by Romy Sommer
When the shoe parade starts again, I hold up both my hands. “Enough! I can’t take any more.” I look at Phoenix. “Isn’t it your turn?”
Back in my comfortable jeans and Keds, I relax on the couch while Phoenix models her wedding gown for me.
It’s the kind of dress that little girls dream of, made of thick ivory silk crêpe covered in a gauzy layer of soft silk tulle. The bodice is embroidered with an intricate pattern of roses and decorated with freshwater pearls.
Anton proudly holds out the veil for me to inspect. “It’s hand-made Belgian lace.”
I gently finger the veil. “Is that a dragon embroidered on it?”
He nods. “The dragon and rose emblem of Westerwald.”
I remember the signet ring Max used in place of a wedding ring the first time they married – a blue stone carved like a dragon’s head and surrounded by a pattern of silver roses. I had no idea at the time what that ring signified. Did Phoenix?
“What are you wearing for your civil wedding?” I ask.
“Did you pack the dress I asked you to bring?”
I nod, and she grins. “That’s the one I want to wear when we marry.”
It’s the same dress I loaned her for her first wedding to Max, in that Vegas chapel more than a year ago. More Marilyn Monroe than Anton Martens, but if anyone can make it look classy it’ll be Phoenix.
Next she models the dress that Anton is still working on, an ice-blue, lace-and-chiffon outfit that looks like something a nineteen-twenties flapper would have worn.
“My going-away dress,” she explains, doing a twirl.
I frown. “Where are you going away to?”
“That’s the dress the bride wears to leave the wedding reception, ostensibly to go away on honeymoon, though we won’t be taking time off for a honeymoon until Christmas.”
My mind is reeling, especially when I consider the cost of all of this. When I met Phoenix she was just as broke as I am. “Who’s paying for all of this?” I ask, waving my hand at the rail where all our other dresses are hanging.
Anton makes a choking noise, reminding me I’m not supposed to talk about money, but Phoenix just smiles. “Max’s family.”
Wow, just wow. I got my first job so I could buy a prom dress, because my own mother refused to pay for it. Admittedly, she was between jobs at the time, as she was all too often throughout my childhood. She was always leaving jobs because she thought she could do better somewhere else. Her attitude toward men wasn’t much better. She left all the good ones, and had her heart broken by the ones she left them for, the ones who promised her the world then left her high and dry.
That, more than anything, is why I know what damage a man like Adam Hatton can do. Because I’ve watched my mother chase that brass ring enough to know what happens when you let a man like Adam into your life. Men like that are after only one thing, and the moment they’ve had it they’re gone.
So if Phoenix plans to set up the best man with her bridesmaid, then she can think again.
Chapter 6
Khara
I have never seen so many beautiful people all in one place. They’re all so slim! Sure, there are a few men carrying a little extra weight over the belt, and some of the women could be called curvy rather than thin, but with one look I can tell this isn’t a crowd that lives on fast food or instant microwave meals. Even the wait staff are gorgeous.
The guests have a buffed and polished look to them, and there’s so much bling it’s blinding. I’ve never felt plain before, but tonight I do. Though I spent more than an hour taming my wayward hair with a hair-straightener and half a can of hairspray, and I’m wearing a dress supplied by Phoenix’s stylist, a conservative high-necked dress with a frilled skirt that goes to mid-calf, everyone looks at me as if they can sense that beneath the dress my underwear is from Walmart. It’s there in the way the women’s gazes slide over me, darting away as quickly as possible, as if they want to pretend I’m invisible. And it’s there in the way the men’s gazes linger too long, their hungry speculation. I know those looks. It’s the way Adam’s cousin looked at me. As if I’m an object.
It’s like being back in high school all over again.
I wish Phoenix were here with me so I’d have someone to talk to, instead of feeling so spare. Even better, I wish I could slide behind the bar, where I belong. At least then I’d have something to do with my hands.
