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The king shot a bewildered look at Matteo, who seemed rather cheery, given the tenor of their conversation.
“Your Majesty,” Cara said, “I think it’s important that we not jump ahead. It’s Friday. Let’s take the weekend to see how things play out. You speak to the princess and the duke and Frau Müller. I’ll touch base with my people. Then let’s regroup on Monday, shall we? Nothing existential is going to happen between now and Monday.”
“Yes, yes. You’re right, of course.” He walked over to a small bar cart in the corner. “I think it’s time for a drink.”
Cara sighed internally. She didn’t want to have a drink. Well, she didn’t want to have a drink here, with the king. She wouldn’t mind having a drink with Matteo, in his apartment. Her curiosity about what kind of space Matteo would call home had been building all day. And she could practically see the opening credits ofInto Darkness.
Matteo stood and murmured his goodbyes to the king, who waved absently from where he was pouring something from a crystal decanter. Cara laughed to herself. Here she was assuming the king was inviting them to stay for a drink when really he was dismissing them.
They were free!
They didn’t speak until they emerged from the palace. She could sort of see now why Matteo had chosen to live in one of the outbuildings. Working for the king was intense.
“How do you think that went?” she asked as their feet crunched on the snow. “I thought he would have a more extreme reaction.”
“He’s still processing. That bewildered face he made initially was his processing face.” He slowed his pace and turned to her. “You’re still up for dinner and Star Trek?”
She’d been thinking of little else all day. But she managed a casual, “Oh, yeah, sure.” She followed him across the grounds and toward the building he’d pointed out before. “Is there really a sleigh in here?”
“There really is.” He led her to a row of windows. Following his lead, she peered in, and sure enough there was an enormous red sleigh in there.
“The ones in the village are newer. This is an antique. It was built for the king’s mother when she was a girl. We can take it out tomorrow if you like.” He paused. “Since we seem to have ended up with the weekend off.”
“Oh, I—” She wanted to do that. She’d been about to reflexively decline, but shereallywanted to do that.
“If in fact you meant it about there being nothing to do regarding Noar and Morneau this weekend,” he said in a rush. “Probably you did not. Probably you’re very busy regardless.”
“No, I did mean it.” It was her turn to pause. “And I would love a sleigh ride.” There were the sleighs in the village he’d referenced, but suddenly she wanted Matteo specifically to take her. Would he be as good at driving sleighs as he was at driving cars? Would his hands on the reins be as stupidly attractive as his hands on a steering wheel? She feared they would.
“It’s a date,” he said.
It’s a date.He probably didn’t mean that the way her American ears heard it. She followed him around the back of the building and up a set of exterior stairs that led to a heavy wooden door with a small, tasteful brass nameplate that saidM Benz.
“Here we are.”
He gestured her in ahead of him, and she let loose an involuntary “Ooh.” He lived in a loft. It was huge, and the walls were exposed brick, except for a few sections that had been drywalled and were covered with art. And not fussy old-fashioned art like you’d think the tradition-obsessed equerry would favor. No oil paintings of old-fashioned people, like he’d shown her in the portrait gallery so long ago. These were interesting modern pieces—some paintings, some photographs.
On one end of the large space was a small, open kitchen with a floating breakfast bar. On the other was a sleeping area with a bed tucked into an alcove. It was immaculately made with the same sort of plain-but-posh linens she’d encountered in the palace, and its frame was made of dark, elaborately carved wood.
“Come in, sit,” he said, making her realize that while he hadtaken off his boots and hung his coat, she’d been standing in the entryway gaping at his apartment.
“This place isamazing,” she said by way of explanation. “I can’t stop looking at it.”
“Thank you. I’m fond of it.” He led her to the sitting area, which floated in the middle of the space and was demarcated by an enormous area rug and flanked on one side by a brick chimney that rose through the center of the loft. There was another huge piece of art hanging on the chimney, an abstract geometrical thing that was, perhaps counterintuitively, set in an ornate gold frame. That frame wouldn’t have been out of place in the palace portrait gallery, but the painting was stark and modern. The juxtaposition was so cool.
Oh, no, wait. It was a TV disguised as art! He had picked up a remote and aimed it at the painting, which was replaced with a smart TV menu. “Wow,” she said, which made her feel like an unsophisticated country mouse, but she couldn’t help it. In fact, she said it again. “Wow.”
“I am not a fan of the TV-as-altar look,” Matteo said with a smile. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes, please.”
He handed her the remote. “Pick what you like.” From the kitchen, he called, “I have some of Imogen’s pumpkin stout. Or wine? I have scotch, too, but I don’t believe that’s your thing.”
“A glass of wine would be great, thanks.”
He came back with two glasses of wine, handed her one, and lifted his. “To hard things done.”
“Well said. And to not having to do any more of them for a couple days.”
