Finally.
It’d only been six weeks, but it felt like six years.
It was true what people said about not knowing what you had until it was gone.
After the entrance guard cleared me, I checked in with Malthe, the head security chief, then with Silas, the head of the royal household, who informed me I would stay in the palace’s guesthouse. He showed me to the stone cottage, located fifteen minutes from the main building, and rambled on about household rules and protocol until I interrupted him.
“Is Her Highness here?” I stayed at the guesthouse every time I came to Eldorra, and I didn’t need to listen to the whole song and dance again.
Silas heaved a deep sigh. “Yes, Her Highness is in the palace with Lady Mikaela.”
“Where?”
“The second-floor drawing room. She’s not expecting you until tomorrow,” he added pointedly.
“Thank you. I can take it from here.” Translation: Go away.
He let out another huge sigh before leaving.
After he left, I took a quick shower, changed, and headed back to the palace. It took a full half hour for me to reach the drawing room, and my steps slowed when I heard Bridget’s silvery laugh through the doors.
God, I’d missed her laugh. I’d missed everything about her.
I pushed open the doors and stepped inside, my eyes immediately zeroing in on Bridget.
Golden hair. Creamy skin. Grace and sunshine, clad in her favorite yellow dress, which she always wore when she wanted to look professional but relaxed.
She stood in front of a giant whiteboard with what looked like dozens of tiny headshots taped to it. Her friend Mikaela was waving her hands around and speaking animatedly until she noticed me.
“Rhys!” she exclaimed. She was a petite brunette with a head of curly hair, freckles, and an unnervingly perky personality. “Bridget told me you were coming back. It’s so good to see you again!”
I tipped my head in greeting. “Lady Mikaela.”
Bridget turned. Our eyes met, and the breath stole from my lungs. For six weeks, I’d only had the memory of her to cling to, and seeing her in person again was almost overwhelming.
“Mr. Larsen.” Her tone was cool and professional, but a faint tremor ran beneath it.
“Your Highness.”
We stared at each other, our chests rising and falling in sync. Even from halfway across the room, I could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. The tiny beauty mark beneath her left ear. The way her dress hugged her hips like a lover’s caress.
I never thought I’d be jealous of a dress, but here we were.
“You’re just in time.” Mikaela’s voice shattered the spell. “We need a third opinion. Bridget and I can’t agree.”
“On what?” I kept my eyes on Bridget, who remained frozen where she stood.
“What should rank higher when it comes to a romantic partner, intelligence or a sense of humor?”
Bridget’s shoulders stiffened, and I finally dragged my gaze away from her to Mikaela. “Rank?”
“We’re ranking the guests for Bridget’s birthday ball,” Mikaela explained. “Well, I am. She refuses. But there’s going to be so many men there, and she can’t dance with them all. We need to narrow it down. There’s one dance slot left, and I’m torn between Lord Rafe and Prince Hans.” She tapped her pen against her chin. “Then again, Prince Hans is a prince, so maybe he doesn’t need a sense of humor.”
My warmth at seeing Bridget again vanished.
“What,” I said, my voice a full two octaves lower than normal, “are you talking about?”
“Bridget’s birthday ball.” Mikaela beamed. “It’s doubling as a matchmaking event. We’re going to find her a husband!”
23
Bridget
I wanted to die.
If the floor opened up and swallowed me whole, I’d be the happiest person on earth. Or under earth, as the case would be.
Sadly, I remained in the drawing room with a whiteboard covered with pictures of European bachelors, a stone-faced Rhys, and an oblivious Mikaela.
“It’s the event of the season,” she continued. “The timing is rushed, but Elin’s team is working on it around the clock and invites went out this morning. Dozens of people already RSVP’d yes.” She let out a dreamy sigh. “All those handsome men, all dressed up in one room. I could simply die.”
Yes, the big idea my grandfather had alluded to the other day in his office was a thinly veiled matchmaking gala. I’d protested, horrified at the thought of spending an entire evening—my birthday, no less—making small talk and dancing with over-inflated egos disguised as humans.
I’d been overruled.
Apparently, my twenty-fourth birthday was a good excuse to invite every eligible bachelor in Europe to the party, and it was coming up in a few weeks, which made for perfect timing, even if it was, as Mikaela had said, rushed.
“I didn’t realize you were looking for a husband, Your Highness,” Rhys said so coldly goosebumps erupted on my arms.
The current of electricity running between us froze, turning to ice.
At the same time, indignation kindled in my stomach. He had no right to be angry. He was the one who’d left and insisted on keeping things between us professional after Costa Rica. He couldn’t possibly think he could waltz in here again after six weeks because he changed his mind and expect me to have put my life on hold for him.
“It’s a politics and public image thing,” Mikaela said before I could answer. “Anyway, what were we talking about? Right.” She snapped her fingers. “Lord Rafe and Prince Hans. Never mind about that. Prince Hans ranks higher, of course.” She moved his headshot to the yes side of the board.
“I’ll leave you to it then, Your Highness. I was just checking in.” Rhys’s face shut down, and frustration stabbed at me, joining the cocktail of emotions coursing through my veins—excitement and giddiness at seeing him again, annoyance at his hypocrisy, lingering anger over his initial departure, and a smidge of guilt, even though we weren’t dating, we’d never dated, and I was free to dance with every man in Athenberg if I wanted.
If we do this, it stays here. This room, this night. We don’t talk about it again.
That was his rule, so why did I feel guilty at all?
“Mr. Larsen—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Highness.”
Rhys left.
Before I knew what I was doing, I followed him out the door, my spine hardening with determination.
I would not get drawn into an endless cycle of what-ifs again. I had enough to worry about. If Rhys had a problem, he could tell me to my face.
“Where are you going?” Mikaela called after me. “We still need to figure out the dance order!”
“Ladies’ room,” I said over my shoulder. “I trust you. Order them how you wish.”
I quickened my steps and caught up with Rhys around the corner. “Mr. Larsen.”
This time, he stopped but didn’t turn around.
“The ball was my grandfather’s idea. Not mine.” I didn’t owe him an explanation, but I felt compelled to give one anyway.
“It’s your birthday, princess. You can do whatever you want.”