But Phoenix and Max are playing host and hostess, greeting the never-ending stream of people arriving, filling the Yellow Drawing Room with the buzz of conversation. This massive room, named for its yellow silk wallpaper and gold-leaf decoration, is getting warmer as more and more people fill the space. The jet lag is clearly still affecting me because the room has a surreal, spaced-out feel to it.
I hover near the tall sash windows, pretending to be absorbed in the view out over the gardens. Though it’s nearing seven o’clock in the evening, mellow sunshine washes the garden and illuminates the room. I would much rather be down there, breathing in the scents of rose and lavender, than in here with all these beautiful strangers.
The guests gather in little groups of three or four, everyone sipping from crystal glasses of Champagne. They all seem to know each other, but I don’t know a soul. Not even Claus and Rebekah are here; they returned to their home in Waldburg this afternoon. Hovering alone on the sidelines is only infinitesimally less awkward than joining one of those groups. Could I escape back to my room without Phoenix noticing?
“You look like you could use a drink.” Adam materializes at my side, holding two full Champagne flutes. He offers me one. Damn, the man looks fine in a tux. But he still hasn’t shaved. Three-day-old scruff suits him even better than two-day-old scruff.
“No, thanks.” I turn away, looking desperately across the room to where Max and Phoenix are in deep conversation with the latest arrivals.
“It’s just a drink.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Don’t you work in a bar?”
With a sigh, I face him. “Precisely. Can you imagine how good I’d be at serving drinks if I was stumbling around drunk myself?”
“You’re not working now.”
“When you’re surrounded by alcohol eight hours a day, it loses its appeal.” Or, more accurately, having to deal with drunk people eight hours a day kills the appeal.
He grins. “Then more for me.” He drains one of the Champagne flutes, then the other, and I watch, intrigued despite myself, as he tilts his head back and swallows. Never in my life have I thought that the mere act of swallowing could look sexy. I hurriedly look back out the window, hoping I’m not blushing again.
“What are you wearing?” Adam takes a step back to take in my dress, as if he’s only just noticed it. “Should we have a moment’s silence for my grandmother’s curtains?”
The fabric is rather hideous, dark and patterned with small blue flowers. Even though he’s just said exactly what I was thinking, I bristle. “It’s from a top British designer. She’s very popular with celebrities.” Not to mention that I peeked at the price tag before the stylist cut it off. This dress cost more than I earn in six months. I restrain myself from mentioning the price.
“Celebrities aren’t exactly known for having the best taste,” Adam mutters, shaking his head.
Quite a few not-so-surreptitious glances are coming our way now, especially from the women in the room. Since there’s an element of hunger and envy in those looks, rather than just condescension, I assume it’s Adam they’re looking at, but oddly not all the looks are friendly. Adam doesn’t seem to notice. Either that, or he doesn’t care. He summons a passing waiter and snags two more glasses of Champagne.
“How much have you already had to drink?” I ask him suspiciously.
“Not nearly enough to cope with all these bores.” He hands me one of the glasses, and this time I take it without objecting. I figure it’s a public service.
“Nobody’s forcing you to be here. You could just
leave.”
“I wish. But then there’d be an odd number, and Phoenix wouldn’t be happy if I upset her table.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about but … “If you can’t leave, then I guess I can’t either.” I sigh.
“We could leave together. That way there’ll still be even numbers at the table.”
For half a second I’m tempted, but then I think of his boast about always leaving palace parties with some woman, and I clamp down on the little ray of hope that I can get out of this torture. I will not be one of those easy women who fall at his feet. I have my pride.
“What’s the occasion for this party anyway?” he asks, looking around.
“It’s a thank you for the benefactors of the new pediatric wing at the Neustadt hospital.”
He wrinkles his nose. “So, in other words, an excuse for Europe’s rich and titled to get dressed up and mingle.”
“The information was on your schedule,” I point out primly.
“I’m not very good with schedules. I don’t like to be told what to do or when to do it.”
