Page 78 of The Princess Trap
He hesitated on the threshold of the receiving room, suddenly disorientated. But then he felt a soft hand clasp his. He looked down to see Cherry's sparkly pink nails standing out brightly against the back of his hand. Felt the cool bandof his mother’s ring on her finger. Then he looked up and locked eyes with the most formidable woman in the world.
His vision cleared. The ringing in his ears faded away. He clutched her hand and set his jaw and walked into the fucking room.
The door shut behind them with a hollow thud, echoing in Ruben's mind like an omen. The room was quiet, its walnut furniture and ice blue walls creating an impression of calmness that Ruben couldn't buy into. In front of the window, through which bright, winter sunlight streamed, the family sat like something out of an old-fashioned photograph.
The children were on the floor, their skirts arranged neatly around them. Girls, both. And didn't Harald hate it. They betrayed a flash of excitement at Ruben’s appearance before schooling their expressions, bowing their golden heads over some sort of board game.
Above them, settled into various plush sofas, were the adults. Sophronia, dressed as if ready for a debutante's ball in pink silk, a ransom's worth of diamonds glittering over her chest. Harald, his bored gaze on the ceiling, attired in only a velvet smoking jacket and slippers. A mark of disrespect, of course. Ruben had expected it, but not the sharp fury that cut through him at the sight. He was used to this sort of thing.
But he didn't like the idea that Cherry was being disrespected too.
Lydia sat on Harald's right, the only adult of the bunch who was appropriately dressed. Her airy, navy-blue skirts fluffed out about her knees, her hair in a neat bun. Ruben resistedthe urge to smile at her, or at either of his nieces. It would only cause trouble.
“Harald,” he said, his tone dancing on the edge of insolence, as always.
Harald tore his eyes from the ceiling and flicked them over Ruben as dismissively as he would a dust mote beneath the bed. Then Ruben waited, holding his breath, to see what treatment Cherry would receive. He realised in an instant that if it was anything less than she deserved, he might do something ill-advised.
But Harald made an attempt to look enthused as he came to Cherry. He stood, as a gentleman ought, and held out his hands in a gesture that belied the pinched, disdainful look on his face.
Ruben wouldn't hold that against him. It was his natural expression.
“Miss Cherry Neita,” he said, his voice somewhere between surprise and fascination. “Taler du dansk?”
“I'm sorry,” Cherry said. “English is my only language, I'm afraid.” And then she smiled. It was so fucking beautiful, Ruben thought for a second that he might pass out. Her dimples were deep, her ruby lips were lush and full, and her eyes held that indefinable sparkle that said,I know. I really am something. The sparkle that drew people to her like flies.
Harald blinked as if he'd been hit over the head. Sophronia stiffened, sitting up a little straighter. And Lydia, bless her, smiled back, as unaffected as ever.
The children ignored everyone.
Cherry started forward, tugging on Ruben's hand subtly, leading him into the room.
Pull yourself together, man. Good lord.
He kept his eyes on her, as if her brilliance could protect him from the ugliness of this situation. This place. Her outfit was modest, simple—a dress with a low, sweetheart neckline and a skirt shaped like a bell, the ivory bright against her brown skin. And yet, she looked as decadent, as sinful as ever.
She reached the cluster of family and furniture and executed a perfect curtsy, nowhere near low enough to seem outdated, but a little more than the modern head nod. With that same, sunny smile she air-kissed Sophronia's proffered cheek, then Lydia's, then took Harald's hand and lowered her head over it, ever so slightly. Ruben watched, more than a little awe-struck. The rambling, pathetic advice he'd been capable of giving in the car was atrocious. And yet, she had everything right.
“What delightful girls,” she trilled, looking down at the golden heads still focused on the floor. “How very beautiful.” She sounded utterly convincing, as if she could actually see their faces.
“Thank you,” Lydia smiled. Sophronia gave a graceless snort. Clearly, his sister was uncomfortable.
Usually, the title of most beautiful woman in the room went to her.
“Please, sit,” Harald said grandly.
Cherry did, sinking into a free sofa with the kind of grace usually found on the stage. Then she looked up at him withthe sweetest smile, the kind of smile that old, married couples share, and said, “Sit, love.”
He swallowed, and sat.
“How wonderful to meet you,” Harald said, turning on the charm as always. “Tea?"
“Yes, please,” Cherry said, just as charming. So much pleasantness in one room, and all of it false.
Harald didn't ask his wife aloud, or even look at her; Lydia poured the tea automatically, with practiced efficiency. None for Ruben, though. She knew he wouldn't want any.
But then Harald said, “Serve my brother, Lydia.”
Ruben frowned. “You know I don’t—”
