Royally Benevolent (Resplendent Royals #4)

6. Saved by the Bell

6

SAVED BY THE BELL

WYATT

T his vision of Princess Odette differed from the girl on the bike, but Odie’s bright eyes and generally upbeat persona were unmistakable. In the short time I’d spent tracking down a dog with her, I realised she wasn’t easily shaken. I hadn’t forgotten about that morning since it happened. Instead, I focused on the thought of preventing it from happening again.

I hoped I didn’t frighten her by jumping in head-first, but she seemed receptive enough. She had no idea why I was so invested in this, and I didn’t care to explain it all that much.

“That’s my email. We should set something?—”

The fire alarm went off. I groaned internally. Well, there went a productive conversation I actually cared about!

People filed out. Odie covered her ears.

She shouted over the alarm, “We should get out of here. Should we continue this conversation?”

“I would love that,” I admitted.

“I know a place.”

Odette grabbed my hand and pulled me after her. She knew where she was going, so I followed. When I set out tonight, I expected the same old nonsense one gets when being courted by a group that needed my money and influence—instead, a princess pulled me through a kitchen like a meme. My life was in her hands, but I didn’t hate it. It turned a bland evening into something much more entertaining. She dropped my hand and trotted ahead playfully when we ended up in an alleyway.

“Come on! This way!” She called in French.

She dashed down the alley with impressive speed. I chased after, not sure what the hurry was. I took a beat, smiling at how silly this was, but maybe I needed silly.

As I caught up, Odette said, “There’s a place with music. It’s just a piano bar, but it’s good.”

“Sure,” I agreed in English, hoping she’d get the hint.

Despite living here for years, I wasn’t a confident French speaker. Neandians mostly spoke good English but chose not to unless forced to. I didn’t know why they subjected themselves to the language of their former oppressive overlords—the Belgians during the 18th and 19th Centuries.

We crossed a street, turned down another alley, and ended up in the basement of a lively bar.

“How did you find this place?” I asked.

“I used to know their house pianist.” She switched to English.

People stared. It was unnerving. I sensed we’d been spotted. I usually ignored it, but I was here with a pretty young thing. People found things like this predictable, but I didn’t date younger. This was purely business.

“Cool.”

We ordered drinks and disappeared to a booth in the back.

“Honestly, I am sorry it ended like that,” Odie said.

I chuckled. “I’m not big on those sorts of events. I always feel awkward. I’d much rather discuss transport.”

“Really? I would have thought you’d be into that.”

So, she knew, too. I tried not to grimace and show my disdain for her knowing what I did.

“Nah. I don’t thrive like that. You?”

“I don’t mind getting dressed up.” Odie shrugged.

“You’re better at this than I am. ”

She gave a kind smile and sipped her drink. “So what can be done about that junction?”

“It’s a mess,” I answered. “There are endless possibilities.”

“There is a bike signal already,” she said.

“There is. But without a way to force drivers to acknowledge the no-right turn—barriers—it’s effectively useless. Signage is not a best practice for a reason. You need more than that.”

“Are you talking about the whole bump-out thing?”

“Yes. Exactly. If the turn needs to be wider or tighter, drivers slow down and think. If there is more space between a driver and a pedestrian or cyclist, they are more apt to respect it. Alternatively, you can put parking not curbside but between the bike lane and traffic to protect cyclists further.”

“It all costs money.”

“But the government is handing out funding like candy,” I said. “A grant proposal would be all you need. You could request the funding as a board member.”

“Oh,” she looked nervous.

“I know it seems intimidating, but it’s straightforward. I could send you some resources.”

“Sure,” she eased a bit. “I could take a look.”

Her phone buzzed on the table.

“Sorry. I’m probably overstepping. This is a passion project for me. I swear. I can be insistent. Tell me fuck off if you aren’t interested.”

I grimaced. Could I say fuck off?

“Sorry. I shouldn’t swear. I am sure that isn’t something?—”

“Swearing isn’t prohibited in the royal household, believe it or not.”

I flushed, not sure how to respond. Was she interested or just being polite?

“It’s probably boring.” I shrugged.

“I am very interested, but not sure if I’m capable. This is not in my wheelhouse.”

She glanced at her phone as it buzzed.

“Emergency?” I asked.

She took a moment. “I guess. I actually must go. Apologies.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, but I understand. ”

“I’ll email you,” Odie said. “We can continue this. I’d like to know more about the whole funding thing.”

I doubted she would follow up, but I hoped she did.

“Great,” I said. “Sounds good.”

She slammed the rest of her cognac and disappeared, looking nervous. Although she looked young, she was busy. It made sense. She had royal commitments or whatever it was princesses did. I couldn’t keep her. At least I’d gotten a moment of her time.

I listened to the piano music a little longer, appreciating the solitude and company of adult strangers for a moment. I’d leave soon and go home, hoping to find my child in bed. For now, I was out in the world doing my best. I tried hard to be myself again. What did that even mean, though? I was different from the man who’d ducked into a seedy college party for beer almost twenty years ago and spotted a pretty outgoing brunette who shook his world to its core.