Chapter 15
fifteen
PARKER
Model UN was a life pursuit. As a youth at boarding school, my MUN mates were the only people who did not bully me. I’d been a tall, lanky, and awkward teenager. In MUN, I was a star. Many of our students were first-years trying to find their own nerdy homes. MUN meant fellowship and kindred spirits. Every year I volunteered for our opening event of the season. It did bring me joy to watch students strategise and come alive.
The first to arrive at the Shalebrook Invitational, I checked on the situation with our arrival table. I was fully prepared with a 60-ounce thermos of tea, plenty of digestives, and journal articles to read in slow periods. I’d prepped the prompts for the conference and waited for students to arrive.
I spotted Princess Astrid walking down the corridor with what I assumed was tea and a very expensive tote on her shoulder—a different one than the Hermes she’d brought to class. She was outfitted in a suit today, looking smart. Was she joining the undergrads?
She stopped at the table. “Oh… uh… I’m helping with the MUN thing.”
“So am I,” I said, voice flat.
Damn it! She’d managed to infiltrate our ranks and my favourite activity.
She set her bag down with a thud. “How can I help?”
“We need to put up all the banners and lay out the table runner,” I said. “Get ready for check-in. The MUN president will tell us what else they need.”
“Cool,” she said.
There was little hatred in her voice. I was prepared to drop it, start a new leaf, and try to behave myself at the very least.
“Can you manage the walk?” I asked.
“Why?”
“You’re in heels.”
Astrid burst out laughing. I didn’t understand why that was funny.
“I was born to walk in them properly. Don’t fret!”
I repressed the urge to roll my eyes.
“Cool.” I copied her strangely American slang.
We left to grab the remaining supplies. She not only kept up but walked impressively fast. In heels! Maybe there was a secret princess boot camp I was unaware of. Did they do that? Train for the job? I didn’t know. I was sure it was some bullshit. I knew my sisters were always raised to learn social graces—as was I—and I knew women had it worse like that. Princesshood was a step further, right?
To her credit, Astrid kept me on my toes and stayed on her feet. She helped me lay out the tablecloth with exacting precision. I laid out the badges and anticipated happy and sad faces based on who got which committee and country. It was one of the fun things about MUN—a game of roulette. I looked over to see short Astrid struggling to put up our standing banner.
I rushed to help her. Unfortunately, she turned again, running her chest into my arm. We stood there, too close, awkward, and once more, her eyes not leaving mine. I expected a slap—even if I meant nothing by it—but she burst into giggles.
“You always end up in the worst situations, don't you, darling?”
I blanched at her use of darling , even in jest. Such things made me uncomfortable. Even in my dating history, I’d never let a woman call me a pet name.
Nervous, I said, “Yes. I guess. Apologies. I was here to help.”
She stepped aside, letting me fashion the banner with no protest.
“It's alright. You didn't mean it. We just seem to find ourselves always in an awkward place.”
“Bad timing, I guess?”
She shrugged. I tried not to stare at her chest, which was excellent in the shirt under her suit jacket. Just the slightest bit of cleavage greeted my gaze. With the height difference, it was impossible to miss her tits. Fit and her ass fabulous, Astrid was too hot to ignore. Unfortunately, I’d learned not to shit where I ate. Bianca was a bad idea, but I wasn't teaching with Bianca. I was stuck with this woman twice a week, and we had already had it out for one another. I would say nothing and keep my eyes up. I'd try to keep my hands to myself—even if only to stop any involuntary nonsense.