Typical! To stop myself from saying something I’m sure to regret later, I take a tentative sip of the Champagne. The taste tickles my tongue, the bubbles exploding in my mouth, more sour than the Champagne we drank the night Max and Phoenix got hitched in Vegas. The flavor improves as I take a second sip, and then another.
“My two favorite people at this party!” Phoenix appears beside us, looking effortlessly elegant in a figure-hugging lavender-colored sheath dress. With my curves, if I wore a dress like that I’d look like a ten-dollar hooker, but she looks like the princess she now is. Max is half a step behind her, his hand resting at the base of her spine. Be still my beating heart. Between Max and Adam, both looking better than James Bond and with the sexy accents to match, it’s not just jet lag making me feel as if I’ve stepped into an alternate universe.
“You must be drunk,” I joke back. “It’s only me and Adam.”
She loops her arm through mine. “Exactly. I can count on Adam to be amusing, and I can count on you to be honest.”
“Amusing?” I squint at Adam as if trying to see it, and both she and Max laugh.
It’s hard to make conversation as we are interrupted again and again by people wanting to talk with Max and Phoenix. Adam also seems to know most of the guests, and the conversations flow around me like swift-moving water around a dull, unmoving rock. Phoenix has always had the magical gift of getting people to open up to her and like her, but I’m in awe. I wouldn’t have a clue what to say to all these strangers, but she seems to know exactly the right things to say.
After yet another interruption, she lays a hand on my arm. “We’ll catch up tomorrow, I promise.” Then she and Max head off to circulate among the guests, leaving me alone with Adam once again. I sip from my still-full Champagne glass.
“You know, you really don’t need to stay here and make nice with the bridesmaid,” I say. “Consider yourself free of that best man obligation. Go mingle with the beautiful people.”
“Oh, it’s not an obligation, and I’m already mingling with the most beautiful woman at the party.”
I roll my eyes. “Bullshit. Everyone else here looks like a movie star. All glossy and shiny and—”
“Fake?” He laughs, and the sound has an unexpectedly bitter quality to it. “It’s not hard to look good if you have money. Most of these women spent the entire day at a beauty spa primping for this party. I can guarantee that not one of them went looking at eighteenth century frescoes.”
Is a day in a spa seriously all it takes to look like one of them? I eye two women gliding across the room, tall and slender as supermodels, hair and make-up impeccably perfect, graceful even though they’re wearing four-inch heels.
“Phoenix did suggest a spa day,” I say speculatively. “Maybe I should take her up on it.”
He shrugs. “You’re better off spending your days looking at frescoes.”
What the …? Did he just insinuate I’m so hopeless even an entire day in a beauty salon can’t help me? I round on him, indignation firing my blood, but Adam just laughs. “That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of working the room: it’s refreshing to meet a woman who hasn’t spent the entire day preening in front of a mirror.”
I narrow my eyes at him, not buying this back-handed compliment, and wondering if I should point out that neither Phoenix nor any of the palace staff spent the day preening.
Adam grins. “No, you’re right, I’m just being nice. You looked lonely and I felt sorry for you. Is that more believable?”
“I’m not lonely,” I protest.
“Liar. But don’t worry – as soon as they find out you’re the soon-to-be archduchess’ BFF you’ll have more ‘friends’ than you know what to do with.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But the truth is, I’m talking to you because all the other women at this party know me.”
That sounds like the first honest thing he’s said all day – and it explains the unfriendly looks. “Do you mean that they already know you’re a douche, but since I’m new here you think I might not? Or do you mean they know you in the biblical sense?”
His grin turns to a smirk. “Yup.”
Just how many women at this party might he know in the ‘biblical’ sense?
“Sorry, but you’re too late. I already know you’re a douche.” My smile is so sweet it could cause cavities. It’s the smile I use when I feel like stabbing a difficult customer with a fork.
He lays his hand over his heart, looking pained. “I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t like me.”
