Page 6 of Royal Player
“Me too,” I say. It’s probably biblical times over there—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A chastity belt for every young maiden.
“Not that the virgin thing would’ve applied to us, being male,” Lucas says, pouring himself a brandy. “It’s not like they can tell when a guy is a virgin.”
I grimace. “Do they check that kind of thing for her?”
“They must,” Lucas says. “Otherwise, why would a free spirit like Polly abide by it?”
Fuck me, this is bad. Now I can’t spend any time with her. I’ve never had such an intense reaction just from meeting a woman. She’s clearly not into casual relationships, and I’m not the marrying type. Besides, now that I have a chance to be important to my kingdom, all of my focus and time is going to be spent here on Villroy, diving into this casino venture.
Adrian exhales sharply. “Now I’m going to be thinking about it every time I see her. You shouldn’t have told us.”
Lucas locks eyes with me. “I only told you to warn Oscar off.”
“Why me?” I fire back. I couldn’t have been that obvious. I am the king of laid-back when it comes to women. They chase me, not the other way round.
Lucas jolts, clutches his chest, and then staggers dazedly.
Adrian laughs. “That’s exactly what you looked like!”
Lucas grins. “Hate to say it, Oscar, but you looked like you got zapped with the electric pussy whip the moment she entered the room.”
They snicker.
Zapped with the electric pussy whip?I blink, surprised at how close he is. It did feel like a zap. Lightning strike. Never pussy whipped.Deny, deny, deny.
“Fuck you. I did not look like that. I twisted toward the door when she came in, and my knee gave me some trouble.”
“Ri-i-i-ght,” Lucas drawls.
“It did,” I snap.
“Looked more like his underwear got suddenly tight,” Adrian says to Lucas, his voice going high at the end there. They snicker some more.
“Shut it.” I down the rest of the brandy, but it does nothing to dull the truth—lightning struck for me, finally, and it was for the wrong woman.
Chapter Three
Polly
“You’ll be with me in the delivery room, right?” Anna asks later that day.
“Um…” I work hard to hide my extreme alarm at the idea. I thought when Anna invited me for the birth, I’d be showing up after the horror show had passed, offering a cheery congratulations. She actually wants me to witness her pushing a huge head out of a tiny opening in an extremely sensitive area? I cross my own legs in sympathy. “I’ve never been at an actual birth. I’m not sure how helpful I would be.”
She signals for her maid to give us privacy. We’re in the sitting room of her spacious suite, finishing a relaxing afternoon tea. The air is scented with lavender. Very peaceful. We’re sitting at a round table with cushioned chairs next to a large window with a view of the sea. The far side of the room has a cushy beige sofa across from a fireplace with a flat-screen TV above it. Her suite is much homier than my own suite back in Beaumont, which is formal and done in antiques that have been passed down for generations. I haven’t lived at home in years, just for summers and holidays. I should make it homey for me now that my time to become queen draws near.
I try not to fidget as Anna studies me with determination in her eyes the moment her maid shuts the door behind her. Geez, I just got here and now she wants to invite me to her nether regions. I mean, we’re close, but there is a line. Right? There should be a line. I break out in a cold sweat.
She leans forward across the table as much as a woman with a foot of baby in front of her can. “Gabriel insists I go to a hospital in Paris, and I know he’ll be ordering everyone around and forgetting to hold my hand and feed me ice chips. That’s where you come in. Besides, you speak French.”
Beaumont was originally a French colony, so French is the official language there. I learned English when I was nine the hard way—starting school in the US. Marge’s first language is English, which is partly why she accompanied me. Her strictness is the main reason. She was so helpful with my early difficulties adjusting to the US. Later, I became annoyed with having a babysitter, and now I’ve come to truly respect and appreciate her.
“You said you’ve been working with a French tutor,” I say, grasping at straws. “Besides, the doctor likely speaks English, and Gabriel says he’s the best doctor in the world. And you said that Gabriel is the best, most loving, supportive husband ever.”
Her brown eyes narrow. “Chicken.”
I stiffen. “I am not.”
She purses her lips. “Didn’t used to be. The Polly I know is fearless.”
