Chapter 20Marco
Chapter 20
Marco
I sit back in the tan leather seat and enjoy the feel of being a passenger in this classic car, driven by the most beautiful woman I’ve met. She skilfully navigates the narrow, winding streets of Villadorata, before the streets give way to the expansive motorway as we head out of the city toward the distant mountains, and the pull I feel for her grows stronger with each turn of the wheel, each rev of the engine.
This car is so Sofia. It’s a perfect reflection of her polished exterior: elegant lines, graceful curves, and a pristine finish. To the world, she’s the epitome of regal sophistication, composed, poised, always in control. But the deep rumble of the engine mirrors the fire within her, a passion she rarely reveals, but one that I’ve been fortunate enough to see. It’s like this car is a metaphor for her personality, and with each turn of the steering wheel, she allows herself to indulge in that hidden side, the one that craves speed, thrills, and the freedom to break away from expectations.
There’s something so very sexy about a woman who drives a car so expertly like this, and I’m finding it increasingly hard not to allow my already intense attraction for the woman at the wheel cloud my judgement.
Yes, she’s got a ridiculously hot car and looks incredible in it.
Yes, she is a beautiful woman, with those big smoky brown eyes and those luscious lips of hers.
Yes, she looks unbelievably good in jeans and a sweatshirt, her long, thick hair falling down her back, such a contrast to the prim and proper appearance with which she usually meets the world.
But she isn’t just some girl I’ve met and I’m enjoying a flirtation with. Far from it. Not only is she a princess—so already totally off limits to a guy like me—but she’s destined to be with my brother, a man who doesn’t know her. A man who doesn’t understand her. A man who has little regard for the woman beneath the facade, the woman who can drive me out of my mind with just one look.
“There’s not enough whistling in music these days,” I say suddenly into the silence of the car. Anything to quell my desire for Sofia, sitting so close to me within the confines of her sexy sports car.
Sofia slides her eyes to me before she returns them to the road. “That’s a bold statement. Are you particularly fond of whistling in music?”
“I do like a good whistle in a song, and you just don’t get much of it anymore.”
Whistling in songs? What the heck am I talking about? I don’t know, but I’m committed to the lunacy now.
“Think about it. There used to be lots more whistling in songs. Take Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding. I’m pretty sure that song came out about the same time as this car was made.”
“You might be right.”
“I bet you’re hearing it in your head right now.”
She smiles. “You got me.”
“It’s because of the whistling. I’m sure of it.”
“Name me some other famous songs with whistling,” she says as she indicates and glides into the left lane as we sail past a slower moving car.
“Let me think.” I land on one. “Guns n’ Roses. That song about being patient. Oh, and Winds of Change ,” I say, proud that I can back up my alleged interest in songs featuring whistling with more than one example.
“You’re a bit of a classic rock music lover, are you?”
“ Moves like Jagger! ” I exclaim, and I’m sure I make her jump. It’s like I’ve switched on a tap and now the whistling songs are flowing in my brain. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. You’re an enthusiastic person.”
“It’s just that coming up with a more modern song with whistling got me a little excited.”
“I can tell.”
Her eyes flash to mine briefly and I can see how relaxed and happy she is, something I never would have expected when I first met her. But somehow, we’ve managed to navigate all the obstacles in our way—including her princess persona—and now we’re here, comfortable with one another, enjoying each other’s company.
“Whistling songs are the best,” I tell her and she lets out a girlish giggle. “I’ve got another one, and you’re going to kick yourself when I tell you what it is,” I say.
“I doubt that.”
“ Don’t Worry, Be Happy .”
“Of course! Half of that song is whistling. Can you name another?”
“You know what? I think I might have exhausted the extent of my knowledge of whistling in pop songs.”
“ Sucker ,” she says with such a look of satisfaction, it makes me laugh.
“I beg your pardon?”
“ Sucker . The song by the Jonas Brothers. There’s a bit of whistling in that.”
I whistle the tune of the song as I size her up. “You’re a Jonas Brothers fan, are you? I would not have picked it.”
“Why not?”
“Too pop. I would have picked you for a classic jazz fan, or maybe opera.”
“Opera?” She’s indignant. “I can appreciate it, but it’s not really my thing.”
“Not my thing either,” I say, thinking of Enzo and his love for it.
“As for the Jonas Brothers, Amelia was a huge fan when she was a teenager. I think I heard that song at least seven times a day the summer after it came out. In fact, I could probably recite all the lyrics. Did you know that the women in the video were all the wives of the band members at the time?”
“Well, you’ve got one on me. I didn’t even know that the Jonas Brothers boys were old enough to be allowed out after dark, let alone to get married. ”
She lets out a tinkling laugh and it ends in a snort. She looks so surprised, her hand flies to her mouth in embarrassment as though she can somehow retroactively stop the snort from ever having left her nose. “Oopsie,” she says, looking shamefaced.
