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“How good are your skating skills?” Louis asks me.
“They’re excellent,” I say with pride. “From age twelve to fifteen I lived with foster parents who were tour skating buffs. We practiced snow or sunshine for three long winters.”
“Tour skating on natural ice is very different from what you’ll try today,” Louis says. “I suggest you hold onto a training aid or my arm until you adjust.”
I give him a once-over. “I don’t need an aid, nor do I need your arm, thank you very much!”
“You’ll regret your hubris, my lady.”
Tipping my head backward, I guffaw and keep howling until I’m out of wind.
“I wasn’t joking,” he says.
I wipe my eyes. “No? Then how shall we qualify when someone like you warns someone like me to keep my hubris in check?”
“Let’s make a wager,” he says in lieu of a reply.
“What wager?”
“Next Saturday, after I’m officially accredited by France, MINDFUCH will host a reception for ambassadors and top-level diplomatic staff.”
I slant a suspicious look at him. “Go on.”
“I want you to wear a formfitting gown and new glasses, both chosen by me.”
“In your dreams, pirate!”
Oh, crap.This is the first time either of us has alluded to the evening after the Wife-Carrying Contest. Louis and I have a tacit agreement that the episode was a mistake, a one-off to never be repeated. So far we’ve acted like it simply never happened.And it was working!It’s a powerful mental trick that I’ve been using for years with remarkable success regarding my birth parents. I never talk or think about them. As a result, I have the impression they never existed. And one can’t be abandoned by people who don’t exist.
Louis smothers a smile. “If I’m right about your overconfidence and you end up doing some ice gliding on your bottom this afternoon, you’ll wear the gown and the glasses.”
“And if you’re wrong? Will you wear whatever I ask you to wear to that reception?”
“No way.”
Is he afraid I’ll have him dress like a clown?
“All right, then,” I say. “If I don’t land on my butt, then in addition to the three other dukes, you’ll talk to your grandfather again when we’re in Arrago for Easter. You’ll beg him to reveal what he knows.”
“But he said—”
“He’s hiding something,” I interrupt him. “I’m prepared to bet all the coins I won at the Wife-Carrying Contest on it!”
To my surprise, he nods. “Your terms are acceptable.”
We’re out of the traffic jam now and rolling swiftly down a wide avenue with majestic limestone buildings on either side.
I watch them for a while and then turn to Louis. “About that formfitting gown. I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Leaning toward me, he whispers in my ear, “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t let me see your body. I felt it. You have curves but no flab. You can, and you will, wear a formfitting dress.”
Oh, dear, now he brings up our sexy episode!Why would he do that? Is it because he’s completely over it, or because it haunts him, fresh and vivid in his mind… like it is in mine?
I lean sideways to murmur back, “You’ll have to win the bet first.”
“I count on you to help me.”
Cheeky devil!
