Page 31 of Royally Rivalled

“Fucking hell,” I groaned.

“Don't panic,” Astrid said for my benefit.

“Oh, darling, are you sad you missed out?”

“I am,” Astrid said, “but determined to still wipe the floor with you, Jeremy.”

“Try harder,” he sighed.

I had to admit I would relish watching Astrid embarrass Jeremy. No doubt he’d react poorly and show his true colours. It would turn her off, and she’d stop eye-fucking him. I found the constant giggling and hanging on insufferable.

Niall interjected. “To keep it fair, you each get let's say seven minutes on the piano. Jeremy and Sal, you'll go first. Mary and Jake next, then Parker and Astrid.”

“Mate, that's unfair!” I whinged.

“Nah. It's fine. I am the Tasker. You do my bidding, damn it!”

“Stop, it's fine,” Astrid said. “Come into the garden.”

I started a stopwatch on my mobile to make sure we got our time. Following her out there, I also tried not to stare at her arse in the jeans that lookedsoperfect on her. Damn, she washotwhen competitive. I appreciated a ruthless woman. Any remaining contempt for Astrid became respect as she outlined the song.

“I have a jingle,” she said. “Oh, UBI, won't you just try? It could be pie in the sky or good as pie?”

“It's dorky.”

“We can be campy. I can dance.”

I knew that a pretty girl dancing would probably work.

“Can you play piano?”

“Yes. Not as well as my former teacher wished I could.”

She snickered. “My sister is a fabulous pianist. I know the pain.”

“My sister is, too. She's also a ballerina. It's awful. She's so good at everything.”

“Very, very cool,” Astrid said.

She was beingnice, but it was only because she wanted to win. We could call a truce. I hummed a melody as we plotted out the 15-second song. We settled on something reminiscent of a Twenties flapper tune. It wasn't a terrible idea, even if it was cheesy as fuck. Oh, well, it would do.

We got to the piano, and I played a riff that pleased her enough.

“Don't you want to practice your dance?”

“I'm better when spontaneous. We're golden, mate. Shit, I need a shot. You want a shot?”

I should have said no. “What the hell? Can't hurt.”

We threw back a shot of tequila—something I supposed I'd regret later—and it was time. We were third to go. Jeremy and his partner did okay. It wasn't super compelling. I felt our piece was better. The two art history doctoral students that followed did dreadful. As I suspected, they were no competition despite being artsy. Now, it was our time to shine.

I played the intro, trying to stick to the meter we agreed to—something difficult to do while very pissed. I triednotto focus on my partner's take on the Charleston. She was more entertaining as things wore on. She sang the hook and then, to my utter surprise, did a cartwheel at the end.How did she manage that while drunk?

We were the obvious winners, based on applause alone. Niall stepped forward with a bottle of whisky from his family's distillery.

“This is swill compared to the good aged shit,” he announced, “but with you lot, it might as well be champagne. So, you're welcome. Our winners are... Astrid and Parker.”

Surprisingly, Astrid jumped into my arms, screeching like a schoolgirl. I caught her uncomfortably close and looked at her for a moment. Our eyes locked. I couldn’t focus on anything but her pretty face. I found her smile infectious. Out of nowhere, I wanted to kiss her. The urge was strong, yet I couldn't do it. She pulled away before I could have managed it anyhow.

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