Of Princes and Promises

by Sandhya Menon

  “Yeah, I guess.” Rahul nodded solemnly, his gaze on hers defeated and heavy.

  Caterina kept her voice neutral. She suspected the last thing he wanted right now was her pity. “I’m surprised the media hasn’t caught on.”

  Rahul waved a hand, attempting to appear insouciant. But Caterina saw the vestiges of hurt there, lingering on his face. “Ah, they’re much more interested in my brother, anyway. He’s on track to continue the family political legacy.” He paused. “But, um, I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that. People using body doubles for you in pictures, I mean.”

  Caterina frowned, not understanding, as she grabbed the handles of her Chloé bag. “What do you mean?”

  Rahul looked at her again, his cheeks staining an even brighter pink than before. “Um, because you’re—it’s like—” He gestured at her, at a loss for words.

  Realization dawned, and Caterina smiled a little as she sat back in her booth, letting go of her bag. “Do you mean because you think I’m pretty?”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  She continued watching him, though he was having trouble making eye contact. In spite of herself and the very businesslike nature of this transaction, Caterina couldn’t help but be charmed. When Alaric had fed her lines, they very much had the feel of lines: meant to impress and maybe even get under her dress. But with Rahul, it was obvious he was just speaking his mind, as much discomfort as it caused him. He truly, genuinely thought she was beautiful. “Well, thank you, Rahul. I appreciate that sentiment.”

  He studied her face frankly and then took a sip of water. A nearby table of four adults laughed loudly and utterly obnoxiously before subsiding again when they caught Caterina’s withering glare. “Do you ever get nervous? About the people, the cameras, all of that?”

  Caterina looked at Rahul in surprise. He wasn’t one for emotions, she knew. It was one thing they had in common. “No, I don’t. It’s important to my father and our businesses that I attend these things, so it’s important to me as well. It’s work, in a way. Emotions don’t really come into it.”

  “Emotions complicate things,” Rahul said thoughtfully.

  “They make things messy. And the last thing I need in my life is mess.” Caterina was glad she didn’t have to explain. Most of the people in her life—Papa excluded, naturally—thought it was odd that a girl, especially, was so emotion-averse, as if emotionality was a gendered trait. Ridiculous. “So, are you ready to go shopping?”

  Rahul took a breath. “I’m ready.”

  RAHUL

  February was living up to its title as the cruelest month of the year (according to the Farmers’ Almanac that Rahul had perused for fun earlier that day). It was bitterly, achingly cold even though it wasn’t snowing, and the five-minute walk from Nyx to this western hemlock-lined street full of stores felt like risking his neck on an ice slide. Rahul was huddled into his coat, trying not to shake, but Caterina stood beside him, tall and imperious and graceful as ever in her sweeping pale blue cashmere coat with big wooden buttons.

  “This is it?” Rahul looked at the artfully arranged storefront of the small boutique—a bronze-and-gold sign declared that it was called CASSA DEL TESORO—Caterina had led him to. It was filled with impractically small vintage trunks and lacy dresses that would probably disintegrate to wisps in a washing machine.

  “Yes. I’ve known Oliver Lemaire for a couple of years now. He’s a dear friend.” Glancing over her shoulder, she added, “Oliver’s good for many things, not just what he has on display in his shop. He’s helped me in many different ways over the last couple of years—and he’s discreet.”

  “Okay…” Rahul was not convinced of Oliver’s ability to procure things that would be practical to wear, but he held the door open for Caterina nonetheless.

  At least it was warm inside the store. Rahul took off his coat and looked around the small, but not cramped, space. He guessed this was what a Realtor would call “cozy.”

  The walls were exposed brick—fly ash colored to look like sand lime, from the looks of it. Fun fact: fly ash bricks were also self-cementing due to high concentrations of calcium oxide. There was also, confoundingly, an unused fireplace filled with decorative lit lanterns. “If he wants light,” Rahul murmured, “why doesn’t he just light the fire?”

  “Shh.” Caterina stepped to the right to examine a silk scarf draped over an undressed cloth dress form. “Oliver has very good hearing.”

