Chapter 36 #2
He looks over his shoulder at the empty foyer, turning back to fix my friend with a sorrowful expression. “Always the perceptive eye, Lady Margaret.” He sweeps into a flourishing bow.
I roll my eyes before dipping into a small bow as well. “Drama queen,” I mutter and warm at the chuckle that wells up from his chest.
When we made the rules for our little sexual arrangement, we had agreed to remain friends when it inevitably ended.
Up until now, I didn’t see how I could ever manage to be friends with him after such heartache.
But his kindness now, the easy joking, makes me think friendship may still be a possibility.
Margaret turns me roughly to her, her hands clenched on my shoulders. “Aurelia, do not encourage him.”
“What?”
“You two were all flirty and cute, and I saw the expressions on both your faces.”
I can’t meet her eyes and instead study the pattern in the marble floor. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re finally getting all your pieces back together, don’t let him in again because I don’t know if you’ll be able to come back from him breaking you another time.”
These people know how to party! I had been to a handful of events with Aunt Sarah over the years, but never anything so lively.
I didn’t expect anyone to get into the spirit of the event I tried to curate in celebration of my aunt’s incredible life.
But as the night wears on and the drinks continue to flow, more and more people take to the dance floor.
Many women are similarly dressed to me, big skirts and midcentury style dresses; I guess they knew Aunt Sarah’s predilection towards big band and jazz music.
The band pauses periodically to allow for toasts in her honor, and I continue to be shocked, delighted, and a bit touched by some of their speeches.
Like one from an older gentleman in black pants and a white jacket who talks about how he and Aunt Sarah had outrun the Irish Guards in Galway when they visited in their mid-twenties and found themselves in a spot of trouble with the law for getting inebriated on a Sunday.
Or a middle-aged woman who speaks about how Aunt Sarah had helped her get back on her feet after a particularly nasty divorce; her young daughter was the inspiration for Aunt Sarah’s fund to send underprivileged girls to prestigious private schools.
The woman credits my aunt with giving her daughter the opportunity to go to a great university and is now in her final year of law school.
Another man, who has to be at least thirty years younger than my aunt, begins a story about a torrid love affair, but is quickly shuffled off by the not-funeral director.
In between speeches and individual conversations as her friends and peers take time to offer sympathy and talk about Aunt Sarah, I find myself looking for the prince.
He is rarely out of my line of sight, even when he’s on the dance floor, and my gracious, can that man dance!
His body moves like a weed in the water, smooth and fluid, twisting and turning and bending with such purpose and beautiful intentionality.
He feels the music and it flows through each step, through his arms and hips.
Oh, those hips. And he had the audacity to presume we could dance together tonight.
The waltz he roped me into at the New Year’s Eve ball definitely does not translate.
I’m certain I will break his ankle if we even try.
“Aurelia, I know that look, and please don’t.
” Margaret has hardly left my side all night, which is helpful when I’m navigating this unfamiliar social situation amongst the highest members of society, but she also makes it hard for me to catch even just a moment with Prince Friedrich. And now I’ve been found out.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You and the prince have been eye-fucking all night.”
I almost choke on the Sazerac I’ve been nursing. “Can you keep your voice down? Criminy! And we have not been eye-banging.”
Margaret gives me the ‘sure Jan’ face. “Girl, you were just watching him dance like you were imagining him doing it naked.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks as I catch sight of him again, twirling his cousin around the dance floor like a top. My friend snaps in my face.
“No, ma’am. Do not fall into that again. I can’t bear to see you hurt again.”
I heave a sigh. She’s right, dadgummit. But why does he have to be so kind and so very sexy?
Overwhelmed, I step away to get my head on straight. I slip down a quiet hallway lined with rooms for storage, and thus infrequently used. Breathing deeply, I sip my drink, trying to get my logical brain to take over once more from the sappy, emotional side.
The door leading back to the main house opens a crack, and the noise from the party floods my temporary sanctuary. Not ready to get back to playing hostess, I step into the nearest storage room but leave the door partially open so whoever it is doesn’t hear the latch click.
A familiar deep timbre washes over me, and that wonderful feeling settles low in my stomach. I press my ear closer to the crack in the door just to hear his voice more clearly.
“Shh, shh, no, it’s okay. I told you that I’m always here when you need me.”
God, that tender tone, it makes me melt. Made. Made me melt.
“I’m on my way, dearest.”
Dearest. The word is a sledgehammer straight to the heart. I have no right to the prince anymore, but I can’t help but envy the woman he’s speaking to so sweetly.
“Yes, dear. You know I still love you. I’ll be there in five.”
My heart plummets, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.
Clearly, he’s completely moved on and made his choice.
The press will be salivating to find out who their new princess will be.
I must have been fooling myself that he was flirting earlier.
Actually, no, I don’t care, even as I wipe away a few stray tears.
Margaret is right. That chapter of my life is closed; it’s time to start writing the next one.