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Bridget
I wanted to die.
If the floor opened up and swallowed me whole, I’d be the happiest person on earth. Or under earth, as the case would be.
Sadly, I remained in the drawing room with a whiteboard covered with pictures of European bachelors, a stone-faced Rhys, and an oblivious Mikaela.
“It’s the event of the season,” she continued. “The timing is rushed, but Elin’s team is working on it around the clock and invites went out this morning. Dozens of people already RSVP’d yes.” She let out a dreamy sigh. “All those handsome men, all dressed up in one room. I could simply die.”
Yes, the big idea my grandfather had alluded to the other day in his office was a thinly veiled matchmaking gala. I’d protested, horrified at the thought of spending an entire evening—my birthday, no less—making small talk and dancing with over-inflated egos disguised as humans.
I’d been overruled.
Apparently, my twenty-fourth birthday was a good excuse to invite every eligible bachelor in Europe to the party, and it was coming up in a few weeks, which made for perfect timing, even if it was, as Mikaela had said, rushed.
“I didn’t realize you were looking for a husband, Your Highness,” Rhys said so coldly goosebumps erupted on my arms.
The current of electricity running between us froze, turning to ice.
At the same time, indignation kindled in my stomach. He had no right to be angry. He was the one who’d left and insisted on keeping things between us professional after Costa Rica. He couldn’t possibly think he could waltz in here again after six weeks because he changed his mind and expect me to have put my life on hold for him.
“It’s a politics and public image thing,” Mikaela said before I could answer. “Anyway, what were we talking about? Right.” She snapped her fingers. “Lord Rafe and Prince Hans. Never mind about that. Prince Hans ranks higher, of course.” She moved his headshot to the yes side of the board.
“I’ll leave you to it then, Your Highness. I was just checking in.” Rhys’s face shut down, and frustration stabbed at me, joining the cocktail of emotions coursing through my veins—excitement and giddiness at seeing him again, annoyance at his hypocrisy, lingering anger over his initial departure, and a smidge of guilt, even though we weren’t dating, we’d never dated, and I was free to dance with every man in Athenberg if I wanted.
If we do this, it stays here. This room, this night. We don’t talk about it again.
That was his rule, so why did I feel guilty at all?
“Mr. Larsen—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Highness.”
Rhys left.
Before I knew what I was doing, I followed him out the door, my spine hardening with determination.
I would not get drawn into an endless cycle of what-ifs again. I had enough to worry about. If Rhys had a problem, he could tell me to my face.
“Where are you going?” Mikaela called after me. “We still need to figure out the dance order!”
“Ladies’ room,” I said over my shoulder. “I trust you. Order them how you wish.”
I quickened my steps and caught up with Rhys around the corner. “Mr. Larsen.”
This time, he stopped but didn’t turn around.
“The ball was my grandfather’s idea. Not mine.” I didn’t owe him an explanation, but I felt compelled to give one anyway.
“It’s your birthday, princess. You can do whatever you want.”
I set my jaw even as my stomach fluttered at the word princess. “So, you’re okay with me dancing with other men all night?”
Rhys finally turned, those inscrutable gray eyes flickering. “Why wouldn’t I be? It sounds like the perfect solution. You’ll find a nice prince, marry, and rule happily ever after.” A mocking inflection colored his words. “The life of a princess, exactly as it should be.”
Something inside me snapped, just like that.
I was angry. Angry at Nikolai for abdicating and running off to California with Sabrina afterward so they could “take some time” for themselves. Angry at not having control over my life. And most of all, angry at Rhys for turning our reunion into something ugly after we’d been apart for six weeks.
“You’re right,” I said. “It is the perfect solution. I can’t wait. Maybe I’ll do more than dance. Maybe I’ll find someone to kiss and take up to—”
Two seconds later, I found myself pinned to the wall. Rhys’s eyes weren’t flickering anymore. They had darkened, turning gray into near-black thunderclouds like the kind drenched the city in springtime. “Not a good idea to finish that sentence, princess,” he said softly.
I’d provoked him on purpose, but I had to fight a shiver at the danger rolling off him.
“Take your hands off me, Mr. Larsen. We’re not in the U.S. anymore, and you’re overstepping your boundaries.”
Rhys moved in closer, and I struggled to focus when I was so consumed by him. By his scent, his breath on my skin. By memories of lingering looks and stolen laughs and sunsets in a pool halfway across the world.
“Fuck my boundaries.” Every word came out slow and deliberate, like he wanted to etch them into my skin.
“What a first day back on the job. It’s just like old times.” I pressed my back tighter against the wall, trying to escape the searing heat from Rhys’s body. “Why are you here, Mr. Larsen? You were perfectly happy to walk away when I asked you to stay.”
