“I’ve changed my mind about lunch. I think we’ve talked about everything we had to talk about, Mister Guardian,” she says, getting up.
“What good is dressing like a thirty-year-old woman if your behavior is closer to that of a five-year-old?”
“The outfit was a joke. I wanted to see if it would improve the bad vibes after that incident on Vicenzzo’s yacht, but you and good humor walk in opposite directions.”
“Let’s be crystal clear, princess. I’m doing your brother a favor, but we don’t have to be friends. Do your part, Your Highness, and I’ll do mine.”
“And what’s your part? Being unbearable? Congratulations, mission accomplished. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“I won’t.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the waiters flee the room, probably afraid they’ll become collateral damage.
“All the worse for you,Your Grace[20], because I’m leaving.”
I could stop her with a single nod, signal the bodyguards to block her exit. But Jazmina is not a prisoner, and I’m certainly not her jailer. Still, I’ll stay alert to keep her from doing something she’ll regret for the rest of her life.
While the driver heads back to my office, I call the head of her personal security.
The whole “teach me how to approach a man” thing refuses to leave my mind. I could call Kaled, of course, but some strange sense of loyalty toward that lunatic girl stops me.
Putting myself in her shoes, it must be hell to reach twenty-one after being watched every second of your life. Not that I intend to do anything differently. After all, that’s exactly why Kaled dumped this delightful mission on me: to stop her from doing stupid shit. But I’ll at least give her room to breathe.
“Yes, Mr. MacQuoid?” the man answers.
“I want double attention on every step Her Highness, Princess Faheem, takes. I’m to be notified about anyone who approaches her.”
“Are you referring to men?”
“No, both sexes.”
“It will be done, sir.”
I hang up, already knowing the next call will bore me to death, not because of the man, but because of the subject. Still, the clock is ticking, and there’s nothing to be done.
“Rodrick, I was wondering how much longer you’d stall before calling me.”
“You’re using slang now?”
“I like to stay updated.”
After the clashes of our early years, Athol, my father’s main attorney, who became my guardian after Dad’s death, turned into, aside from my friends, the only person I consider real family. He’s the one who knows everything about my past, as he’s been around since right before the tragedy.
Distant uncles and cousins I barely speak to don’t count. Blood means nothing. Loyalty does. And the man on this call has plenty of it.
In the worst moment of my life—and there were many—he stayed by my side. Even after I reached adulthood and took possession of everything that was mine, he stayed.
His steady presence, I admit now, kept me from falling apart completely. My mind was fucked when my father killed himself. Maybe it still is. But the calm and patience with which Athol handled me probably realigned my head just enough that I didn’t turn into an even bigger bastard than I am.
“You’re calling about the selection?”
“There is no final choice yet, and you know that very well.”
“But there will be. Otherwise, you can kiss your ducal title goodbye. Your grandfather would be devastated if the MacQuoid duchy ceased to exist.”
My jaw tightens. Nothing irritates me more than being manipulated, and that’s exactly what my grandfather did. Still does, from beyond the grave.
“I already said I’ll agree to one of the candidates, as long as my terms are clear. I don’t want a real wife, just someone to fill a position. She’ll be free to have her own sex life, and I’ll have mine. No children, obviously, because I don’t intend to touch my spouse. She’ll receive properties and a generous allowance for the rest of her life. And she must be discreet with her lovers, or the contract is void.”