I beam. “One and the same.”
“And why, pray tell, would you nickname your man meat after a fictional character?”
“You’ve read the book, correct?”
“You know I have.” She gives me a look, reminding me of role playing in her favorite Manhattan bookstore. It feels like a lifetime ago now, instead of mere days.
“Then you’re familiar with his unique ability of coming up with many colorful sayings for penis. So… John Thomas.”
She stares at me for a moment, processing this rather unusual phrase for the male genitalia. Then she bursts out laughing.
“I will never again look at a penis without thinking of John Thomas.”
“I hope you’d think of me first.” I drape my arm around her shoulders, steering her toward my usual spot on the love seat.
“We’ll see.” She winks.
Chapter Thirteen
Anderson
I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so hard. Or heard Nora laugh so much. If I had any worries about her meeting my friends, they vanished instantly. Unlike the less than positive reception she received at the palace, my friends happily accepted Nora with open arms, despite the fact that everyone here holds some sort of title, from Harriet, a duchess, to Marius, a lowly baron. At least that’s how he puts it.
But in this group, titles are irrelevant. It was a pact we all made years ago. One we maintain to this very day.
One I think Nora’s happy to be a part of, as well.
“What did everyone think?” Esme asks, settling into the chair beside Marius as we all sit around the dining room table, bellies stuffed and spirits lifted.
“Horrendous,” Cody jokes. “Absolute rubbish, darling. You shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen ever again. I mean, look around you.” He gestures around the table, not a morsel left on a plate. “Obviously not a single person enjoyed it.”
“Riiight,” she draws out. “That’s the reason you licked your plate clean? Literally? I actually witnessed you licking your plate.” She playfully tsks. “What would your dear old grandfather have to say? That’s certainly not behavior becoming of an earl.”
“Either is running a bookie business, yet here we are.” He winks.
“What did you think, Anders?” Esme turns her attention to me, hopeful, as if my opinion is the only one that truly matters.
After all, I was the first person she used as a test audience when she started experimenting with food. Our grandmother would have a meltdown if she knew Esme once spent her days in the palace’s kitchen while one of the head chefs taught her how to make the various dishes they served. Esme always dreamed of opening her own restaurant, spend her life showering people with love through food.
But because of who we are, that’s not possible.
Instead, she’s resigned to hosting dinner parties for her friends, testing her latest recipes on us. Most people would probably be surprised about Esme’s love for cooking. It’s certainly not a hobby one typically associates with royalty. But we aren’t your typical royals. Probably because this was never supposed to be our lives.
“Exceptional, Esme. Truly some of your best work.”
She beams, a wide smile pulling on her mouth.
“Why don’t you grin like that when I tell you I enjoyed your cooking?” Marius asks, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
She pinches her lips into a tight line. “Because you have to tell me it’s good.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do, mate,” Cody states.
“How do you figure?”
“If you want her cookie, you compliment her cooking,” he retorts.
The room fills with laughter once more, but it’s cut short by the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by heavy footsteps.
“Expecting anyone else?” Marius asks Esme. “Perhaps someone else who wants your…cookie?” He waggles his brows.
“We’re all present and accounted for, darling,” she replies in a singsong voice, the large quantities of liquor she’s consumed throughout the evening evident in her slur. “As is my cookie.”
“Can we all please stop talking about my sister’s cookie, for the love of Christ?” I shoot back playfully, which elicits more laughter. Unfortunately, it dies the instant Creed’s imposing frame steps into the room.
“Your Highness.” He bows toward me.
“Uh-oh.” Esme giggles. “The party police have arrived.”
Creed clenches his jaw, stealing a glance in her direction. His normally stoic and business-like expression flickers when he sees Marius’s arm draped around her.
“Lawson.” Marius nods in greeting.
He’s fully aware of Esme’s history with Creed. Besides me, he’s one of the few people who is. If it bothers him, he’s never let it show. According to her, she’s never agreed to be exclusive with Marius. Then again, she never agreed to be exclusive with any of the other men she dated after Creed, yet every single one of them eventually proposed.
And she turned down every last one.
“Your Highness.” Creed bows toward her before glancing around the table. “Your Graces,” he greets the rest of the party. Then he looks my way. “I apologize for the interruption, but there appears to be a…situation.”
“Situation?” I tighten my arm around Nora’s shoulders as she sits in the chair beside me. I had a feeling something was amiss. Creed wouldn’t crash one of Esme’s parties without a damn good reason.
“I’m still looking into how it happened, but I believe the brief roadblocks we set up earlier may have caused people to grow suspicious.”
“Ya think, Sherlock?” Esme snorts, then hiccups.
I shoot daggers at her, silently berating her to play nice. I know my sister. She’s an emotional drunk. Tomorrow, she’ll regret the way she behaved and will call Creed to apologize, who will tell her it doesn’t matter, tone emotionless. Then she’ll get upset all over again. And the cycle will continue, much like it has over the past ten years.
“Regardless of what caused it,” he bites out through a clenched jaw, his words directed at Esme before his gaze refocuses on me, “there’s a crowd. Paparazzi. Fans. That kind of thing. We’ve got it managed for now, but the sooner we get you out of here, the sooner the crowd will disperse.”
I blow out a breath, my shoulders slumping. I hate to pull Nora away from this slice of normalcy, especially since I know precisely how difficult tomorrow will be. But the longer we stay, the larger the crowd will grow.
“I’m sorry, love,” I say to Nora with a small smile. “So much for giving you a bit of fun tonight.”
“I learned a long time ago to always expect the unexpected with you. Plus, I need to get used to this life. Nothing like jumping right into the fray, correct?”
“You’ll do fine,” Harriet encourages. “Don’t pay attention to the rubbish anyone says. They’re just jealous hags.”
“Thank you.” Nora smiles as she pushes back from the table.
I shoot to standing in order to help her, but after sitting most of the night, my muscles are tight, causing me to waver. Quickly, I place a hand on the table to steady myself.