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She glances at her shoes, then back at me. “I think I can survive twirling.”
“What about flipping?”
Her eyebrows lift. “We’re going to need to negotiate any flipping.”
I grin. “I’m just making sure I understand the parameters I’m working within.”
“I don’t think I’m the flipping type. With or without shoes on,” she says.
“Hmm.” I pretend to contemplate that. “Okay. But you should know, dipping is a requirement.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been dipped.”
“Oh, we’re going to fix that. For sure.”
This playful teasing makes me feel light and very optimistic. Maybe she doesn’t dislike me after all. She almost laughs. I can feel it right there almost bubbling out of her.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“But let’s just be sure your toes stay safe.” I let go of her hand, bend over, and untie my shoes. I toe them off and toss them over toward the table where Jonah and Linnea are watching us. And judging my seduction techniques, I’m sure. I resist the urge to flip him off. I face Abigail again, arms outspread. “Okay, I’m ready.”
She finally fully smiles at me. “That’s really nice.”
“Oh, I’m charming as hell.”
“Isn’t that kind of a requirement for the whole prince thing?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve known a couple of princes who were real assholes.” My grandfather had been a prince at one time, after all. And no one would describe my brother Declan as friendly or charming in the least. He’s even been described in the media as a grump when they’re being respectful and an asshole when they’re not.
“Interesting.”
“Do you know how to waltz?” I ask her. My arms are still outstretched, waiting for her to take that step that will bring her completely into my personal space.
She looks at me, wide-eyed. “Do you?”
I give her a really? look. “With the way I ooze charm and charisma? What a ridiculous question. I can even do it without my crown slipping.”
Her lips almost curl again. “Even the twirling, flipping, and dipping?”
“I take twirling, flipping, and dipping very seriously. I wouldn’t offer it if I couldn’t deliver.”
Now she laughs. She fucking laughs, and I feel stupidly triumphant over it.
“This song isn’t a waltz,” she says.
I tip my head, listening to the music. “It’ll do.” I curl my fingers in a come on motion.
She steps closer. “Why a waltz?”
“I want to impress you.”
She looks completely surprised. “Why?”
“I haven’t been able to impress anyone lately, no matter what I do,” I tell her honestly. “It’d be nice to remember what that feels like.”
Her gaze softens. But she warns me, “I’m hard to impress.”
Oh, I hope so.
