Page 85 of The Princess Trap
“I mean what I said, Miss Neita. You have no idea what is expected of you in terms of appearance, and I do.”
Cherry cast a speaking glance at the racks of subdued, too-small dresses. “I’m expected to show up looking like a Victorian widow? Without the corset?”
Magda swept a look over Cherry’s body. “I thought it best if we drew attentionawayfrom your body type.”
Cherry stiffened. Her patience, already worn thin by the events of the week, was in serious danger of snapping. The consequences, at this stage, could be fatal. If shoving Ana’s straightening iron up Magda’s arse constitutedfatal.
“You know what?” she said tightly, forcing herself to remain calm. “I don’t have to listen to you. You effectively work for me.”
Magda arched a brow. “I work for the crown,” she clipped out. “And I don’t think your future husband wants you to embarrass him at the ball. Do you?”
Herfuture husband?! Cherry opened her mouth to ask who the fuck cared what Ruben thought—but then she realised the implication of the other woman’s tone, the mistaken belief she was clearly labouring under. And she felt herself smile. “Alright,” she said. “Why don’t we ask him, then?”
Magda’s nostrils flared, her jaw set. “Fine. We will.”
And so Cherry stormed out of her private quarters, holding an ugly, grey dress up over her chest, with a tiny harridan bringing up the rear. She had no idea where Ruben was, but thankfully asking a nearby footman—yes, they really had bloodyfootmen—yielded quick results.
Five minutes later, they arrived at Ruben’s makeshift office in a swirl of too-short skirts and competing outrage. Ruben looked up from his desk, his face drawn and tired. For a second, Cherry forgot the reason she’d sought him out. She wanted to go over and massage his shoulders or kiss his forehead or something equally sickening.
Then he rubbed a hand over his face and blinked his tired frown away, looking handsome as always, if a bit subdued. “Cherry. Magda. Is everything alright?”
“Certainly not, Your Highness,” Magda said, before Cherry could get a word in edgeways. “Your betrothed is beingmostdifficult—”
Cherry bristled. “I’mbeing difficult? I sat through your bullshit for days—”
“Your Highness, you know I have extensive experience with—”
“She wants to straighten my hair!”
Ruben held up a hand, cutting them both off. “Hold on. Who’s straightening whose hair?”
Cherry folded her arms. “She wants. To straighten. My hair. So I told her to piss off.”
Magda sucked in an outraged breath. Ruben’s lips twitched, just for a second, before they flattened out into a bland line.
He picked up one of the papers strewn across his desk and said, “I fail to see the problem.”
Cherry’s heart dropped. Then her temper rose. That fucking—
“It’s Cherry’s hair. If she doesn’t want it straightened, that’s that.”
Oh. Cherry unfolded her arms, then grabbed at the front of her dress as it threatened to slide down. She resisted the immature urge to stick her tongue out at Magda. “And another thing! I want different dresses to choose from.”
Ruben shrugged. “Why are you asking me? You know you can have whatever you want.”
“Magdaapparently doesn’t trust my judgement.”
Ruben’s dark gaze pinned Magda with such ferocity, she was surprised the other woman didn’t flinch. “You don’t need to micro-manage my fiancée, Magda. I assure you. Cherry knows how to look good.”
Well. Though it galled her to be there at all, asking Ruben about her damn dresses as if he were her keeper, Cherry decided to press her advantage. “I want a black makeup artist.”
“What?!” Magda shrieked. “How am I supposed to find a new makeup artist in a day? Never mind a…”
Ruben looked up. “They’re not unicorns, Magda. You’re usually very good at your job. Don’t disappoint me now.”
Magda’s tiny nostrils flared like a panting horse’s. But she stretched her thin lips into a smile and said, “Of course, Your Highness. I apologise.”
Ruben gave her a bland look. “I don’t think you need to apologise to me.”
