Page 37 of The Princess Trap
She arched a brow, expecting more, but that was all she’d get from him. After a moment, she clearly realised that, because she gave a little shrug. It was the tiniest lift of her shoulders, her gaze flat, as if she’d barely cared at all. So cool he almost forgot the hint of panic in her voice just minutes ago.
She didn’t want to be alone with him. Why?
“Well,” Demi said. Hacking away at the awkwardness again and again, bless her. “As I said, I’m sure you’ll get to know each other.ButI thought we could cover the basics and make sure everyone is on board with the plan!”
Hans groaned, dramatically, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Plans, alwaysplanswith you, woman.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, all chirpiness gone. “Youdon’t have to be here, you know.”
“Good.” Slapping his hands on the table, Hans heaved himself out of the wooden dining chair. It creaked slightly, freed of his vast weight. “Ruben, you know where to find me.” Then he turned a winning smile on Cherry. Or rather, a close-lipped grimace, which was his best effort. “Ms. Neita.”
She gave Hans the dimples. Ruben was now convinced that she was flaunting them at everyone but him, purely to piss him off. It was working.
“Hans,” she murmured, her voice all whiskey and honey, rich and raw and sweet. “Call me Cherry.”
Ruben tried not to think unreasonable thoughts. Still, images of punching his best friend in the gut assailed him. When had he become the jealous type? And over a fake fiancée who could barely stand him?
Hans strode from the room, leaving Ruben, Demetria and Cherry behind. Poor Demi. Her smile was melting away like plastic left on the hob.
But still, she tried. “So you’ll need to get the basics down—background, interests, and so on. A backstory that we can all agree on, you know, when and where you met. And—”
“Demi,” Ruben interrupted. He was talking without thinking again, but he was too tired to care. He needed a shave and a platter of bacon before he could have this sort of conversation. “You should go and do... whatever it is you’re doing today.”
She blinked. “But—”
“It’s fine. You have plans. Cherry and I can muddle along.” He looked at the sheets of paper trapped in her capable hands. “You made lists, I assume?”
“Oh, yes,” she admitted, looking down as if she’d forgotten they were there. “But—”
“We’ll follow the list,” he said, “and report back later. Promise.”
She released a long-suffering sigh. It was a familiar sound. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Mother.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. If you insist.” She slid the papers over the table at him before giving Cherry a nod. “You have a phone in your room. You can call me at the house if you need anything—anything at all. Just press ‘02’.”
“Thank you,” Cherry said, and she really did look grateful. Because she was in a strange house, in a foreign country, with a man she barely knew and didn’t trust, and he should have thought this through, shouldn’t he? Why didn’t he think anything through?
The thought shimmered, twisted, transformed in his mind, reborn with his brother’s voice and his sister’s quiet spite.Do you have half a brain in that head, Ruben? Does the peasant part even function, little brother?
“See you later!”
He blinked back to reality just in time to see Demi leave. Which meant that he and Cherry were alone. Utterly alone. Well; except for Agathe’s singing, floating down the hall from the kitchen. He held on to that hoarse, wavering voice like a talisman.Pull yourself together.
“So,” he said, scanning the papers. And now he sounded like Demi. “We have the, ah... the list. Basics, background, things like that.” He looked up. Cherry was sitting directly opposite him, her arms folded under her breasts, looking at him from beneath her long, long lashes. If it weren’t for the hard line of her mouth, she might look seductive.
Ruben gave his head a firm shake. If he couldn’t stop thinking about her like this, they’d never get anywhere.
“So,” he began. “How long have we been together?”
She shrugged. “Up to you.”
“You’re sure? You don’t have a preference? Something you’d like to tell your parents?”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “It matters so much that I tell my parents the mosttastefullie possible. Ireallygive a shit.”
He bit back a smile. “Point taken.”