  Curtains in jewel tones, both heavy and sheer, hung from rings in the middle of the room, but as far as Rahul could tell, there was no purpose to the curtains either. Oliver must be an artist. That was the only explanation. Creative people did weird, impractical shit all the time that Rahul couldn’t fathom doing himself.

  “Did someone say my name?”

  Rahul turned to see a tall, thin, tan young guy approaching them. He was probably around twenty-four or twenty-five years old, with dark brown hair swept back into a low ponytail. His expression was serious, his brown eyes on Rahul. But the moment he saw Caterina, his face broke into a smile and he walked quickly to cover the distance between them.

  “Caterina, my sweet bird!”

  Sweet bird? An interesting choice of phrase for an endearment. Birds were not particularly known for their intelligence, unless Oliver was speaking about very specific species.

  Caterina smiled back at him and even accepted a hug, which Rahul had never seen her do before, so she must not be well versed in ornithology.

  “Oliver,” she said warmly—or as warmly as she’d ever said anything within Rahul’s earshot, anyway. “How are you?”

  “Magnificent now that you’ve visited me,” he said smoothly, speaking in an accent that seemed to be a blend of different European accents; Rahul detected English and German and Italian and French. Oliver wore a sheer black shirt with giant sequined flowers appliquéd on it and pants with legs wide enough to fit ten of his legs in them. Was this the kind of thing Caterina expected Rahul to wear? He would, without question, if that was what she wanted. But there would be cameras there. He hoped she was considering that. “What has kept you away?”

  Caterina made a face as she pulled off her gloves and took off her coat. She was wearing a velvet dress underneath, with cutouts along her collarbone that were deeply sexy, somehow. Her skin was perfectly smooth and a little glittery, as if she’d patted on sparkly powder. Rahul made an effort not to stare. “Winter break, unfortunately. I’ve missed my shopping trips these past three weeks.”

  “Ah, of course! But you are back now, so all is well.” Oliver snapped his fingers, and a tremulous female assistant with mint-colored hair suddenly appeared out of nowhere, rushed up to take Caterina’s coat and gloves, and disappeared into the recesses of the store again, never once making eye contact with any of them.

  Caterina gave Oliver a half smile that would’ve brought Rahul to his knees if directed at him. Yet oddly enough, Oliver seemed unfazed. “I’m not so sure you even noticed I was gone. I hear you have someone new in your life already.” She cocked her head. “How long did the last girl stick around? Two weeks?”

  Oliver chortled as if Caterina had told the best joke. “You know better than to listen to idle gossip,” he said, his eyes shining. “I’m nothing if not loyal. Have I not been a faithful servant to you, bringing you whatever your heart desires?”

  Caterina laughed a little, allowing this. “All right. You have me there.” She paused and glanced at Rahul, standing by her side. “Speaking of which…” Turning back to Oliver, she continued. “I’m here with a mission that you must promise to keep secret.”

  Oliver immediately nodded, all business again. “But of course. You know what happens within CdT stays within CdT.”

  Rahul frowned, wondering what the hell CdT was, and then it came to him: Cassa del Tesoro. The name of the store. The abbreviation was so trendy it almost didn’t make sense, which, Rahul knew, meant it was probably very fashionable to most people.

  Satisfied,
Caterina walked over to Rahul. “Oliver, I would like you to meet my friend Rahul Chopra. He is to be my date to the Hindman Gala tomorrow, but we’re in a bit of a pinch. He’s got absolutely nothing suitable to wear.”

  “Ah.” Oliver turned to Rahul, a twinkling smile on his face. “I wondered about your companion. So this is to be a makeover—rags to riches, that kind of thing.” He clasped his hands together and grinned.

  Rags? Rahul looked down at himself. He wasn’t really raggedy, he didn’t think. But then looking at Oliver in his impeccable (at least, he knew they were impeccable to Caterina, even if he couldn’t see it himself) clothes, he realized that was beside the point. He wanted to be more like Oliver, more like Caterina, more like anyone other than himself. And this man could help him get there.

  “Exactly,” Caterina said.

  Rahul stood up straighter as Oliver approached and walked around him in a circle, observing him from every angle. He pushed his glasses and the waist of his pants up and stood staring straight ahead, feeling a little bit like a soldier in formation being inspected by a military sergeant.

