“Eventually isn’t good enough, and lies and manipulation aren’t the way to get through to people. Especially me.”
“But you’re doing the same thing,” Jeffrey counters. “You’re pretending to be someone you’re not.”
“It’s not the same thing,” I say, ignoring the prickling of my conscience. “Not even close.”
“And what if she’s pretending to save you and Elizabeth from a miserable marriage? Isn’t that more admirable than eating like a pig or jumping out of a helicopter and putting your life at risk because you can’t own up to what you want?”
I prop my hands on my hips, my eyes narrowing. “I can own up to what I want. I want out of the betrothal without breaking my promise to Grandfather, and I’m clear on exactly how far I’ll go to make that happen. And just because you’re scared of helicopters doesn’t mean my life was ever at risk.”
“I’m not scared of helicopters, and jumping out of them is absolutely dangerous. Look at the statistics. You’re going to be king in less than a month, Drew. You’re not a kid anymore. It’s time you started thinking about the consequences of your actions.”
His words sting, but I force a smartass smile. “Oh, please. I don’t know what you’re bellyaching about, Jeffrey. Last time I checked, you were next in the line. You’ll make out okay if I’m chopped up by helicopter blades.”
His eyes darken with anger, making it clear I’ve gone too far.
But so has he, and I’m not about to apologize for my choices. I’ve always put my country and my obligations to my family first. If I didn’t, I would have called off the engagement a long time ago.
“Fine.” The muscle in his jaw is tensing into a knot. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Wonderful. I appreciate your help,” I call after him as he spins on his heel and strides from the room.
And then I’m alone, the way I fucking like it, with two whole hours to kill before I have to meet Sabrina/Elizabeth for dance lessons in the gazebo. And I don’t want to call down to her room and ask if she wants to go over these plans for the veteran’s home renovation with me at all. Not even a little bit.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair.
I have to get to the bottom of this. Soon. Before I do something really stupid like get attached to a woman I’ll have no choice but to tell goodbye.
Chapter Sixteen
Sabrina
It’s a beautiful day for revenge.
The sun is shining, and a cool, rose-and-herb-scented breeze wafts across the lawn as I make my way to the gazebo, carrying my high-heeled reception shoes in a velvet bag Greta thoughtfully supplied to keep them from getting scuffed before the wedding.
But of course, there probably won’t be a wedding.
Even if I manage to hold up my end of things until Lizzy gets here on the morning of the nuptials, there’s a very real chance Andrew will call it off before then.
So many things could go wrong.
Most obviously, there’s the chance he’ll figure out I’m not Elizabeth, lose his shit, and send me packing. But thanks to that stupid kiss, there’s also a chance he’ll want to kiss me again, get his feelings hurt when I refuse to repeat our lip-lock, and jump ship on the engagement before he ends up married to a woman who doesn’t like making out with him.
He seems to want Lizzy to be the one to call things off, but if the situation becomes sufficiently dire, I can’t imagine he’ll go through with the wedding.
Marrying a woman who stutters and refuses to speak on national television is one thing; marrying a woman who has no interest in banging you is quite another.
And I get that. I do.
I wouldn’t want to marry a man who wasn’t interested in an intimate relationship, and I’m far less sex-motivated than most men, especially a playboy prince who has a reputation for doing very well with the ladies. But I refuse to kiss my sister’s future husband again. I don’t care that she doesn’t mind. I mind. And if Andrew ever found out the truth, I’m sure he would mind, too.
Maybe I can fake a head cold.
Or pretend I want to wait until our wedding day so our second kiss will be really special.
Or maybe Andrew will decide waltzing with a woman who is as much of a disaster at dancing as he’s pretending to be at eating is all the excuse he needs to bail.
If I were putting caution first, I would set aside the urge to seek vengeance, behave myself, and let Andrew and Lizzy sort this all out once they’re married.
Lizzy isn’t a big social eater, anyway. So even if Andrew isn’t faking his atrocious manners, it might not be a big deal to her.
Or maybe she can get Eduardo to give those etiquette lessons I tried to schedule with Greta. I’m ninety percent certain Andrew is the one who arranged for Eduardo to suddenly be called out of the country on a diplomatic mission, heading my manners sneak-attack off at the pass, but he can’t keep Eduardo in Portugal forever. Sooner or later, the etiquette expert will come home, and Lizzy will be able to trap Andrew into a lesson or two—if she wants to bother.
At the end of the day, none of this is my business, and the more detached I can remain, the better.
I’ve nearly convinced myself to let it go when I spot a glob of partially chewed sausage from this morning’s breakfast with Andrew on Lizzy’s blue satin dress, and my good intentions evaporate. The man is so passive-aggressive that he would rather spit food on his fiancée than have an honest discussion about his reluctance to enter into an arranged marriage.
He deserves a taste of his own medicine, and what better way to keep kissing off his radar than by ensuring our dance lessons are as miserable for him as every meal has been for me?
Spotting the back of Andrew’s artfully mussed hair above the railing surrounding the gazebo, my lips curve into a hard smile.
Oh, yeah. It’s on.
I climb the stairs to the gazebo platform, pulse leaping at the sight of Andrew in a white dress shirt open at the top and perfectly tailored black suit pants. He’s still off-limits and a sneaky rat, but damn, he’s beautiful.
And the smile that lights his face as he turns my way…
I’m sure he grins that wicked, sparkly-eyed grin for other girls, but so far, I’ve only seen it when he looks at me. His family and employees don’t get that grin. That grin is mine, and I can’t help but love it a little.
But I’m still going to do my best to wipe it off his face.
It’s time for some good, old-fashioned petty justice.
I return his smile as I toe off my flats and step into my heels.
“Princess! So lovely! You’re a vision, darling.” Our dance teacher, a toned older woman with jet black hair at odds with her lightly wrinkled face, strides across the gazebo, taking my hands in hers and drawing my arms out to my sides. She smiles, nodding as she gives me a once-over and clucks her tongue in approval. “Yes, yes, yes, this will do very well. You are perfect for our Andrew. Not too tall, not too short. Just right. I am Madame Beatrice, and this is our time together. Let us make the most of it!” She reaches for Andrew, motioning him in as she continues in an accent I can’t quite place. “There, now, into position, and I’ll start the music for the waltz!”