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She rolls her eyes in annoyance.
“Well, if I did, surely you see now how right I was.”
I wish I could argue with that, but I’ve been fighting this battle all day. First with Percy, then with myself. I don’t think I have the energy to lie to myself anymore.
Sadly enough, I just might have to admit it. My mother was right—Percy and I aren’t going to live happily ever after.
“Well, no need to look so glum, Anton. In fact, I have a surprise for you.”
Oh shit.
This can’t be good.
“Right this way,” she says, heading for the door.
I follow close behind, absolutely fucking dreading whatever’s about to come. I can’t even imagine what she’s got up her sleeve, but I’m absolutely positive I’m going to hate it.
She saunters to a large set of doors. If I remember right, they lead to a sitting room.
“Now don’t get upset, Anton, but I think we both knew this was going to happen.”
“Mother—”
“Don’t interrupt. I know you’re unhappy about the wedding, but given its failure, I’m sure you can appreciate that it’s really come time for you to be practical.”
“In what way?”
She actually smiles as she twists the door knob, the solid wood door swinging easily inward.
“Ladies,” she says, “may I present my son, Anton Lanteri, Crown Prince of Menage.”
I can’t fucking believe my eyes.
Just when I thought I’d seen all her tricks, she steps it up a notch.
Sitting around the room, dressed in gowns of seemingly every shade, is a fucking buffet of women.
Tall, short, thin, curvy, every type under the sun.
They stand in unison, each of them turning toward me with a grin.
My mother leans in close, drawing my eyes back to her.
“All princesses,” she says. “Each of them looking to wed someone of their station. You’ve had your fun, Anton, and look what a mess that turned into.”
She turns back toward her room without allowing me a chance to answer.
“Time to settle down,” she shoots over her shoulder.
I’m not sure whether to run after her or turn and flee in the other direction. I hesitate on the decision just a moment too long, my would-be-princesses flooding around me in a rush.
“Prince Anton,” one coos.
“Your Highness,” another chimes in.
All of them bow graciously, beginning to speak all at once. Their voices mix quickly into a jumbled chorus of polite tones.
“Very nice to meet you all,” I announce, just a bit too loud to be polite.