  “Where do you buy your clothing?” Oliver asked, coming to stand in front of Rahul again.

  Rahul adjusted the neck of the yellow sweater he’d put on that morning. (He wasn’t wearing his uniform; they’d had the day off for teacher planning.) “Um… I don’t know. I think this one was from Target? A few years ago? It was on sale—I do remember that.” His eidetic memory did not, unfortunately, extend to fashion; the only reason he remembered the sale was because he bought everything on sale. It didn’t matter if it was three sizes too big; spending a lot of money on clothes was something Rahul had never understood.

  There was a collective gasp from Oliver, Caterina, and the mousy assistant who peeked at Rahul and then ducked back behind a rack of military-style, presumably fashionable, coats.

  “Mm.” Oliver regarded Caterina solemnly. “It will be a monumental task.”

  Caterina took a breath. “Do you think you can do it, though, Oliver?”

  Oliver bowed a little and closed his eyes. “I will try my valiant best for you, Caterina.”

  * * *

  The next couple of hours were a breathless series of trying on shirts, tuxes, pants, and bow ties in the confines of a dressing room in which Rahul couldn’t even stretch out his arms all the way.

  After surveying himself in the latest silken tux by an Italian designer he’d never heard of, he sat on the bench (made from a chopped-up tree trunk) in the fitting room, his head between his knees, trying to breathe. It was a technique he’d learned from the school psychologist, Ari, when he was in sixth grade. He’d been terrified to go speak to her, imagining her as some scary old lady in a severe bun. Instead, she’d turned out to be a young, bookish nerd with a cool Cheshire cat tattoo on her forearm who knew all the obscure comics he read. And she’d helped him with his anxiety, something no one had ever done before.

  It is quite possible, Rahul Chopra, that you are in over your head. Way, way over your head. Rahul held his head between his hands and took slow, deep, controlled breaths. Wearing a tux? That was supposed to make him someone else? Wasn’t that a bit like putting a wig over a computer screen and asking people to believe it was human? Who in their right mind at the very high-profile gala would buy this?

  But you need the training, he told himself. And the cold, hard truth was that he did. Desperately. If he had any chance of salvaging his friendships or of ever recapturing what he’d shared at the winter formal with Caterina at all, this was it.

  Taking another deep breath, he said, “Caterina?”

  “Yes?” Her cool, imperious voice floated in.

  “How much longer? I may not have mentioned this before, but I’m kind of claustrophobic.” The curtain rattled back and Caterina stood in the doorway, looking at him, as he peered at her from under his knees. He was lucky he’d put his pants on before he sat down.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, and although there was still that touch of icy authority in her voice, the place between her brows held a crease, as if she were really concerned.

  “Yes, fine.” Rahul sat up and took a shuddering breath.

  Caterina turned and spoke, presumably to Oliver. “We’ve had enough. Let’s go with the first tux he tried on; I think that’ll do nicely.”

  Rahul stood shakily, grateful that he could leave the tiny coffin of a dressing room. He followed Caterina out as the assistant ran in and began to take the clothes he’d already tried on. (Oliver had insisted Rahul leave them for her; apparently, customers only “ruined the vibe” of CdT by jamming things on racks where they clearly didn’t belong.)

  “Oliver, I do like the tux,” Caterina said, once they were at a little seating area made of velvet, fuchsia-colored armchairs. “But…”

  Oliver held up a hand. A pinkie ring glinted in the light. “Say no more. There’s something missing.”

  Caterina sighed and crossed her legs. “Yes. I’ll be doing his makeup tomorrow, of course, but I have a feeling that’s not going to be enough. Do you have anything else that might help complete his transformation?”

  Makeup?? She’d never mentioned makeup before. He had an image of Caterina dusting his face with her glittery powder. No, if she tried that, he’d have to put his foot down. He drew the line at sparkles.

  Oliver took his time, tapping his finger against his chin, pacing around the armchairs. And then, finally, he looked up, a small smile on his face. “I have it. Come with me.”

