Page 41 of The Dandelion Princess
“Marc.” Alix tilts her face up and I answer her summons, kissing the cheek she presents. “Don’t ask how much it cost.”
“I won’t,” I answer, bumping her shoulder with my shoulder, “but,jagi, did the platformshaveto be engineered so precisely? They’re only going to have to come right down.”
Alix fidgets, shifting her balance from one foot to another. “When you have a minute, I have this brilliant idea.”
“All your ideas are brilliant.” Ella. I brush a hand over my arm when she walks through the gate. “But I think your brother is clutching his bank balance.”
I should be immune to seeing her in a hoodie and jeans by now. Bored with it. Instead, the sight of her releases a sharp kernel of frustration that rolls under my skin, demanding my attention.
“This is dreamy,” she pronounces, eyes lighting on Alix’s elaborate preparations. At the look on her face, accountancy flies out of my head.
“See? It’s dreamy.” Alix elbows me.
I rub the spot and Ella points to the new construction. “You had this planned to the last nail. Who else is coming?”
“No one special.” Alix smiles widely and squeezes my arm. “I might slap on a little more eyeliner if I were you.”
Ella sends me a look. “Isn’t this a camp-out?”
Alix tucks her arm into Ella’s elbow. “Yes, dearest, but you should always be prepared to meet your fate. I love this,” she says of the hoodie and jeans, “but it’s giving s’mores when it could be giving, ‘Meet me in the woods.’” She waves a hand at the small wilderness beyond the wall.
Ella rolls her eyes. “For the love of Erasmus’s cap, you’re not matchmaking, are you? I refuse to make out with a groomsman on the grounds of your ancestral home.”
Good. Good for Ella. She has a sound mind. I will devote the next hour to picking out a supportive GIF.
“He’s not a—” Alix shakes her head, sounding affronted and sisterly. “I’m just asking if you brought a cute top.” I never knew what a dirty liar she was until this moment.
“I’m dressed for a campout,” Ella shoots back, shouldering her overnight bag.
Alix directs Ella to her quarters and I watch her go. Too jealous. Too hungry.
Ella climbs the shallow steps to her tent and I can’t look away, no matter how much I want to. I make one last bid to resist temptation. “I could use tonight to work,” I murmur. “I’m not in your wedding party—”
“You’re the one walking me down the aisle,” Alix counters, tripping away. “Don’t be stupid.”
I grip my bag and take a breath.Don’t be stupid.
At dusk, guests begin to trickle in, fires are lit, and I’m dragged into an unserious game ofstikubb. When Ella launches her baton into a fountain, I stand at her shoulder, modeling an easy swing. “Like this,” I say, straightening her wrist, taking mytime. I try to ignore that my heart is beating like I’m one of those software engineers with a dating profile that reads, “I own thirty-three snakes.”
“Ella,” Alix calls, her voice slicing through the soft evening air. She stands alongside Mikkel Dorsgard, king of the Sondish screen. He’s framed in the arched gate, his hair ruffling in the breeze, comically photogenic. “I found you a friend. Come say hello.”
Ella’s voice is so low I hardly hear the murderous threat. She gives me a tight smile and drops the baton on my foot before jogging to Alix’s side. He’s not her type. This is my refuge.
Then he kisses her hand and I feel a direct, uncomplicated emotion, mostly in my fists.
When the night grows dark, we gather around the largest bonfire, dragging chairs from the shadows in a loose circle. Alix starts a Seongan drinking game which gets ever more ridiculous and, when a row of empty bottles have been lined up on the edge of the fountain, she hands Ella an old school photo. I lean over to see a snapshot of several Saint Sissela girls dressed up for a dance, posing like supermodels.
“You took this picture,” Ella says, glancing up at me, a soft dimple tucking her cheek. “You threatened to cut off Alix’s allowance when we wouldn’t stop laughing.”
Mikkel crowds her other side. Would it delay his next shoot if we got in a fist fight? In the event of a lawsuit, Han Heyden would suffer. “What is money for?”Ammalikes to ask.
“Look at the youthful passion in your eyes,” he says.
“That’s not passion,” she scoffs, passing the photo around the circle. “That’s cheap mascara.”
Alix crashes into them from behind, wrapping her arms over both their shoulders so that they look like a couple. My sister lifts her chin and says, with the firm resolution of the slightly drunk, “Let’s play hide and seek.”
13
