his problem—stepped out and followed suit, and soon they were lost in a crowd. Phillip might as well have been blind, though, for all he could see anything but Ella.
Unable to resist temptation, he slipped his hand a little lower. The next time the dance’s steps moved Ella in toward him, he whispered in her ear, “I can’t wait to get you alone.”
She shivered and her eyes lit up, just about killing him on the spot.
The band moved into another dance, and then another, but he couldn’t unglue himself from her. Whenever they’d spin past each other, she’d accidentally-on-purpose brush a little too close, and it was driving him crazy in the best possible way. But after four dances together, Ella was getting breathless from all the twirling and hopefully also from imagining all the things he was planning to do to her later, and she reluctantly stepped back.
“You should socialize with your other guests,” she said, having to lean in to be heard. The band had shifted to a more modern, upbeat song. “We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
Phillip was pretty sure they’d all gotten exactly the right idea by this point, but the dance floor was getting rather crowded, and he could use some fresh air. He spotted the exit to the balcony and ushered her toward it.
They both breathed deeply in the cool night air. The stars burned bright and clear overhead, and Ella tilted her head back to take them in. Phillip put his arm around her waist, enjoying her delight and her company. It was nice to get a moment to themselves after the new public-ness of their relationship.
The clatter of heels behind them alerted him to an encroaching visitor. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Ella’s stepmother, trailing two older women. Thinking fast, he tugged Ella toward the far side of the balcony, which curved around the ballroom. There was a secret alcove here that he liked to visit every so often, when he needed an escape. Ivy draped over the entrance, and when it was dark out, anyone who didn’t already
know it was there could easily miss it. He ducked through the ivy and pulled Ella in behind him.
Catching on to his purpose, she hurried in and sat on the stone bench that jutted out perpendicular to the ballroom wall. The side walls curved in around them, creating a small nook that hid them from the rest of the world.
He sat behind her, one leg on either side of the bench, and smothered a smile in her neck. He felt like a schoolboy in here, hiding from one of his stricter tutors. Ella caught on to his sense of mischief, grinning and tucking herself under his chin.
Outside, Ella’s stepmother’s heels clicked past. She paused, right outside the cascading ivy. “I was sure I saw them come out here,” she murmured to the other ladies.
Ella stifled a snicker, clapping her hand over her mouth. She looked so adorable, plus she was in the perfect position—back snug up against him, giving him the perfect view down the front of her shirt if he ducked his head—that he couldn’t help himself. He unzipped the back of her dress enough to slip his hand inside, snake it around to her front, and tease one of her nipples. She arched back against him, biting her lip to keep from making any noise. It felt like a challenge. One that he was more than up to.
As the stepmother continued chatting with her friends right outside, he unzipped her dress all the way—taking it slow to make sure it was silent—and ran his hand further beneath that supple, silky material. More than up to his challenge as well, she threw him a defiant look and slung one of her legs on the other side of the bench, opening to him, daring him.
Oh, yes, this was exactly what he’d wanted during all those dances. He ran his hand across her stomach, moved it further down, and circled one finger around the spot where he knew she wanted him most. She squirmed and he withdrew, teasing her again. She whirled around, glaring at him, and leaned in close.