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George wouldn’t pull her hair and command her to go down on her knees.
“Tell me more about your country,” George said, smiling and handing her a glass of wine. He’d filled it a quarter of the way full. “What’s it like?”
Isabelle picked up her wine and spent the next half hour or so going over every detail of her country’s cities, people, and laws. By the time the main course came, she had a headache gathering behind her eyebrows that felt as if a tiny creature attempted to pound its way through her skull.
George was nice. He was handsome. He was every inch the typical prince she’d expected him to be. But he was driving her insane.
After half-heartedly pushing her food around on her plate, she stood up. “Excuse me for a moment, please.”
George stood, placing his napkin on the table. He’d eaten his entire meal. He kissed her cheek. “I’ll order us some dessert, if you’re finished?” He eyed her plate, then frowned at the empty wineglasses. “And some brandy.”
“Order whatever you’d like,” she said, smiling even though she wanted to beat her head into the wall. As she turned away, she muttered, “You will anyway.”
As she headed down the narrow hallways that led to the restrooms, Gordon fell into step behind her. He didn’t waste any time in asking, “Who is that guy?”
“Prince George of Liston.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You met before?”
“No,” she managed to say through the blinding ache in her head. Her stomach growled, and she pressed a hand to it. “Never.”
“You didn’t eat again,” he said, his tone hard. “You need to go back and eat.”
Another man telling her what she had to do. “I don’t need to do anything,” she snapped. “If I want to eat, I’ll eat. Now excuse me.”
She tried to close the door, but he stuck his foot in it. “What’s wrong, Princess? Don’t like when I boss you around outside of the bedroom?”
“You know that I don’t.”
“Tough shit,” he said, leaning so close their noses touched. “I don’t like watching you flirt with that asshole, but I did it anyway. It’s called being an adult. You put up with shit you don’t like.”
Her heart fluttered. “You’re…jealous?”
“No,” he said, sounding as if she’d asked him if he wore tights and danced around in a skirt instead. “I don’t get fucking jealous of anyone or anything.”
“Good.” She met his eyes, refusing to show him how much she’d wanted him to be jealous. If she saw him flirting with another woman, you can bet your kingdom’s jewels she’d be upset. “Now let me powder my nose in peace, please.”
He snorted. “As you wish, Princess. Since you asked nicely.”
Removing his foot from the door, he closed the door in her face.
Chapter Seven
Gordon watched Isabelle hug the prince goodbye, his hands curled into fists the whole time. There was something about the guy he didn’t like. Maybe it was the way he smirked when he smiled. Or the way he kept looking at Gordon, with this knowing look in his eye, as if he knew exactly how much he didn’t like watching the two of them together.
Then again, maybe it was just because Gordon knew that Prince George and Princess Isabelle made perfect sense together. The kind of sense he and Isabelle would never make. And their “business meeting” had so clearly been a date. A date that seemed, for all intents and purposes¸ to have gone well.
Son of a bitch.
He walked closer to the pair, tension gathering behind his shoulder blades with painful acceleration. “—yes, I’d love that. I love the opera.”
Of course you do. You’re a fucking princess.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday night, then. We can talk more about our future arrangements then.” George bent over her knuckles, placing a kiss over them with a flourished bow. He even flipped his coat tails. Fucking pompous jerk. “I’m so pleased to have met you, Isabelle.”
Isabelle smiled, her cheeks flushing a fetching pink. “Me too, George. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” George straightened, looked over at Gordon, then kissed her cheek. “I can’t wait to speak more about our possible merger.”