Chapter 14 #2
My face grows hot again, and not in the fun way that Friedrich brings about. “Shaming me isn’t going to help.”
Margaret clears her throat. “Sorry, Aurelia. Not shaming, just it’s kind of funny. Okay, okay. Look, there’s no right or wrong way. Try thinking about what you did with this Fritz that got you all hot and bothered, and start splashing around in the shallow end.”
“The shallow end? What is this, a swimming lesson?”
“You know, not going in deep, so to speak. Just a little external stimulation. See what feels good, then do more of that.”
This is all sounding rather indecent. I flop onto my back and drop my free hand down on my forehead.
“I can hear your brain whirring,” Margaret cuts off my thoughts before I start to spiral.
“I’m just thinking about everything you said. Trying to piece it all together.”
“Don’t think. Do. Or actually, do think, but only about Fritz.”
“Isn’t that a little gross? Thinking about a real person while doing… that? I thought people fantasized about imaginary people from books or like porn stars or something.”
“Aurelia, I guarantee you left him with a raging hard on today, and he is probably taking care of it or having someone else take care of it for him right now.”
“Really?” New heat settles in my core at the thought. Prince Friedrich, head leaned back, sweat beading on his brow and chest, the ripple of his bicep as he works his hand along his steel hard—
“Yes, really,” Margaret snaps me from my fantasy. “And you should too. Goodbye, my little repressed southern belle.”
She hangs up before I can say anything else, and I’m left with my thoughts and a foreign sensation between my legs.
I close my eyes and let out a breath as I pull my covers all the way up to my chin.
Trailing my right hand down my stomach, I shiver as I remember Prince Friedrich’s touch in the same place.
I reach the hem of my panties again and freeze, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
Focus. Get back to the prince. I recall the smell of him wrapped around me, rain and whiskey and man mixed with a smidgeon of tobacco smoke and cedar. His tongue begging entrance at my lips like my fingers begging to explore this unfamiliar sensation.
Food is for the stomach, and the stomach is for food, but God will do away with both of them. Yet the body is not for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord is for the body.
But my body has belonged to no one but me for years. My polite upbringing is being steadily drowned out by the pure need consuming me as I dip my hand below the waistband of my panties.
The future princess playing field has been reduced to seventy, and unfortunately, my employer’s wretched sister is among those remaining.
Wretched might be too strong a word for a woman who has barely shared more than four sentences with me, but that woman has made it her mission to make my job as hard as possible.
My dinner meal plan for the week has been modified to fit her specifications, and I have already washed her sheets twice, and it’s only Friday.
I can’t even enjoy my daily gossip sessions with Lady Maier as Juliette has inserted herself there too, turning our fun poking at the highborn ladies into vicious attacks.
Her mother can’t be more different. Lady Jameson is light and funny and even a bit irreverent.
Her self-deprecating humor and youthful antics are quite the surprise.
Aside from her love of modern music artists, she drops movie quotes like a true cinephile and often enjoys entertaining her grandchildren while I work in the kitchen.
The weather is really turning now, two weeks out from Christmas. As the children and I walk to the park on a chilly Friday, I make a mental note to find more indoor activities for the winter months.
Darcy is decked out in a pink puffy jacket with matching mittens and hat.
The pompom on top bobbles jauntily as she pushes her little pink pram with Cookie, her baby doll strapped haphazardly in front.
Little Liam refused to wear his mittens today, and it wasn’t worth fighting with an eighteen-month-old over.
He marches ahead of me, his toddler curiosity and independence growing to the point where he hates holding my hand as we walk.
Our city is relatively safe, and I’m comfortable letting him lead a few paces in front, close enough that I can catch up in two strides if I need to.
We reach the park, and Baby Cookie is quickly abandoned as Darcy races to the playground. Apparently, Liam’s newfound courage has extended to the bigger slides, and I have to stay on constant alert as his sense of self-preservation hasn’t caught up with his new boldness.
My phone chimes, and I chance a quick peek while Liam is running around on solid ground.
My stomach does that little flip-flop thing it does when Prince Friedrich’s nickname pops up on my screen.
I open my texts to see a picture of him pretending to be asleep with his mouth open and head resting on a keyboard.
Underneath, he sends, Conference call with the transportation secretary, the committee on road traffic, and the budgetary council.
We’re arguing about road signs. Fucking.
Road. Signs. I swear we’re in Kindergarten arguing about shapes and colors.
I laugh, imagining the drudgery that must be. Liam cackles behind me, and I turn in time to see him climbing up onto the play structure.
“You’re a quick little monkey, aren’t you?” I tease as I move within reach of the little guy.
He squeals and runs along a suspended bridge that shakes beneath him. Holding his arms straight out for balance, he stops right in the middle, eyes popping as if he wasn’t expecting the floor under his feet to start moving.
“You got it, little man,” I cheer from the ground. Darcy runs around from the other side of the structure and makes her way to her little brother. “Go on, Darcy. Show him it’s not scary.”
Darcy hops on the first plank of the bridge, making the whole thing shake wildly and causing Liam to scream in terror. I shouldn’t be laughing at his plight, but he’s a perfect height for me to reach him if anything were to go wrong. He might be scared, but he’s safe.
“Easy feet, Darcy.”
The girl nods seriously and begins to tippy toe to the middle of the bridge, where Liam is now squatting low to the floor.
“T’mon, Liam!” Darcy grabs his arm and tries to hoist him up.
I expect him to fight her and stay in his crouched safety, but to my surprise, he stands with her, their little hands linked as big sister and little brother traverse the treacherous terrain together. Darcy cheers as they reach the other side, and Liam screeches with delight.
“Way to go, bud!” I shout. He rewards me with a huge toddler smile, taking up his whole face. “Go do it again.”
The children grab hands again and go across the bridge once more, running this time, joyous squeals ringing out in the chilly morning. Liam wants to do it again and again, and his older sister is more than happy to oblige.
I take out my phone and stand against the bridge. “Here, let’s get a selfie so Mummy can see how brave you are.”
It’s funny how children these days know what a selfie is and know exactly how to pose for one.
Darcy is all sass, standing with a hand on one cocked hip.
Liam holds the bars and tries to stick his face between them, his fake camera smile making him look constipated with his eyes squinched shut.
I snap a few shots and send the kids on to keep playing together.
I keep one eye on them while I shoot the picture off to Lady Maier.
I flip back to the thread with the prince, my finger hovering over the plus sign on the screen.
Is it appropriate to send selfies to the prince?
I mentally shrug. He just sent me one. Plus, I know he’s at least semi-close with the Maiers.
I attach the picture and add, We’ve conquered the perilous wiggly bridge.