Chapter 18Ethan
Chapter 18
Ethan
I spot her across the street and my brain just kind of stops working. Amy in shorts and a black tank top, her hair falling across her shoulders instead of the practical ponytail she wears at work. Her hair catches the final rays of sunlight for the day as she walks toward me, falling in waves that somehow look both perfectly messy and completely intentional. Her olive skin practically glows, and those eyes? Man . Those eyes could probably make a guy confess his darkest secrets without even trying.
My secrets might not be dark, but I sure do have them.
Not that I'm staring.
Except I totally am.
I blow out a breath.
It’s officially over. I’m done for. I’m falling for this woman who moves with such easy confidence, like she owns the sidewalk but doesn't need to make a big deal about it. There's something about the way she carries herself that’s incredibly sexy, and I wonder how I didn’t see it before that day she climbed the tree and my feelings hit me in the gut.
My heart does that ridiculous flutter that I've officially given up fighting.
Talk about inconvenient feelings. But try as I might, I just can’t seem to get this beautiful girl out of my head—or my heart.
Yeah, I said “heart.” I may find her incredibly sexy, but she’s so much more than just hot. She’s the full package. Smart. Classy. Fun. Easy to talk to. Full to her very brim with a joy for life you just don’t see in people. Well, not the people I meet.
My mind flits to Giovanna, a woman in such stark contrast to Amy they may as well be from different planets. We cut a deal at dinner a few nights ago, although it felt a little like selling my soul.
As I’d suspected, she knew exactly who I was, and shared with me that she was an actress too.
I knew where that conversation was going.
She assured me that what we could have together wouldn't be just a “showmance” because she genuinely found me attractive. And oh, would I mind dressing up as Rowan Thornheart for her someday?
The thing is I've met a hundred Giovannas in my time. I knew I could appease her by agreeing to pose for a bunch of photos, making it look like we were an item, and she didn't take any time snapping the first few with her phone, like the expert selfie taker I bet she is.
She agreed reluctantly not to post them until my time here is done, after which I promised to be available for more photo shoots in Villadorata, the capital city of Ledonia where she lives.
The things we’re forced to do.
She did say something weird though. She told me she had come to Montelac to see me, and when I asked her how she knew I was here, she acted all evasive and wouldn't reply. Of course my mind leaped to the worst, and I've been a little on edge ever since, always on the lookout for paps.
The last thing I need is for the world to know I'm here, particularly when I want to get as much time as I can with Amy before this whole thing has to come to an end.
“You're staring," Amy says as she approaches, totally busting me, her luscious lips—painted siren red, have mercy —lifted in a soft smile.
I clear my throat. “I was thinking about work, actually,” I lie.
“Work?”
“Yeah. I think I left the cleaning supplies out on the counter when I cleaned up earlier.”
Smooth, Roberts. Real smooth.
Immediately I want to kick myself for coming up with such a lame excuse.
“Do you want to go to the café to check? It’s just around the corner.”
“Nah. It can wait until tomorrow. Shall we go? The quiz starts in about five minutes.”
“Are you ready for it?” she asks, bumping her shoulder against my arm as we walk down the street.
“I’ll admit, I’m not great at quizzes, but I’ll try my best. You?”
“I love quizzes! Especially if they’re about European history, which I majored in at university. Either that or Taylor Swift.”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “You’re a Swiftie? And here I was thinking I liked you.”
“How could you not like Taylor?” she replies, as though the two of them are on a first-name basis. “She’s a talented musician, terribly clever, and such a positive role model for girls and women alike. The question should be why you would not like her.”
“She’s so mainstream.”
“By which you mean she’s successful.”
She’s got a point.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“You can’t dislike someone because of their success.”
I think of the way some publications find the worst possible angle on me time and time again. “You’re right,” I reply.
We arrive at the pub, the place warm and buzzing with activity. It looks like what I expect a typical British pub would look like, right here in Malveaux, from its red carpet to forest green walls, and gold trimmings. There are rows of beers on tap at the bar, and photos of the town in the olden days on the walls.
“Amy! Over here!” Pierre calls out, waving at us from a table where he's sitting with Francine and Giovanna.
Huh. I wonder how they know each other.
“Shall we join Francine’s team?” Amy asks.
“We could make our own. Just you and me?” I suggest.
“But wouldn't it be more fun with a larger group? Besides, look around. All the other teams have at least six people. We want the best chance possible to win this thing.”
“I never knew you were so competitive.”
“With a family like mine it's impossible not to be. Come on.” She takes me by the hand and leads me weaving through the crowds to Francine’s table. It feels nice to have her touch me, even though I know it doesn't mean anything to her. She's just my friend.
Although I want her to be so much more.
I catch myself. She can't be anything more. Soon I’ll need to head back to my life, and Amy and our time here and everything between us will be relegated to memory.
But I know I want more.
A whole lot more.
“We're so glad you made it,” Francine declares as we arrive at the table.
“Amy, come sit next to me,” Pierre says, pushing his hair back from his face and throwing a dazzling smile at her like it's some kind of sexy weapon. Seriously, this guy belongs in an aftershave commercial—preferably one that's filming far, far away from here.
