Page 34 of The Heir's Bargain

Chapter 8

DANI

"More wine, Your Highness?" the storekeeper's assistant, Lorallye, asked as I tugged the slip down my hips behind a thin curtain.

Since arriving at the royal family's preferred boutique, Everly's, I had tried on at least a half dozen dresses. The first was an ivory dress with long billowing sleeves that tangled around my limbs every time I moved. The second was an equally pretty, emerald green dress with a deep dip at the chest. I couldn't quite remember the third one, or the fourth, for that matter. All of them were equally beautiful and elegant as the last, yet none felt right.

I had seen the dresses Fynn's former partners had worn when they had attended functions with him. They were all extravagant and classy and fit them perfectly. Meanwhile, all the dresses I tried on felt like I was putting makeup on an armored soldier. Ridiculous.

Gripping the tulle in my hands, I tugged again, the fabric finally releasing me and pooling at my feet in a heap. I groaned, loud and very un-royal.

"Why not?" Fynn said from the waiting room. "We might be here for a while, Lorallye."

I groaned, tossing the frilly gown onto the mountain of tulle, satin, and taffeta in the corner.

"I'll grab another bottle, Your Highness," the woman whispered.

"Thank you, Lorallye," Fynn said, and I could hear the wink in his voice. "Oh, and could you grab some of those little butter cookies? You know, the ones dipped in chocolate that they sell across the street?"

"Of course, Your Highness!" Lorallye said, her voice rising three octaves.

"Of course, Your Highness," I mouthed at the curtain, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

Since we walked into the boutique, Lorallye had been fawning over Fynn. Her pale pink cheeks grew pinker with every passing interaction between them.

It was both comical and appalling.

As Lorallye's quick steps disappeared in the distance, there was shuffling on the other side of the curtain, followed by slow, approaching footsteps.

"Cookies?" I hissed as I stepped into the next dress. "Really, Fynn?"

"What? I'm hungry."

"You're ridiculous."

"Or I simply wanted some time to talk to you before tonight. It'll take her a minute to grab them from the bakery since Kade fancies her. She'll be busy for at least a few minutes."

I sighed. "You didn't have to take me here."

Something thumped against the adjoining wall as if Fynn had leaned his head against it. "So you've said, but I'm not very good at listening."

"Well, at this rate, we're going to be late," I mumbled, fumbling with the ribbons at the back of the dress.

Fynn hummed. "Which means less time for small talk before the performance starts. You should be overjoyed."

While Fynn might have had a point, being late was not my preference. In my experience, being late only meant more eyes would be on you. Between the dresses and the anxiety spinning in my stomach and up my throat, I was already working up a sweat.

"Perhaps, but"—I stretched, my fingers straining to grab the ribbons—"you know how I feel about being late."

"Oh, I know."

With a frustrated groan, I ripped open the curtain and spun around. "A little help?"

"Huh?"

"The ribbons, Fynn," I hissed, the bottom of my hair dampening from the sweat coating my neck. "I can't reach them, and since you sent Lorallye away. . ."

"Hmm. But the rules state that I can only touch you when necessary."

---