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My rage grows hotter, even more so when a flurry of whispers breaks out from the tables around us. Fire laces my palms, begging to be unleashed. How dare he be so presumptuous!
I feel pressure on my fingers and realize Albert is still holding my hand. I meet his eyes and feel as if a lock has sprung open in my mind. All my buried instincts flood me at once, turning my stiff arms loose, my posture easy. Flinging my other hand across the table to meet my other, I gather Albert’s palm between both of mine. Leaning forward, I arch my back slightly and lift my chest, letting the cut of my bodice do all the rest of the work to put my cleavage on display. In a few subtle shifts of my bearing, I now look the part of a woman who is positively infatuated with the man sitting across from her.
“Mr. Vance, have you met my fiancé, Prince Albert?” My voice is airy as I speak, my eyes trained on the prince all the while, as if I can’t bear to look away from him for even a moment. “We’re getting married in two weeks.”
“That’s right,” Albert says, turning his gaze to Mr. Vance. “So you must forgive my future bride for not having any time for new clients.”
I hazard a glance at Mr. Vance to find his face has gone beet red. “I’m hardly a new client. Miss Fairfield has been working for my wife for months.”
I’m about to remind him that his wife dissolved our working relationship, but Albert speaks first.
“And you’ll have to forgive me for not wanting to share my fiancée’s attention with any other man tonight. Thank you for introducing yourself and for your warm wishes over our upcoming nuptials.” Then, with a dismissive wave that makes him seem every inch the privileged prince he must have been hiding all along, he returns his full attention to me.
Mr. Vance and I are both robbed of words, but after a few tense beats of silence, our interloper storms off.
Whispers surround us once more. For the love of the All of All, rumors will fly about what just occurred. If not carried by our fellow diners, then certainly by the reporter. But will I be shown in a positive light? Or a negative one?
“Ignore them,” Albert says. “We won that round.”
The way he sayswe,like we’re truly a team, sends my heart skittering. Is this what it feels like to be in a romantic partnership? Like it’s two against the world? I remind myself this is all pretend. He’s only doing what I asked him to do.
Regardless, some of the ire I’ve held against him softens. Perhaps there’s more than one side to the prince than the liquor-addled lush the scandal sheets presented. He hasn’t ceased being a shameless flirt, but if he can manage to only flirt with me and not every female in existence…well, this might just work.
“You called that man Mr. Vance,” Albert says, rousing me from my thoughts. “Is he Howard Vance of Vance Industries?”
“Yes,” I say. I’m surprised he knows the name, considering he’s a prince from another country. The Vances may be an elite family here, but I doubt they matter much to Brettonish royalty. Then again, I suppose Vance Industries has made a name for itself through whatever it is they manufacture, and this marriage alliance is all about improving trade.
Albert takes up his wine glass with his free hand and downs a long drink. “I didn’t take you as someone who associates with crime bosses.”
I pull my head back. “Crime bosses? What do you mean?”
“Vance Industries got its start as a front for the opium trade, did it not? I suppose they’re a legitimate business now, but that wasn’t always the case.”
I open my mouth but don’t know what to say. Opium trade? While I know opium dens exist in Faerwyvae, there are plenty of substances made from special fae fruits on the isle that offer similar intoxicating effects for a fraction of the consequences. Not all, of course. There are an equal number of fae fruits that will kill a human with a single bite, but those plants are heavily protected and regulated. Still, the Vances are a well-respected family. They couldn’t have gotten their start by having ties to organized crime, could they?
No, of course not. Besides, how would Albert know about it? He’s only been here a handful of days, while this has been my home for decades.
“Are those the kinds of stories they tell in Bretton about the isle?” I ask. “I expected sordid tales of vicious beasts, changelings, and soul-sucking monsters.”
“Oh, we get plenty of those stories too. In fact, I expected you to have wings, gills, and fangs.” He sets down his wineglass and brings his hand in front of his lips, miming curved fangs with his fingers.
I snort a laugh. “Did no one tell you I’m only a quarter fae?”
“A quarter fae and one hundred percent beautiful? Nope. No one said a damn thing to warn me about you.” He winks, and it makes my belly tighten.
My eyes fall to our hands still clasped together at the center of the table. All at once, I release his palm and straighten in my seat. My body feels hot and cold at the same time, my cheeks flushed, my palms tingling, my chest filled with ice.
He frowns and slowly pulls his hand back to his side of the table. “Did I say something wrong?” he whispers.
It takes no small effort to sort through my words. “I…I’m still not used to your flatteries, that’s all.” While it’s true, I’m not sure that’s the real problem. I think I’m more worried over the chance that genuine attraction could be behind his compliments. Or—at the very least—rakish lust. And I very well can’t have that.
“You did well,” he says, flashing his dimples with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I think we have them convinced for now.”
I sneak a glance around and find no scandalized faces looking back at us. A few peek our way, but most look mildly intrigued. Envious, at worst. Relief uncoils inside me, but it’s short-lived. Our meal hasn’t even been served yet.
“Best of all,” he says, eyeing me from over the rim of his wineglass, “I finally got to hear you laugh.”
8
