Page 10 of The Cinderella Prince

He shook his head. “If I had to choose, then no. But believe me, I could use a schedule. Most of the time, I feel like I move around, and things just happen to me, taking me from one to the other. Before I know it, it’s bedtime.” He moved to a bench that looked over the Hudson River, and we sat down with a couple of feet of distance between us.

Just an hour ago, we had acted in a very familiar way with one another. It hadn’t bothered me to feel his hand on my chest. It had been the greatest pleasure to run my hands down his muscled arms. Now, outside the small bubble of wild movement of the bar, it felt like we tried for a bit more control.

“What do you do to have your life so organized?” Tristan finally asked. “And how come you’re just passing by?” He lifted one perfect eyebrow to tease me.

Even with the two feet of empty space, I felt his presence. He radiated something beyond heat or any otherphysical thing. It was his spirit that glimmered brightly and made me feel like I sat next to a furnace. “Oh, it’s a family business,” I said in an offhand manner. “I’m not sure I see myself doing this forever. So I’m wandering.”

“How mysterious,” Tristan said, leaning against the back of the bench, his gaze on me like the river and the city beyond it didn’t even exist. They were admittedly dim in comparison with Tristan’s fiery brown eyes.

I bounced the ball back at him. “So, business wasn’t your thing. What is?”

Tristan smiled softly and looked at the starry sky high above us. “I like cooking.”

“Really? I like eating. We’re a perfect match.” The words tumbled over my lips before I could consider their weight. When they were out, I regretted nothing.

Tristan laughed, making all the risks worthwhile. “I might cook for you, then.”

“I would absolutely love that,” I admitted, then asked him what it meant to him that he loved cooking. Was it a hobby? Was it an aspiration?

“I’m not sure,” Tristan said. “Ideally, I see myself having some kind of restaurant, but that might just be another pipe dream.”

“I thought you were more optimistic than that,” I pointed out.

“The risky thing about optimism is that your heart breaks a little harder when things don’t go your way,” Tristan said bravely. “In this, I try to be rational. Starting a business like that is hard enough when you have the capital. But hey, if I get to work in a kitchen that lets me experiment, not just stuff buns with hot dogs,I’ll consider it a success.” He blinked once, his long, dark eyelashes framing his eyes beautifully. “What does your family do, then?”

“Management,” I said, the lie forming in my head instantly. “Brand management of sorts.”

“Like an agency?” Tristan asked.

“Yeah,” I said, my throat tight and mouth bitter from lying. The thing about being a royal was that people treated you differently when they knew who you were. I had met guys who wanted me for whatever influence that would earn them, and I had met guys who were tempted to spit in my face simply for being born into wealth and outdated traditional structures.

Yet I hated the taste of lies on my own tongue.

And I hated that Tristan lived with my lie existing in his brain.

If I tell you now, you’ll never give me another chance, I thought. He would rightfully leave and never look back after spending an entire evening with the version of me I had presented to him.

“Oh boy,” Tristan said in an amused tone, “you really don’t like talking about it, huh? Big trouble?”

I sucked my teeth. “To tell you the truth, they want me to do something that goes against my wishes.”

“Something bad?” Tristan asked.

I nodded. Marrying a woman I could never love and denying her a chance at happiness was not exactly the kind of chivalry people sang about.

“Like brand management for an airline,” Tristan proposed. “Obviously, you can’t tell me the trade secrets.” He touched the bridge of his nose conspiratorially, and I chuckled.

“Very well. It’s like representing an airline,” I agreed. “I don’t dislike this airline, but I don’t see myself, er, married, so to speak, to her. It. Except that my family has a long tradition of taking on clients in this manner. They want me to continue this tradition even if it goes against my instincts.”

“Ah, I see,” Tristan said, nodding carefully. “That’s a real conundrum.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘clusterfuck,’” I supplied helpfully.

Tristan snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Yes. Thank you. You’re in a real clusterfuck.”

“But I’m not here to talk about that,” I said.

Tristan hopped off the bench happily. “Exactly. You’re just passing by. You’re here to forget about the family business troubles.” His smile broadened with each word, his chest rising with bravado. “And I can definitely do something about that.”

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