Page 7 of Learning to Love

I start to make my way toward the front of the room, stepping over the bodies in varying positions. Despite the fact they are supposed to be in silent contemplation, whenever I place a foot down near any of them, they rear up like cats protecting their territory. I'm pretty confident I can even hear a couple of hisses as I walk past. The looks I'm given are like daggers being plunged into my body.Aren't devotees of yoga supposed to be peace-loving hippies?I suspect if any of these people had knives, they'd be embedded in me right now.

When I reach the front, I stand close to where Elodie sits in a meditation pose. She doesn't move at all—it's like she doesn't know I'm here. I fold my arms across my chest and cough. She doesn't make any movement, nor even attempt to open her eyes.

I cough again, vigorously.

Elodie doesn't open her eyes but reaches out to her side and points to a device lying on the floor next to her, a little clock counting down. It looks like there are still five minutes left.

I glance back at Hinchbootie, and he shakes his head. He's obviously been told he's not going to get a word out of anyone until the timer is finished.

Fine!

Two can play that game.

I lower myself down to the floor directly in front of Elodie and cross my legs like she has. I place my hands, palms facing upward, on my thighs and half-close my eyes. Then, I wait. Less than a minute later, Elodie opens one of her eyes. She sees me sitting in front of her and angry frown lines appear across her forehead. She takes a deep breath in and closes her eye again.

For the next few minutes, we sit in silence. I'm hoping the timer was right, and there are only five minutes of this boredom left. I want to do some exercise.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity during which my mind wanders between what I had for breakfast, a speech I need to write, and quick glances at the woman with angry lines on her forehead, a bell sounds from the timer—it's soft but echoes around the room. Elodie opens her eyes and glares fully at me now.

"Class, once you’ve stretched out from your meditation, please get into partners and practice backbends while I'll deal with the intruders into our peace," Elodie instructs as she gets to her feet and motions me toward the side of the room where there appears to be a small office area.

I follow her, turning back to look at the class one more time. All of them glare and hiss at me.Damn, yoga lovers at Serendipity really don’t seem all that relaxed and happy.

"What can I do for you?" Elodie asks me curtly when we’re out of earshot of the others.

"You can tell me what you’re doing here? I believe you were informed that this studio was off-limits during my stay," I reply, my own tone laced with anger.

"I was, but I chose to ignore your demands. You don't own this place, and you're a prick with a silver spoon shoved so far up your ass you don’t know the meaning of politeness." Elodie delivers her damning assessment of my character with the poise of a ballet dancer—she doesn't flounder as she fires each insult directly against me.

"Interesting," I respond, trying not to burst into laughter.

It's cute watching the little firebird stand up to me. I don't think I've ever had a woman do that before. They usually just fall at my feet, generally with their legs open, waiting for me to fuck them.

"It’s a fact, Your Highness. Whether it is interesting or not, doesn't matter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a class to get back to."

Elodie tries to push past me, but I grab her arm gently and stop her from going.

"This isn't over yet. I may be a prick and the rest, but I'm the person paying to use this studio as my gym. You need to leave at once," I order.

"I'll do no such thing. I'll shortly be finishing my class and coming back later for another one. Your equipment is outside, and you seem to have a lot of people around you who like to do your bidding—get them to move the equipment to another location of your choosing and exercise there. This one is off-limits for the foreseeable future, even if I have to sit in the middle of the room until you disappear back to your small little principality with illusions of grandeur. This is America, and you're nothing here. You're not even a Prince Harry or Prince William from the British royal family. Now, I might be willing to give up my studio for them because they do have manners." Elodie tugs her arm away from me, returns to her position at the front of the class, and resumes her lesson.

My blood boils, but I can't tell whether it's from the fury of her disobeying me or the excitement that she actually rebelled. I'm pretty sure it's the latter when Hinchbootie strides over to me with puffed out cheeks, angry at the slight that’s been shown to a leading member of the royal family he's served for so long. Plus, he's not the biggest fan of the British royal family—something to do with the corgis apparently.

"Shall I have the manager informed and the police called?" he questions, his phone already in his hand, ready to call them.

I don't immediately answer. I spend a few seconds looking at Elodie and back at the group of people she's teaching. It’s only then I begin to understand her reason for doing this in the first place. I realize the truth for the first time, and it shocks me.

"Your Highness?" Hinchbootie nudges me for an answer.

"No, don't call the manager. Have Miss Nash escorted to my apartments. I want to speak to her further."

"Sir?" The personal secretary raises his eyebrow at me with a skeptical look.

"It's all right—it's nothing like that."

"Good."

Hinchbootie makes his way over to Elodie and bends over to speak to her.

---