Page 9 of Prelude To You

The slightest detour from my assigned purpose in life was swiftly corrected with the harsh discipline the finest schools in the world could provide.

If anyone were to ask me what I wanted in life, I’d probably say for the empire to flourish under my guidance. Even if there were moments, however short-lived, when I wondered if there wasn’t more to life than that.

In any event, since I was in town, I decided to pop into the only store I ever visited. With everything going online, it was one of the last independent bookstores around, and for me a sanctuary of sorts. My occasional visits were a welcome distraction, providing a bit of noncommittal human contact, without actually speaking to anyone.

I doubt most people would understand that, because their lives gave them the luxury to interact with those around them, without suspicion or fear. But being heir to an empire, I was wary of those who sought to befriend me, their reasons for doing so, almost always implausible.

The inevitable result was a solitary life with no close connection to anyone in the outside world. But even I wasn’timmune to the need to be around people now and again. The board members didn’t count. They didn’t indulge in social calls; for them, it was all about money. So I valued my occasional visits to the bookshop.

The store attendants were acquainted with me, and for the most part left me alone. I sat in my usual spot on a couch in the back, and settled down with the book Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari, which I’d read a couple of times.

The book explored the three major influences in human cultures: religions, money, and empires. Terribly exciting stuff, I know. But that was the scope of my reality, and what I felt comfortable indulging in when time allowed.

My focus was staunch, and I had the ability to shut out everything around me and focus solely on whatever I was reading or working on at the moment. But something prompted me to look up from my reading. What that something was, I couldn’t say, but it was a weird sensation that broke my concentration.

And then I saw her. A slender, incandescent beauty with a mane of wavy golden-brown hair. She wafted into the store. each step a graceful triumph, as though her feet never touched the ground. There was no doubt in my mind that she was a dancer.

Not even the ugly, oversized coat could detract from her charms. I had to admit I was captivated.

For a moment, she turned on her heel to look at something, and I couldn’t help but stare. Her hair framed a heart-shaped face, her big eyes accentuating high cheekbones and full lips that seemed permanently settled in a small pout. She appeared completely oblivious to just how stunning she really was.

I forced myself to return to my book, but my concentration was short-lived. When I looked up again, she was standing with her nose against the locked glass cabinet that contained first-edition antique books. I couldn’t help but wonder which book deserved that longing stare and deep sigh.

And when the glass door unexpectedly popped open, I smiled at her small victory. Someone had left the door unlocked.

She looked around furtively, which indicated she knew what she was about to do wasn’t exactly protocol. I felt myself rooting for her, thinking she deserved whatever it was she coveted in that should-have-been-locked glass cabinet. She carefully pulled out a huge brown book. I was too far away to see the title, but it was clearly something very dear to her.

A moment later, she waltzed around the corner and took a seat on a small chair. The entire time she handled the book with the utmost care, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Surprised would be one way to describe my reaction when she plucked a bottle of champagne from her bag and placed it on the floor beside her. Even at a distance, I could see from the shape of the label that it was Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle champagne. The Dancer had expensive tastes, which contradicted her entire devil-may-care appearance.

I felt myself grinning at this unexpected scenario, and was admittedly intrigued—a rare thing for me. Very few things fascinated me, least of all a strange woman wandering around a bookshop, completely ignoring the rules which bound us to society, and it to us.

The Dancer dug through her bag and finally came up with a ragged piece of paper and a pen. Now I was really curious about that book, but I also knew it was her business. And captivated though I was, I had no right to eye-stalk her like this. But I kept open the possibility that I might want to take a peek at this magical creature, now and again.

I’d just managed to get back into my own book when angry voices filtered into my hearing. My head snapped up and I sawa store attendant confronting The Dancer. And she didn’t take it kindly. Even from where I sat, I could see she was vibrating with fury.

Presumably the argument was about the champagne bottle, and when she tipped it upside down to show it was empty, I had to smile. Her audacity was astounding. Then the attendant tried to pull the book from her hands. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the attendant was being a complete dolt.

It was time for me to get closer, in case I needed to step in and save the damsel in distress.

When I was a few feet away, the argument reached a pivotal point. The scoundrel called security and wrenched the book from The Dancer’s hands. And of course, that’s when she brutally introduced him to his shitty reality.

“Listen, you sad little loser, do you have any idea who you’re dealing with here?” the nymph of ire spat out. “Do you?No, you don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t stand there messing with me and making an even bigger fool of yourself.”

How did anyone manage to utter those damning words with such eloquence? In that husky voice of hers, it was like a symphony to my ears. And at that very moment I became no longer merely intrigued, but fully invested in whatever was taking place here.

The Dancer wasn’t going down without a fight, and even with two security men glaring at her, she didn’t run. She stood there, daring them to do something, anything. I’d seen enough, and walked up behind her.

“Did you find what you were looking for, my sweet?” I said with as much conviction as possible. She spun around with a blazing expression, and her visage took my breath. She was even more exquisite close-up. Which gave me a moment’s pause.

The way she tilted her head to reveal that slender, graceful neck, as if she were suspended in a dance step. Her skin wassilk, and those big eyes were the color of dark emeralds, framed by long dark lashes. I was willing to bet a fortune that her eyes became shimmering gems in daylight. And if the eyes were windows to the soul, hers was a soul that took no prisoners.

Her refined nose flared a bit when she was breathless, which she appeared to be now. And then there was her full rosebud of a mouth, a peaked cupid’s bow crowning her upper lip. Those lips were a deep soft pink, which I imagined the color of her nipples to be.

What the fuck was happening to me?

A strange woman in a bookshop had me speculating about the color of her nipples and making me hard. That was a level of low I’d not anticipated at any point in my life. I urgently tried to separate myself from the surge of impure thoughts enthusiastically gathering in my mind.

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