Page 39 of The Midnight Princess
“Let a man have his hot chocolate,” I say, commandeering a booth. I may not have enjoyed being hauled off to Europe when I was a kid, but it has its points. Here, you can get thick bittersweet chocolate served in an atmosphere of marble and glass, brass fixtures, and rich wallpaper. It’s almost a religious experience.
I inhale the aroma before taking a sip. “All right, Alma. You win.”
Alma’s brow lifts, and I raise the porcelain cup, full of thick chocolate and topped with a dollop of whipped cream. “Appearances matter.” I grin into my cup. “If I ordered hot chocolate in Blackberry, the waitress would bring me a mug of hot water and a packet she smacked twice on the counter to get the powder to settle.”
Alma resists the urge to gloat, instead tearing off a piece of croissant and popping it into her mouth. “You don’t look like a hot chocolate man.”
I lean back in the booth and lift my shoulder. “I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
11
Grumpy Cinderella
ALMA
Cocoa-dusted whipped cream kisses his lower lip. I brush my mouth to signal him but he furrows his brow in confusion. I touch my mouth again and his eyes shift to my lips, lingering on them. A flush, brought on by simple sugars and concentrated Italian caffeine, rises up my neck.
“You have a spot of—” I tap my mouth.
“Ah,” he says. A row of even white teeth pluck at the lip, rolling them until it’s gone. “Did I get it?”
I nod, wiping my hands. My whole soul gropes blindly for a copy ofTimeless Manners for the Modern Royal.
The problem that has lurked and hovered in the shadows for the last weeks has returned. Mama taught me to shine a bright light on any difficulty, but I’ve hesitated, afraid of what I’ll see.
“Dragons shrink when you face them,” she used to say. “You just have to be brave enough to do it.” Such were the bedtime stories of Queen Helena.
I can’t wait any longer. I have to look at it while it’s small enough to be vanquished.
The truth is…stultes es. Think it, Alma.
The truth is that the problem is bigger than a kiss. Whenever I’m around Jacob, the peaceful horizon I could once count on begins to tilt. When he smiles or grumps or even breathes near me, I feel myself slip off my axis. I clench my hands under the table.
The way to solve this problem is to exhibit more control. That’s what Mama would say. I school my expression. I don’t let myself look at him. I breathe ordinary color back into my cheeks. I think about how out of place he would be at a royal banquet and how it’s my job to fix his manners.
The dragon withdraws to the shadows.
“When eating in public—” I begin.
The bell over the door jangles, and a lavender-haired girl with elaborate make-up and a massive pink hair bow bursts through the door, her cell phone mounted on the end of a selfie stick. “No line,” she crows, spinning with her back to the display case.
Vede.
I flinch and Jacob covers my hand.What?
My eyes widen.Danger.
It’s a Pixy influencer. We see these people at royal engagements—have learned to lean in for selfies or smile politely as a phone is thrust into our faces. Panic brushes my spine. I promised the head of palace security that I wouldn’t get out of the car—promised him with the earnest heart of a princess who knows the stakes—but here I am with no security detail in the company of the secret crown prince of Vorburg.
So?Jacob gives a half shrug.
Do you know how big the international incident is that I’m about to cause?
Stultes es.Stultes ES.This is what comes of improvising. I imagine Mama laying into me at a family meeting. “Great are the misfortunes of the House of Wolffe to have such princesses,” she’ll say.
Though the influencer is prattling on in Sondish, her purpose must be clear, even to Jacob. “The Warm Kiss,” she enunciates in English, providing a translation of the name of the establishment. If it’s bad to be caught, it’s worse to be caught trying not to be caught. I have to get out of here, but I’m frozen.
Jacob squeezes my hand. “Stay on my left,” he whispers. He gives me a pointed look, collects the box of pastries, holding it near his head, and hauls me to my feet, enveloping me in the smell of earthy aftershave and aged leather.
