Chapter Twelve
“Are you okay?”Chloe asks me for the fifth time.
I rub my temples. “I’d be better if you’d stop asking me that.”
“I’m only asking because you look like… well, you look like shit warmed over, if I’m being honest. And I figure you want me to be honest today of all days, since you’re about to go on a very public date with the entire country watching your every move in about an hour.”
“Thanks. That’s really helpful, Chloe.”
“I do what I can.”
I want to tell her there’s a good reason for my dreadful appearance. I want to confide in her that the puffy, tear-swollen eyes and black circles are fully justified. I want to point out that she’s lucky I was able to drag myself out of bed at all, after the night I had — which consisted of more sobbing into my pillow than actual sleep.
But, obviously, I can’t do that. Not without telling her who I was sobbing over.
Don’t think about him,I tell myself sternly.Otherwise, you’ll cry again, and she’ll know for sure something is wrong.
Chloe grabs the zippered garment bag off my bed. “Is this what Lady Morose sent over for you to wear?”
“You mean Morrell.”
“Do I, though?” She grins. “Let’s see the goods…”
With a deft tug, she unzips the bag and exposes the long, black turtleneck dress.
“Ahhhh! My eyes!” Chloe dramatically hurls the frock into a corner, then falls to her knees, pressing her palms over her face. “Kill it! Kill it with fire!”
I snort. “Don’t worry. I havenointention of wearing that.”
“Good, because it’s so boxy you could fit three Emilia’s inside and still have room for desert.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “I thought Lady Morose wanted a royal wedding? Doesn’t she know the best way to ensnare an eligible Germanian bachelor is with a tasteful yet sensual amount of side-boob?”
“I wasn’t aware side-boob could be tasteful.”
“Did I say tasteful?” Her head tilts in contemplation. “Maybe I meant trashy… Either way, the effect on men is the same.”
I push to my feet and head for my expansive walk-in closet. “Come on. I need you to help me pick out something to wear. Preferably with a neckline somewhere between thebuttoned-up turtleneckandscandalous side-boobextremes which have been presented thus far.”
Twenty minutes later,there’s a knock on my door — Galizia coming to collect me for my date, no doubt.
“Come in!” I call, giving myself one final glance in the mirror. The combo of a tailored white blazer and black fitted slacks appears classic, but the heeled over-the-knee suede boots and plentiful silver jewelry Chloe’s accessorized me with keeps the outfit from looking too stodgy.
“Just the right amount of cleavage,” my stepsister concurs, staring at my boobs in an evaluative manner. “Right Gali—Oh! You aren’t Galizia.”
I turn to see what she means and feel my eyes widen a shade. There’s a guard standing in my doorway, but he is most definitelynotGalizia. Tall and muscular, he’s got a thick head of chestnut brown hair and gunmetal grey eyes. I’ve seen him on duty around the castle once or twice, but we’ve never spoken.
“Um. Hi,” I say rather dumbly. “Who are you and why are you in my room?”
Spine snapping straight, he salutes me formally. “First Lieutenant Emmett Riggs, Your Highness.”
Chloe whistles wolfishly.
“At ease, soldier,” I say, ignoring her antics. “Is there something I can I help you with?”
“I’m actually hoping I can help you, Princess.”
My brows lift. “Oh?”
He nods. His grey eyes are steady on mine. “I’m wondering, if you’re still looking for willing candidates, you’ll consider taking me on full-time.”