Page 117 of Prince Charmless
He snorts. “I’m not going—”
“I’m serious. Antoine’s a suck-up. If someone is poisoning you, they’re not in your best interest. Can you switch to vaping at least? If you’re going to have a nicotine addiction, at least have one in the twenty-first century.”
He looks at me over his glasses. “Do I look like someone who would use those things?”
“So you’re smoking to look cool?” I run both hands through my hair. “Like a teenager?”
“Is this why you’re here, Taylor?” he asks more seriously. “For the cigarettes?”
“The lengths your staff goes to please you are ridiculous.”
He sets aside the papers he was reading on a coffee table. “This is about Melina,” he infers. “I’ve never asked them to seek out any information that isn’t in a lawful manner.”
“I’m not saying you’re intentionally encouraging that kind of behavior, but I don’t think you’re actively discouraging it either.You’rethe boss. It’syourstaff. It’syourresponsibility.”
“You’re right.”
I look around to make sure I haven’t fallen into another dimension. “I’m what?”
“You’re right,” he repeats. “If the press found out someone is fishing for private information on the monarchy’s behalf, it’d be a horrible story. I’ll make it a point to be more careful.”
The press didn’t even cross my mind. I’m seeing this more from the perspective of a decent human being. Whatever keeps him to it, I guess.
“Can you apologize to her?” I ask.
I need this to be fixed ASAP. I’m tired of being lethargic, and I’m running out of flour.
He scoffs. “Is she really that upset?”
“She hasn’t texted me back. You scared her with princess-talk when we’ve only been seeing each other for two months.” I give him a tight smile. “Next time, you should bring up her fertility.”
Melina and I haven’t discussed the future. I was going to see if she even likes me first. Obviously, I’d answer her questions if she has them, but I’m waiting until she’s comfortable asking.
“She ghosted you,” Dad concurs.
“What? No.”
“You told me that when someone avoids you, it’s called ghosting.”
“It’s great that you’re trying to expand your vocabulary, but she’s not avoiding me, she’s just, uh, thinking.” Hopefully.
My father stands and wipes the biscuit crumbs off his shirt. “She was eavesdropping on a conversation she shouldn’t have been.”
“Did it ever occur to you that not everyone would want to marry into a family like ours?”
“Of course,” he says. “Your mother turned me down the first time I proposed.”
“Really?” I laugh because I had no idea about this. “That’s embarrassing.”
Dad doesn’t look amused. “And then she changed her mind and proposed to me, thank you very much.”
That’s very progressive of her, especially for the medieval times or whenever they got engaged.
“I completely botched it the first time, too,” he says, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the reflection, I’m reminded of how much we look alike. “I didn’t even plan anything. Just went down on one knee in the middle of our little house.”
“Which little house?” I figured, besides the Navy, he lived at Clément Manor his whole life, just as I’m fated to until crowned.
“A year into dating, your mother and I wanted to live together, but moving her into Clément Manor was too soon, and we couldn’t get a place for just us without the press assuming we were going steady. So we moved into the guesthouse on the Thibeaux estate where Julien’s mother and her friend had been residing. If you live with others, the press will call her a roommate and not a girlfriend. It was nice, actually. She always felt a little intimidated at the manor when we were first together. Back then, Mother was still unsure of her. The guesthouse was like neutral ground. And she always said she liked meen réalité.” He smiles in a way so pure it would break my heart if it weren’t made of granite. “I’llconsiderapologizing,” he says, his nostalgic beam dropping back to a glower. “But only because I think she’s good for you. She seems very—” He waves a hand in search of the word. “Argumentative. And frankly, we’re all hoping this thing sticks.”