I pretend a shocked expression. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
He laughs, throwing his head back, and a couple of heads turn our way. I have to admit that Adam has a really nice laugh, warm and intimate, as if he’s letting me in on a secret. It is quite possibly the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, even sexier than his purr.
“Adam, dah-ling!” At the interruption, Adam’s amused, slightly bored mask slips back into place.
It’s the two supermodel types I spotted earlier. Up close, they’re not as tall as I thought. I can tell that the brunette has had work done; her features are a little too symmetrical, her lips a fraction too big. Her friend, a classic blond with wide blue eyes, smiles at me in a vague way, but I’m unable to smile back. She reminds me too much of the cheerleader who tormented me all through high school.
Adam leans in to kiss the brunette’s cheek. “It’s been a while, Elena.”
She turns narrow, assessing dark eyes on me. “And who is your little friend?”
Since I’m her height without the advantage of heels, the ‘little’ is clearly there to put me in my place. Adam hardly seems to move but suddenly he’s right there next to me, closing the gap between us, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me in against his side. When I try to squirm away, he holds me tighter.
“This is Khara. Khara, may I present my cousin Elena, Baroness Cassel.”
My tongue feels like it’s glued to the top of my mouth. Am I supposed to curtsy or call her ‘Your Highness’? Where is Phoenix’s protocol secretary when I need him? But Elena isn’t even looking at me. Her gaze is laser-focused on Adam, and the desire in her eyes is plain to see.
I hope I don’t look at him like that, because it’s enough to make me nauseous.
“Very, very distant cousins,” she corrects. “And you didn’t seem to mind the connection when we were together.” Her emphasis on the last word makes my skin crawl. Then her coy smile turns sympathetic, so quickly that I wonder if either emotion is real. “I am so sorry about your cousin Nick. You must all be so devastated.”
I glance up at Adam. His easygoing smile doesn’t waver, but there’s a betraying tightness to his jaw. What happened to his cousin? I remember fair hair and soft hands, but beyond that I can’t even picture the man who tried to grope me. Adam left a far more lasting impression.
“There�
��s a rumor that you might inherit in his place …” Elena leans in, sliding her hand up his arm, as if claiming him.
“You should know better than to trust rumors, Elena.” There’s a bite to his voice. His other hand slides down from my waist to rest on my butt in an unmistakably intimate gesture. I’m tempted to slap his hand away, but the tension in him stops me. This isn’t a man trying to get lucky.
“We should get together again sometime,” Elena continues, not put off in the slightest by the fact that he’s groping me right in front of her. “For old times’ sake.”
“As you can see, I’m here with a date.”
Elena’s laugh is low and seductive. “That didn’t stop us before.”
“You know I never come back for seconds.” His voice is still so smooth, so polite and full of charm, that it takes both Elena and me a moment to register the hit. Her eyes narrow. I’m pretty sure mine have too. Her friend seems oblivious to Adam’s snub.
Elena removes her hand from his arm. “You’re right. The rumors can’t possibly be true if you’re choosing a cold-blood over a thoroughbred. Perhaps Mátyás will be more open to a woman with class and breeding.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but the glance she sends me is enough to know it was a dig at me. I certainly don’t feel cold-blooded with the surge of fury rushing through me. I suck in a breath to retort, but Adam squeezes my hip in warning, as if to say ‘Don’t descend to her level’, so I bite my lip.
“I am sure you and Mátyás will be perfectly suited to one another,” he says, still smiling. “Now, if you don’t mind, Khara and I were in the middle of something.”
Elena glares at him, but her parting shot is aimed at me. “Enjoy him while you can, honey, because he won’t stick around until morning.”
When she and her friend are out of earshot I look up at Adam. “Ew! You dated your cousin?”
“I certainly wouldn’t call it dating, and we’re only distant cousins. Fourth or fifth, I think. Half the guests here tonight are related in some way, and the other half want to be. European aristocracy is a hotbed of in-breeding.”