Page 121 of Prince Charmless
I raise a brow. “Is it something I’m going to like?”
“Maybe.” David looks out the window. He doesn’t care if I’m going to like it. “Some months ago, my mother and I had a chat with that Thibeaux boy. She’d been getting a little worried about Taylor’s frivolity towards his future. We’d given Julien the job of, how do I say this—” He puts both hands on his desk. “Pushing my son in the right direction. He suggested his wedding might be a place for Taylor to meet an eligible bachelorette.”
“Eligible bachelorette,” I parrot. “Likeme, eligible bachelorette?”
“Yes, you were one of his suggestions. Actually, I think she found your profile the most interesting. That or she was just generally curious about what a computer programmer is.”
It’s bizarre how he talks about the Queen as if she’s a mom and not an ethereal being who only emerges on Christmas to make a festive speech. Even Taylor seems to consider her more boss than grandma.
“So both you and the, uh,your motherknew of me before we even met?” Moreover, they thought,that Ramirez girl, she seems like she could be princess material.This whole time, I thought marriage was completely preposterous, yet they were hoping it would happen from the start. “Did Taylor know about this?”
He shakes his head. “We figured he’d reject the idea. What’s funny is that Julien told me a week later that it was a match made in hell. He was planning on pushing in another direction. I don’t know what happened, but here we are.”
I look to the bust of Queen Agnès in the corner of the office, deciding if I should bang my gavel and deem this information creepy. “Yeah. Very funny,” I say blandly.
He looks to the bust and then to me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Breaching your trust so soon is something I deeply regret. If you don’t forgive me, that’s fine, but if not for me, then for Taylor.”David opens a desk drawer and pulls out a biscuit tin. “I’m afraid he may be going insane.” When he opens the container, I expect there to be biscuits inside, but instead, they’re macarons. Homemade and what looks to be pistachio-flavored macarons.
I point to them. “Has he been—”
“It seems so.”
Jesus Christ.
David nudges the container toward me. This is how I was finessed the first time. It was over after one forkful of chicken piccata.
I reach in, find the best-looking macaron, and bite into half of it, gracefully cupping my hand underneath my chin to catch crumbs. I close my eyes and savor its sweetness, butteriness, pistachioness.
When I swallow, David smiles in a way like I’ve never seen him before, yet the expression itself is one that’s very familiar to me. It’s the smile I saw on my parents’ faces when I graduated from college, the smile that was on my brother’s when he bought his own art studio. A smile full of unbridled hope for the future.
“Well?” he prods.
He already knows my answer. And it’s not an answer that’s spontaneous or commonsensical. It’s an answer that’s certain. Certain of the uncertain.
“It’s delicious.”
39
Taylor
Alex Lam bursts into my office. Usually, he knocks. Not that I’d care to be interrupted. The letter the ornithology society sent me isn’t the sexiest document I’ve ever read. Apparently, there’s this rare ugly finch that really likes St. Claire’s shitty weather and I’m supposed to give the bird people money to save it from extinction.
Alex pants like he’s just been running.
“Why are you sweaty?”
“She’s here,” he makes out.
I feel the color drain from my face. “Right now?” I never see my grandmother unless it’s a planned visit.
He takes a breath. “Nother,” he clarifies. “Melina. I wasn’t sure if you knew. I mean, I didn’t know, so I’m guessing you didn’t kn—”
“Where?”And why?
“Your father’s office.”He must’ve run from the other side of the palace.“So you had no idea? Must be a secret meeting. They’re probably talking about you.”
Two things could be happening. Either Dad’s done what I asked and he’s apologizing or Melina’s locked in a closet and my father won’t let her out until she agrees to marry me.
I rise from my chair.