“A snorting princess. Who knew?” I tease as her cheeks begin to flush. “It’s very endearing. Both the snort and the crush on the Jonas Brothers.”
“Don’t be horrid. Everyone snorts when they laugh at times. It’s perfectly natural.”
“Not me. I’m a snort-free zone when it comes to laughter. I have standards to uphold, you know. And don’t think I didn’t notice the lack of denial. You have a crush on the Jonas Brothers. I wonder which one.”
“You’ll never know.” She throws me a smile. “Should we pull over and get some breakfast? There’s a motorway services coming up shortly, according to the sign we passed a moment ago while you were making fun of my… mishap.”
“Was that when you were telling me how much you love the Jonas Brothers and started snorting at me?”
“Marco!” she exclaims, and I laugh.
“I’m just winding you up, Principessa . I would love to stop for some breakfast, although I did expect you would have had one of your palace minions bring you some lavish feast before you left the palace.”
“My lady’s maid did bring in a breakfast tray, but I was in a rush and didn’t eat any of it.”
“My heart bleeds for you,” I deadpan.
“You are very cheeky today. I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she says as she takes the exit from the motorway and finds us a park outside a petrol station, a café, and a small grocery store.
“I’m just having some fun to pass the time. I thought it important I know your preferences over whistling in pop songs, and I’m really rather delighted to learn of your interest in the Jonas Brothers.”
She turns the ignition off as she shakes her head. “Are you going to be like this the whole trip?”
I grin at her. “You know, I think I am.”
She lets out a sigh, throwing her eyes to the sky. “Give me strength.”
We climb out of the car and make our way to the café. We’re dressed similarly, both in worn jeans and T-shirts, and it feels like we’re a real couple, going on a journey together, stopping for food.
The thought warms me until I catch myself.
We’re not a couple.
As I look over at the beautiful woman at my side, I can’t help my heart from telling me how much I want her to be mine.
We take a seat at a booth in the diner style café and place our breakfast orders with an older woman who looks beyond bored. She rattles off the specials as though she’s listing ten ways to die before she glares at us as if to challenge us to eat their food.
“She loves her job,” I say once she’s out of earshot.
“What gave her away? The fact she didn’t smile once? But really, it must be a little soul sucking to work here every day.”
“Let’s give her a big fat tip.”
“Great plan.” She toys with the edge of the plastic menu. “I wonder what this professor is going to be like.”
“Old.”
“That’s a given. What I mean is I wonder what he’ll think of us bringing him an old scroll to translate—an old scroll that must be worth a lot of money. Do you think he’ll be suspicious? ”
“Suspicious how?”
“He might think we stole it.”
“Do you think there’s a large ring of scroll-stealing thieves in Ledonia?”
“There might be. What did you tell him?”
“I made up a bit of a story, actually. I told him we had been in your great grandfather’s library—who is miraculously still alive at the age of one hundred and seven.”
“That is miraculous.”
“And that we want to understand what the scroll means because he so loves the scroll, but can no longer read it due to his tragic loss of sight, brought on by a severe lack of carrot eating in his youth.”
“And the fact that he’s one hundred and seven.”
“Exactly.”
Our waitress delivers our cups of coffee, and I take a grateful sip. “Not too bad for a motorway coffee house. How’s yours?”
She lowers the cup from her lips. “It’s better than Malveauxian tea.”
“Don’t they love their tea?”
“I have no idea why. Have you ever drunk it?”
“Dreadful stuff. I had tea in India. Chai. It’s delicious.”
“You’d get on well with my soon-to-be sister-in-law.”
“The new Princess of Malveaux? Madeline, right?”
“Maddie. That’s what we call her.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s really sweet and absolutely adores Alex. They’re very well suited.”
“Their wedding is coming up soon. Thanks to you, Enzo and I have been invited.”
“I imagine you have been. I’ll be easy to spot. I’ll be in a Ledonian red dress. ”
I detect a note of resignation in her voice. “Do you not like wearing red?”
Immediately, an image of her in her red dress at the ball flashes before my eyes. With her olive skin and dark features, she looked absolutely stunning in the color.
“Of course I do, but I’d like to get to choose sometimes. There are so many colors out there, but we always have to wear the official red at any big function.”
I take another sip of my coffee. “If you could wear whatever color you wanted to some big fancy ball, what would you wear?”
“I’ve always been a little jealous that the royal family in Malveaux gets to wear that beautiful blue. But then I like purple and green and orange and hot pink, even.”
“Hot pink, huh?” I tease.
“Or black. The only time I wear black is when I attend a funeral.”
“It must be so hard to be royal,” I say, only half teasing because part of me does feel it must be hard to be royal. She’s got all the rules and responsibilities of being a princess of the realm dictated to her, right down to what color she wears to official events.
I know I wouldn’t be royal for all the horrible tea in Malveaux.
