Page 28 of Prince Charmless
I lean back. “You’re concerned with being brotherly?”
“My life would be easier if I wasn’t, but because he’s my kin, I’m genetically predisposed to care about him.”
A smile peaks through my lips. He’s being all scientific to distract from the fact that he actually loves his little brother. Whatever the word ‘love’ means for Taylor.
“Maybe you could light the place on fire, and everyone will be distracted with that instead of focusing on his absence.”
Taylor crosses his arms. “A distraction,” he mutters. “That’s worked for me before.”
“Huh?”
“Before Julien’s surprise wedding, a story had come out about Tom pulling some strings to come back from deployment early. I thought it was going to be a bigger deal until a certain photo came out, and everyone got distracted.”
“Julien’s wedding wasn’t a surprise,” I remind him. “Wait, you want me to be your fire?” Obviously, Taylor doesn’t understand how presumptuous that is.
“No, not you. Someone else.”
I scan the room. “Who?”
“It could be any woman, really. I probably just have to show up with them, and everyone will forget about Tom.”
Any woman but me? I’m not sure why I’m offended.
Taylor takes out a pot from the cabinet beside my fridge and sets it on the stove.
The Prince knows where all my cookware is.This is all still a little weird.
I lean against the counter and watch him put the shallots, white wine, heavy cream, and some other spices into the pot. “Do you even measure?”
“Sometimes,” he says.
Sometimes?It’d be chaos if I didn’t measure.
“What are you making?”
“Scallops withcrème d’échalote.”
I’m guessing the French part is the sauce he’s cooking.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a scallop. What do they taste like?”
“They’re like shrimp but more...pillowy? You’ll like them.”
He whisks the ingredients together with confidence. I appreciate that he’s answering my questions politely. It’s the minimum, but it’s something.
Taylor turns around and puts his hands on my waist. I go stiff until I realize he’s just moving me aside to get into the utensil drawer. He doesn’t even look at me when he does it, like I’m merely an object in his way. The word ‘excuse me’ must not be in his vocabulary.
Trying to ignore how hot that was, I take a seat behind the counter to give him some space. “Can I ask where you’re getting these groceries from? I know you’re too rich and famous to go shopping.”
“I have a guy.”
“A grocery guy?”
I think the word I’m looking for is provisioner, but I’ve already saidgrocery guyout loud.
“He does other things too. I’m curious about what you eat normally. All you have in your kitchen is sauces.”
“How do you know this is going to work? What if I never come back on the project, and I just use you as my personal chef forever.”