Yup, my new friend, Jealousy, has come back to visit for a while.
It's weird because up until now, I never got jealous. Not over a woman, anyway. And I’ll tell you right now, I don't like this feeling.
Be that as it may, I'm not gonna let Pierre win. Not tonight and not with Amy.
“We'll take these seats here,” I tell him as I pull a chair out for Amy. She will be safely encased between me and Francine, and right across the table from Cologne Commercial.
I take my seat next to Amy, and immediately feel a hand on my arm.
“I love that you're sitting next to me,” Giovanna purrs, moving closer.
In my need to keep Amy from Pierre, I landed myself right back in Giovanna’s hot water.
“We can whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears all night long,” she says.
I smile at her.
Not gonna happen, lady .
“What's your area of expertise, Giovanna?” I ask.
I half expect her to reply something like “love making” as though she's a Bond girl from the ‘60s, but instead she says, “Ledonian agricultural and horticultural practices of the 20th century.”
I blink at her in disbelief. “That's rather specific.”
“It's a fascinating topic. Much like you are, Maverick Mitchell.”
And we're back to overt flirtation.
I shoot her a meaningful look, but she just simpers at me. I lean a little closer and say under my breath, “We've got a deal, remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” she coos.
“Then lay off it a bit, okay?”
She shrugs. “I'm just being me.”
I don't quite know how to reply, so instead I turn my attention elsewhere. “What's your specialty, Francine? Any areas you know a lot about?”
“Me? I'm hoping they'll be easy questions. I never went to university or anything like that,” she says.
“You don't have to bother with university to know about life,” Pierre states with conviction. “I didn't go, and I like to think I have a pretty full understanding of things.” He gives Amy a look that’s much like the looks Giovanna has been throwing me.
It's like we've stumbled onto the flirtation table, where the only rule is that you must flirt with your words, with your eyes, or—as I am now experiencing with Giovanna—by pressing yourself inappropriately against my arm.
I pull it away and instead clasp my hands on the table, my elbows tucked in at my sides. I feel like I'm a kid again, closing up my body space to protect myself from being wrestled by Dan. He was always bigger, older, and stronger than me, so I never got to win.
“What about you, Amy? Anything that you are particularly knowledgeable about?” Francine asks.
She opens her mouth to reply when someone in a top hat and a very bright jacket taps on the microphone. “Is this thing working?”
“Yes!” several people call out.
“Oh, it's about to begin,” Giovanna says, clapping her hands together in glee.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Winchester Arms’ Quiz Night!” the quizmaster says.
There's a round of applause with people cheering.
“Popular event,” I comment.
“We don't have that many events in this town, so everyone comes out for Quiz Night. It's almost a religion,” Francine says.
“Tonight, you will be competing in a quiz about the Royal Families of Europe: Tiaras, Scandals, and Secret Lives!”
The room erupts into murmurs, someone calling out, “But I don't know anything about them!” as another says, “My favorite topic!”
I lean back in my seat. “I’m going to be totally useless at this quiz.”
Amy has gone suddenly stiff in her chair.
“You okay?” I ask, leaning toward her. Her face is drained of color.
“She probably doesn't know anything about European royal families. Don't worry, sweetie,” Francine says as she pets Amy’s arm. “We'll help you out. Won't we?”
I shrug. “I don't know anything about them either, let alone any scandals or tiaras.”
Amy gives me an odd look. I don't know quite what to make of it.
“What about the royal family of Ledonia?” Pierre asks, and receives a glare from Francine. Why, I couldn’t tell you.
“Nope. I’m American,” I say by way of explanation, which I think is a totally plausible reason why I wouldn't know much about the Ledonian royal family. Why would I? We’ve got enough going on in our own country not to worry about what a bunch of wealthy people born into extreme privilege get up to on the daily.
I glance at Amy once more. She still looks like she's freaking out. She did say she was competitive. Maybe she knows as much about European Royals as I do and takes quizzes super seriously?
“I think I might leave,” she says.
I try to reassure her. “Don't go. It'll be fun. You'll see.”
“You're not thinking of leaving, are you?” Pierre asks, stricken at the thought his object of desire might not stick around. “You’ve got to stay. I'll buy you a drink. Wine?”
“I don't know,” Amy replies in a very uncharacteristically Amy way.
What’s got into her?
“Wine it is then,” Pierre says as he leaves the table.
I notice he doesn't offer me a drink. But then why would he? He's not exactly my biggest fan.
“You don't have to stay if you don't want to,” I tell her. “But can you tell me why?”
“First question of the first round is on general royal knowledge,” the quiz master begins before Amy has the chance to respond. “Which European monarchy is considered the oldest, continuous hereditary monarchy in the world, dating back to 900 AD?”
“I've got no clue,” I say.
“Is it England?” Francine asks.
“I think it might be Monaco,” Giovanna offers. “Monaco is my spirit animal,” she says.
Can a country be a spirit animal?
“I just love it there. Don't you, Maverick? The casinos are fabulous,” she says.
“I’ve never been,” I reply.