  They followed him to the far end of the store, around tiny side tables stacked with old books, tree branches hanging from the ceiling with fishing wire, and even, inexplicably, a giant stuffed tiger (artificial, hopefully) with reindeer antlers on its head. A taxonomist’s nightmare.

  Oliver, unbothered by his atrocities against science, went around a large ornate cherrywood desk where he checked out customers. He pulled what looked like a small, squat glass jar from one of the drawers.

  “I haven’t had a chance to put this on the floor yet,” he explained, holding the jar in the palm of his hand and extending it toward Rahul. The label was black-and-white, and the wording was in a language Rahul didn’t recognize. For just a moment, the letters appeared to glow as if made from flame. But then Rahul blinked and the effect was gone. Huh. Must be low blood sugar or something.

  Oliver continued. “This is a very special hair gel, from a small fishing village in Estonia. I got it from my cousin, who traveled there and met a woman at a night market.” Leaning closer to Rahul, his dark eyes gleaming like wet stone, he added, “They say it’s made from wolfsbane and has magical properties. That it will bring the wearer the ability to disguise himself as whatever his heart desires.”

  Setting his palms flat on the desk, Rahul narrowed his eyes. “Wolfsbane is toxic. Why would I want to touch that?”

  Oliver laughed, though his face flashed annoyance for a tiny beat. “The toxins have been taken out through a very lengthy process.”

  Rahul raised an eyebrow. “What process? Boiling? Or distillation? Or—”

  “Does it work?” Caterina interrupted quickly from beside Rahul. “Have you seen it yourself?”

  “I have,” Oliver said immediately. “My cousin, he was not a musical man. And yet, once he began to use this…” He shook his head. “I have not seen such ability, not even in the masters. Now he travels the world playing his harmonica for enormous crowds. He won’t go a day without using the gel.”

  That was anecdotal evidence, based on nothing more than one man’s experience (if it was even true) as opposed to a controlled, scientific study designed to look at statistically significant trends within populations. Clearly, the story was designed to part Caterina from her money. But before Rahul could open his mouth to say that, Oliver extended the jar toward him again. “Take it as a trial. No charge this time. If it doesn’t work for you, no harm, no foul.” A smile licked across Oliver’s face.

  Tucking her hair behind one e
ar, Caterina spoke. “Well, that’s very generous of you, Oliver. Thank you. We’ll certainly give it a try.” Seeing Rahul’s skeptical face, she narrowed her eyes. “Won’t we?”

  “Um, sure. We’ll definitely try it.” He took the jar from Oliver and pocketed it, hoping it wouldn’t cause all his hair to fall out.

  “Excellent.” Oliver bowed. “I know you’ll find it… transformational.”

  Going bald would be transformational, but Rahul didn’t think he’d say that just now. He had a feeling neither Caterina nor Oliver would be amused. As the assistant packed up the things Caterina had purchased for him, Rahul studied the packages. Caterina was spending a lot of money and time trying to gold-plate his dull exterior. Rahul glanced at her, feeling his heart thrum with nerves. What would happen if he remained stubbornly brass-hued in spite of all her ministrations?

  At least you had this time with her, he thought, even if she never speaks to you again. Be grateful for that.

  And in spite of the sinking feeling in his heart at the thought of never hearing her say his name again, Rahul promised himself he would be.

  CHAPTER 8

  CATERINA

  Caterina did not like being nervous. It was an odd, uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling, as if an olive pit had gotten lodged in her diaphragm and was waiting to be coughed up. She felt like she couldn’t get a deep-enough breath, even though her custom Balenciaga evening gown was perfectly fitted to her form.

  She turned to Rahul in his hotel room in Denver. The Hindman Gala was a mere hour away now, which meant Caterina had exactly sixty minutes to make him presentable. And so far… it wasn’t working.

  He stood there before her in the tuxedo that Oliver had so carefully picked out. It was impeccable, as were all of Oliver’s curations. Caterina had purchased all-new designer makeup for his exact skin tone, and that, too, was top-of-the-line. Rahul promised he had freshly washed his hair. She’d gotten him into contacts, even though he insisted stabbing his eye with his finger was completely unnatural. And yet… yet he was still so very Rahul.