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Flashing her a canned smile, I drink my coffee.
“And the wedding?” she asks. “There will be a proper wedding, I trust?”
“Yes, in summer.”
“Lovely! But already, you’re the wife of the dashing emissary, a marchioness, and soon a duchess. It’s the stuff dreams are made of, isn’t it?”
Not mine.Mine are made of cold cases, overlooked clues, posthumous acquittals, and public apologies.
Forcing a smile, I nod. “Cinderella pales next to my fairy tale.”
“She secured a prince’s proposal, though,” Felicia points out with a wink.
“Better a duke in the hand than a prince in the bush.”
She gasps at my comeback and then bursts out laughing.
* * *
It’sthe coolest fitness center I’ve ever seen. Granted,I haven’t seen many. But this one, albeit not very big, seems to have a nifty machine for nearly every muscle in the human anatomy. In addition to the machines there’s a wide variety of barbells and free weights, which Louis is using now for bicep curls, flexing his strong arms with the single-minded focus of a surgeon.
I don’t think he’s seen me come in.
He looks less dandy than usual, sweat beading his face and soaking his T-shirt. Its thin, wet cotton hugs the bulges of his biceps and clings to the hard ridges of his abdomen. His joggers helpfully offer a view of his firm, tantalizing ass.
Dandy or not, the “hotness quotient” I witness is high above the clouds, orbiting with the satellites.
But I’m solid.I have my feet firmly on the ground, a brain not easily given to self-delusion, and a vow to keep me from getting hurt.
Rudy spots me first. He hops off the treadmill, drenched in sweat and smiling his big smile. The AC here must be superefficient, because the air smells fresh despite two men having spent over an hour working out like they’ve never been in a gym before.
“I’m done in,” Rudy declares, heading for the exit. “Have a good practice, my lady! Angie and I will be cheering for you tomorrow.”
Louis returns his dumbbells to the rack. “I’m going to wash up and put on a clean tee.”
“I should’ve brought a book,” I say.
“Give me ten minutes, tops.” He pulls a folded-up T-shirt from his sports bag. “I was all fresh and ready twenty minutes ago, but when you didn’t show up, I decided to squeeze in a few more sets.”
“Princess Felicia paid me a visit.”
“Ah. She had some questions, I imagine. As did you.”
I give him a thumbs-up.
“You’ll tell me later.” He points at a bench. “You could do some sit-ups and leg lifts to strengthen the core in the meantime.”
As he beelines to the showers, I call out, “What are we going to do, exactly?”
The screech of the door opening and closing is my answer.
Ten minutes later, he sweeps in, fresh and nice smelling, while I’m panting on the bench with my legs up.
I climb off the torture device.
He thrusts a bottle of mineral water into my hands. “Let me explain the competition rules first.”
I drink thirstily.
