Page 59 of The Dandelion Princess
“It’s got the best access to the main road. It has a gentle slope and good drainage, even if the electricity will be a beast to route around the orchard, and, if you position the stage just right, Lindenholm will be lit up in the background.” It’s like she’s been crawling around in my own head for the last week. “Oh,” she digs in her purse. “I gotVrouwTiele to give me the name of aformer palace secretary who is looking to do part time work in the private sector. She can help with advance work.”
She slides a card across the table and I place it in a pocket. We’re back to pretending that things between us are normal, but it feels like a wild stag is charging around the cafe tables and our only protection is that we’re not making eye contact with it.
“Thanks,” I tell her.
“You told me that you like it when everyone wins.” She twirls her hand, spooling out an imaginary bow. I want to catch it. Kiss the tips of her fingers.
I hold her gaze until Lev Kepler lopes by in rough, oversized denim with a model as slim as a scarf draped under his arm. Piano music plays from an open window, mixing with the sound of birdsong and distant traffic.
“You have too much going on this summer,” Ella says. “The wedding. BLUSH. Have you made any progress with the wearable electronics people?”
How does she have the bandwidth to remember my problems? The stag is sniffing loudly, shaking his mighty head, and his rack of antlers threatens to sweep away the cutlery in a clatter.Dominanstid, I can’t look away from her mouth. “We’ll sign by the end of the month.”
Her fingertips run along the glass, tracing watery patterns. “I should start a consultancy business, getting landedadelout of hereditary inheritances. You can be my first client. I’ll have you hand off the title to Cousin Eckhart and negotiate to keep a suite at Lindenholm so you can throw yourself at Han Heyden full-time. Think about it.”
I grip my glass. I’ve been drowning in work. I barely have time to hear myself think. And when it does…Ella. “I have a duty to my family.”
The light in her laughing eyes fades. “Duty is for suckers.”
My gaze takes in the tamed curls, the stand-up collar with the tiny ruffle, and the sober-colored skirt. Ella looks like an electric current crackling through an insulated wire, but, as long as she holds perfectly still, you might forget how dangerous she is. “Your brand messaging points to a different conclusion.”
“It’s a means to an end.” Her smile is back. “I only have to turn myself into a dish of plain Pankedruss for another year, long enough for my family to settle down. If I survive the ordeal with my personality intact—”
“That’s not funny,” I bite out.
“It’s a little funny,” Ella counters. She rubs her arm against a sudden gust of wind. “Jang Mi is scheduled to start filming a drama next year. There’s already talk about how much chemistry she has with her co-star.”
I inhale a deep breath. “I don’t care what happens with her co-star. I’m not dating Jang Mi. I don’t want to date Jang Mi.”
Ella shades her eyes, a dark shadow slanting across rosy lips. I know the taste of them, and the longer I watch her, the louder my pulse sounds in my ears.
No matter how steep and narrow the track my ancestors have set before me, I’ve climbed it, keeping my father’s wildness penned up. But sitting this close to Ella, I feel his reckless blood seep into my system, drop by poisonous drop.
The trace of wildness becomes a trickle and I close my eyes for a brief moment, trying to collect myself. I should get out of here. I have work to do and can’t afford to waste my time. She’ll understand.
I open my eyes to find that the trickle has become a rivulet. Idiot. I know the way she kisses—willing, sweet, stealing my breath. Ella takes a pull from her straw and a flood crashes through my veins, knocking my resolutions aside likestikubbpins.
Forgive me, ancestors.
“We have to go,” I say, dragging her to her feet and through the maze of tables. No one notices a pair of old family friends, even when they’re holding hands.
“Where—?”
We cross the threshold of the club, stepping into the long, tiled lobby that stretches to the front doors. Beyond the brilliant rectangles of light, there are paparazzi, waiting for something to happen so they can splash it across every news outlet in Sondmark. Too public. I glance at the shallow, richly-carpeted stairs, leading to the private suites.No.My brain shouts the command.Tooprivate.
I urge her into the lounge with a hand to the small of her back, burning up the last of my self-control to keep it from wandering. The interior is dark, the brass fittings gleaming with a rich, dull finish, and near the bar, a few older members gather to talk about monetary policy. I propel Ella past them, beyond the potted plants and the scattering of chairs and tables.
I think of the football game I attended with Noah, full of noise and confusion, the players diving with false injuries to win an advantage. At the end, we hunched over Affelworst and beer in some pub as Oskar patiently explained our national obsession to a baseball-loving Jacob. “Here it is. Here’s the one rule.” My translation was crisp. “Football is what you can get away with.”
Noah isn’t here to tell me what the rules are. I steer Ella toward a shadowy alcove at the back where dim light reflects off a black marble tabletop, and deposit her on the leather banquette.
I follow after her, sliding along the high curved back. “We need to talk.”
“So shoot me a text,” she says, brow knitted as she scoots down the bench. She thinks I want room. I catch her wrist and drag her into my arms, brushing her lips with the pad of my thumb.
Ella takes a shocked breath and presses her palms against my suit jacket. “Marc, you said you didn’t want—”
“Forget what I said.”