“I'll take you there,” she offers.
Yeah, I'm good.
“Let's say England,” Francine suggests as she begins to write the answer down on the table’s quiz sheet.
Amy leans closer to me and I catch the aroma of her scent, an enchanting combination of vanilla and flowers and … her . “It's Denmark.”
“Denmark? Are you sure? I didn't even know they had a royal family there,” I say quietly.
“I'm sure,” she says simply.
“Why don't you say it then?”
“Can you?”
I shoot her a confused look. This is so unlike Amy. She's more of a charge in with all sirens blaring kind of person, not this little mouse she seems to have suddenly morphed into. But she's clearly rattled by something, and the last thing I want to do is upset her.
“It's Denmark,” I tell Francine. “Not England.”
“Demark. Of course. You're right, Maverick,” Francine replies, and she crosses out “England” on the sheet and replaces it with “Denmark.”
I lean back toward Amy. “Is it weird the way everybody here is speaking English?”
“I suppose,” she replies.
“You sure you’re okay? You’re being weird.”
“I’m fine,” she replies, sounding anything but.
“Question two: Monaco's Prince Rainier III's marriage to which American actress in 1956 was dubbed 'the wedding of the century' and watched by 30 million people?” the quiz master asks.
“Definitely Grace Kelly,” Giovanna pronounces with confidence as Pierre places a glass of red wine in front of Amy.
She immediately takes a gulp, and then another.
She sure is rattled.
“How do you know it's Grace Kelly?” Pierre asks as he takes his seat.
“Because I've have spent some time in Monaco and I know a lot about the country, including about how Grace Kelly married the prince,” Giovanna replies.
I lean closer to Amy, enjoying the proximity. “Is that right?” I ask her under my breath, and she nods.
“It's Grace Kelly,” she replies, her voice small.
I slide my arm around the back of her chair and give her shoulder a squeeze. She looks at me, her face blanched white, and I ask, “Are you sick?”
“No. I'm not sick. I'm just … Is it hot in here? Or is it me?” she says, her speech rapid.
“I think it's warm. Not surprising with so many people, I guess.”
The quiz master announces another general knowledge question—this time about how many rooms the palace in Villadorata in Ledonia has—and Amy tells me the answer once more, under her breath.
This carries on for the rest of the first round, by the end of which she has completely drained her glass of wine, and I offer to buy her another one.
“It's probably not a good idea,” she says.
“Why don't you come to the bar with me and I'll get you a soda?” I offer.
“All right.”
We make our way over to the bar, where we wait in line to place our order. I take the opportunity to check in with her again.
“Look, if you're not enjoying this we can head back to the house.”
“It's just—” She bites down on her lip and my heart goes out to her. She's clearly bothered by something. I just don't know what it is.
She looks around the room.
“Tell me.”
She takes a deep breath, her forehead creased with worry. “I don't want you to think ill of me.”
“I could never think ill of you.” I repeat her phrase, meaning every word of it. “Never.”
If only she knew how I really felt about her.
“Round Two is about to begin, so please take your seats,” the quizmaster announces.
“Amy?”
She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide. She opens her mouth to speak when Pierre hooks his arm around her shoulders and hands her a glass of wine.
“For you, my lady,” he says, and my lip curls.
“Thank you,” Amy replies, and I can tell her smile is forced.
“Let's head back. Round Two is about to begin and I have a feeling we're going to win this thing,” Pierre says as he guides Amy back to the table.
I order a beer, and the quizmaster begins the second round.
“Round 2 is royal historical trivia. Question one: Which royal family adopted the surname ‘Windsor’ in 1917, replacing their German family name?”
Arriving back at the table, everyone has agreed that it's the British royal family.
“I've watched The Crown ,” Francine announces as she writes on the quiz sheet.
“Question two: Both the Ledonian and Malveauxian royal families are known for their annual tradition where members participate in what unusual athletic competitions?”
“Is it the waffle race, where people have to run down a hill holding waffles?” Pierre asks.
“No, silly. It's an egg and spoon race,” Giovanna corrects.
“I think they chase wheels of cheese, don't they?” Francine offers.
“There are two: the Wife Race and the Cheese Race,” Amy announces to the table. She stands abruptly. “And now, I really do need to go.”
“Why? Aren't you having fun? You know all the answers!” Giovanna says.
“Stay. I'll get you another glass of wine,” Pierre offers.
“Thank you, but no. I have a sudden headache. See you all at the café tomorrow. Sorry, Francine.” She shoots me a look before she dashes from the table.
Without even thinking, I leap out of my chair and chase after her, yelling goodbye to everyone over my shoulder. I burst out of the pub and look up and down the street. I can see her receding figure rushing away. “Amy! Wait!” I call out as I pound the pavement, chasing after her.
I catch up quickly. Reaching for her arm I say, “What's going on?”
“I need to tell you something, and I don't know how you're going to take it, and if you are upset with me I would understand completely because you would be absolutely right and I'm so, so sorry.” She looks up at me with worry written right across her face, and I want to smooth it away with my fingertips and tell her everything is going to be okay.
That I'm here for her, no matter what.