Chapter 21
Twenty-One
AURELIA
My stomach gives a loud protest, and Friedrich’s laugh shakes through us both.
“Let’s see if we can find a bit of dinner,” he says. He glances out the window, where the rain has slowed considerably. “Perhaps by then the storm will be past us.”
It’s an effort to peel myself out of his arms since all I really want to do is stay here in the fire-warmed library surrounded by old book smell and gorgeous prince.
I ruined a good portion of the day hiding in the bathroom, and while I’m still kind of reeling on the inside, I put on my brave face.
I only have so much time with this man, and I’m going to wring every last bit of joy from our little arrangement.
It’s time to work on putting the past completely behind me.
What happened to me back in Louisiana is ancient history—Jaston and the church and my shame—and I have to stop letting it color the way I look at all relationships.
I place all of that back in the box, carefully stored in the darkest corner of my mind and throw the metaphorical sheet over it.
Today, Friedrich showed me I am truly safe in his care. He didn’t press, he didn’t try to make me talk, and he was ready to listen when I was ready to engage. He didn’t change his mind about our agreement and didn’t get defensive. It’s a wonderful feeling, being heard and understood.
The prince leads me down to the kitchen, which is almost as breathtaking as the library.
The appliances are sleek and modern, but the rest of it looks like it could be original.
Stone floors, a grey brick fireplace in one corner, a worn wooden countertop with centuries’ worth of knife marks and burnt spots.
I trail my fingers along the edge of the enormous eight-burner gas stove where a small cast-iron pot sits over a low flame in one corner.
“I think I’m in love,” I say, turning to Friedrich, who is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, that brain-mushing grin on his perfect lips.
“Do you like to cook?”
“I love to cook,” I gush. I can only imagine the kind of food this kitchen has seen. I picture myself bustling around in here with several pots simmering on the stove, the counter full of dishes and scraps, the smell of fresh bread in the oven. This is a chef’s paradise.
“I want to cook for you,” I say, garnering a smile that makes my heart swell.
“We’ll make it happen.” He juts his chin towards the black pot. “What did he leave us?”
When I lift the lid, steam rises and the smell of meat and stout broth fills the kitchen. I nearly drop the lid as I’m startled by arms around my waist. Friedrich rests his chin on my shoulder and takes a huge whiff.
“Smells delicious,” he says, giving me a small squeeze and placing a light kiss on the side of my neck.
I hum and lean into him more. I love the pleasure of his suckling kisses mixed with the subtle scratch of his beard on my neck.
His hands flex on my stomach, and I know he’s trying to keep himself from moving them any higher.
And curse his self-control because he pulls away from me, and my entire body wants to cry.
I look at him over my shoulder; his eyes are pure smolder.
“Much more of that, mi’ lady, and we won’t be eating any time soon.” He gives my bottom a little smack and turns to the cupboard on the far wall.
I ladle up some soup for us in the bowls he provides, and he slices bread for us from a loaf left on the counter. We sit at a small wooden table near the fireplace and fall into our usual easy conversation about life and goals and family—his, not mine—as we enjoy the lamb stew.
Then he asks, “Have you found a dress for the ball yet?”
“The ball?”
“Yes, the New Year’s Eve ball at the palace. For the hopefuls.”
My stomach twists. I know he asked me to be present at all the major functions for this little princess project, but the more time I spend with the prince, the harder it’s getting for me to look at those other women without feeling a bit of disdain and a lot of jealousy for a few of them. Plus, I’ve never been to a ball.
“You did get the invitation, right?” he presses. “I gave Betsy your information weeks ago.”
“Yes, I got it. I just… I don’t know, Friedrich,” I sigh. “Isn’t this just supposed to be for you and your prospects?”
“Not just. There will be some senior members of government, some members of the peerage, a few of my friends. Definitely Miles and Trixie.”
He’s searching me with those eyes again, and I can’t think straight with his piercing blue eyes staring into my soul. He reaches a hand across the table and takes mine, holding my fingers so he can rub his thumb across my knuckles.
“Please, Aurelia. I want you there.”