Our unsmiling waitress delivers our breakfast, and I notice the piece of toast she ordered, to which she applies a thin layer of marmalade. Next to my huge cooked breakfast of eggs and bacon and hash browns and roasted tomatoes, her meal looks decidedly insignificant.
I take my first bite. It’s surprisingly good. “This is delicious,” I tell her as she looks longingly at my plate before she picks up her toast and takes a small, bird-like bite. “Do you want to try some? ”
“No. But thank you.” Again, she looks longingly at my meal, and I make up my mind.
I call the waitress over and order a second meal of eggs and bacon and hash browns and roasted tomatoes. “Can you throw in some baked beans with that too?”
Sofia’s eyes are huge. “How hungry are you?”
“It’s not for me, Principessa . It’s for you.”
“But I’m fine with my toast.”
I lean my elbows on the Formica-topped table, narrowing the space between us. “You’ve looked at my breakfast the way your dogs would look at a bone. Why not indulge yourself? You’re having a day off from being Princess Sofia, remember?”
She bites down on her lips, and I can tell she’s stifling a smile.
I lean back in my chair. “And besides, I like a woman who eats,” I say, and she allows the smile to claim her face.
When the meal arrives, I ask the waitress to place it in front of Sofia.
“Dig in,” I instruct, and she doesn’t need to be asked twice, taking huge mouthfuls of the food and grinning the whole time.
“I was told at the boarding school I went to that a girl with a physique like mine needs to eat like a bird,” she tells me.
“Do you know what I think? I think a girl with your physique can do whatever the heck she wants.”
She lets out a giddy laugh, only this time her hand doesn’t fly to cover her mouth.
I lean my elbow on the table once more and say in a low tone, “You do know you’re incredibly beautiful and sexy, don’t you? All of you.”
Her eyes are like fire as she gazes back at me, and I swear, my heart skips a beat .
How can a woman as stunningly beautiful as Sofia not appreciate how hot and sexy she is, with her womanly curves, long thick hair that falls softly across her shoulders, and the most deliciously pillowy lips?
I know I appreciate every inch of her. And if she were mine, I would tell her to eat whatever she wants, every day of her life, whatever it take to make sure she’s happy.
Although I would like it to be me who’s the main source of her happiness.
The waitress arrives slapping the check on the table, punctuating our moment. It’s just as well. As much as I feel for her, as much as I like her, as much as I want her, she and I are not to be.
We leave our surly waitress an embarrassingly large tip and head back to the car.
“Would you like to drive?” she asks.
I widen my eyes at her. “Seriously?” She nods, holding the keys out. “You have made my day!” I reach for the keys, but she snatches them back.
“You do have your driver’s license, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”
“Because you’ve been off having grand adventures around the world all these years. I wasn’t sure you had found the time.”
“I got my license along with my friends in high school, so you don’t need to worry.”
Her features relax and she holds out the keys for me once more.
Once in the driver’s seat, I turn to her and say, “Just checking that left is the accelerator and right is the brake.”
Her eyes widen to the size of the car’s wheels before my smile gives away that I’m only teasing.
“You’re a comedian. But if you drive us off the motorway and into some ditch, I promise I will never speak to you again.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid all ditches. You have my word.” I turn the ignition and instantly the car begins to purr. I can’t resist pumping the accelerator a few times, and as I do so I waggle my eyebrows at her to the rhythm of the revs.
“You’re making me nervous,” she says, but she doesn’t look nervous. In fact, she looks… happy. Happy, relaxed, enjoying her day out with me, well fed and brimming with enthusiasm. It’s a side to her I don’t think anyone knew existed, least of all me, but it’s a side I’m finding impossible not to fall for more and more each day.
Without overthinking it, I turn to her and place my hand on her bare forearm, ready to tell her how much I’m enjoying myself with her. Her skin is soft and warm beneath my touch, and it sets my heart beating faster.
She looks at me in surprise, her body instantly tensing.
I snatch my hand away. “I… err… sorry.”
She swallows hard, her throat moving visibly as she clasps her hands in her lap, looking straight ahead. “It’s fine.”
“It won’t happen again. You have my word,” I say.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her body as rigid as a marble statue in the Royal Ledonian Museum.
I clear my throat, not sure what to say next. I mean, her message to me was as clear as a summer’s day. As much as I enjoy her company, as often as I may find myself thinking about her, wanting to be with her, knowing how much she has come to mean to me, she doesn’t feel the same.
And why would she, anyway? I’m not her Mr. Perfect-on-Paper, the man with the most checked boxes on her spreadsheet. There’s no way she would ever consider a man like me. Maybe for a flirtation, a fun adventure to a village in the mountains. But for someone she could be serious about? Someone she could love?
I reverse the car out of the parking space and set a course for Monteluce.
I can never be that man for a woman like Princess Sofia, a woman out of my league. And as much as I enjoy being with her, as much as my heart tells me how much I want her to be mine, I know she never can be.