“Why?” I’m not trying to be argumentative; I genuinely don’t understand his motives for having me at these kinds of things.
Plus, I know Margaret is on that guest list, and it’s going to be much harder to keep away from her now that there are fewer women.
Maybe I can just pass it off as me standing in for my aunt or something, since there will be other members of the Emarvian aristocracy there.
“I told you before; you help make the narcissism and pettiness stand out. Plus, the images I’ve conjured in my head of you in a ball gown are sure to pale in comparison to the real thing.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I can’t stop the smile pricking at the corner of my mouth.
“I haven’t danced in so long,” I try to warn, but he waves it off.
“Don’t worry about that, I’m an excellent leader.”
I huff and roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Whoa! Calm the excitement a little,” he laughs.
I do too. “No, it’s just, I haven’t gone shopping yet, and I wouldn’t even know where to start or what would even be appropriate.”
He holds up a finger and digs his phone from his back pocket. He types out a message quickly, and a response pings within seconds.
“Perfect. Trixie will take you tomorrow.”
“I have to work tomorrow.” The Maiers were good enough to give me extended time off around the holiday, but Lord Maier will be back to the office tomorrow, and Lady Maier is part of the planning committee for this New Year’s Eve ball.
“After work, then.”
I roll that over for a moment. On the one hand, any time I get to spend with Friedrich is good time, even as he’s being pushed to marry one of those women.
But I also feel so out of place at these functions.
At Queen Jacqueline’s tea two weeks ago, I got a few glances when I refused the tea.
The conversations tended to flow around me, and I couldn’t follow most of it anyway.
I suspect this ball will be much of the same.
I haven’t danced since Cotillion when I was twelve.
Unless you counted the times that Margaret dragged me to the club, but I doubt that’s the type of dancing going on at this ball.
Friedrich is still watching me from across the table.
His expression is almost pained, worried.
“After the ball, things are going to heat up for me,” he says, his gaze shifting to his hands fidgeting together on the tabletop. “Father wants me to narrow the group even more and start spending more time with the remaining women individually. Dating and such.”
Something gnaws at my heart when he mentions dating. Will he take one of them to his box at the Navy Yard? Who is he going to fly in his helicopter out here for a riding date? Will he take them to his bedroom and make them see stars with the magic of his mouth?
I cut off my intrusive thoughts before I fall in too deep. I have no right to wonder about those things in the first place. We’re just messing around. This is pure physicality and fun. Right?
“Aurelia.” His voice is quiet; a touch of a tremble breaks through. “I need you there.”
The grip on my heart loosens as Friedrich’s eyes meet mine again. The vulnerability in his face knocks the breath from me, and I have the sudden urge to rush to his side and hold him to my chest. To stroke his dark hair as I coo over him and tell him that everything will be alright.
Somewhere upstairs, an old clock begins to ring out the hour. Seven chimes.
“We should get going.” The prince mask is back as he stands and collects our dishes, leaving them in the sink for Nina.
I catch his hand before he can start up the stairs. Pulling him back to me, I wrap my arms around his middle as tightly as I can. His entire body breathes into my embrace, and I hold him until I hear his heartbeat slow in my ear.
We pull apart hesitantly, like we’re both fighting between mind and body to move away. He lets out a huge cleansing breath, then takes my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“Let’s get you home, mi’ lady.”
Not only did Princess Beatrix, who has insisted I call her Trixie, help me pick out the most amazing gown (with pockets!) but she insisted on us getting ready together at her place.
Apparently, whatever reservations she had about me a few weeks ago at the Portyard match have been assuaged, and she has taken it upon herself to teach me the ways of the aristocracy.
Joke’s on her; Aunt Sarah has been trying to do that for years.
Regardless of my lack of high society understanding, I’m a bit giddy when the black town car pulls up to the front of my dormitory at four o’clock.
The ball doesn’t begin until eight, and I’ve been trying to keep busy all day, going for a long run, working on a project for next term, and planning outings and activities for Darcy and Liam.
I’m not sure why Princess Beatrix thinks we need four hours to prepare, but I’ll take any distraction I can get at this point.