Page 60

Bridget
“Might I say,you look absolutely beautiful tonight, Your Highness,” Edwin, the Count of Falser, said as he guided me across the dance floor.
“Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.” With his sandy-colored hair and athletic build, Edwin wasn’t hard on the eyes, but I couldn’t summon much enthusiasm beyond my bland compliment.
After weeks of frenzied planning, the night of my big ball was finally here, and I couldn’t be more underwhelmed. My dance partners had all been duds so far, and I hadn’t had a chance to so much as breathe since I arrived. It’d been dance after dance, small talk after small talk. I hadn’t eaten anything other than the two strawberries I snuck from the dessert table between dances, and my heels felt like razor blades strapped to my feet.
Edwin puffed out his chest. “I do put a lot of effort into my appearance,” he said in a poor attempt at a humble tone. “Athenberg’s top tailor customized my tuxedo, and Eirik—recently named by Vogue as Europe’s top hairstylist—comes to my house every two weeks for maintenance. I also built a new gym in my house. Maybe you’ll see it one day.” He shot me a cocky smile. “I don’t want to brag, but I believe it’ll match anything you have in the palace. Top-of-the-line cardio machines, DISKUS dumbbell sets made of Grade 303 non-reactive stainless steel…”
My eyes glazed over. Dear God. I would rather listen to my last dance partner analyze Athenberg’s traffic patterns during rush hour.
My dance with Edwin thankfully ended before he could expound further on his gym equipment, and I soon found myself in the arms of my next suitor.
“So.” I smiled gaily at Alfred, the son of the Earl of Tremark. He was a few inches shorter than me, and I had a direct view of his balding spot. I tried not to let it deter me. I didn’t want to be one of those shallow people who only cared about looks, but it would be easier not to focus on his looks if he gave me something else to work with. He hadn’t looked me in the eye once since we started dancing. “I hear you’re quite the, er, bird connoisseur.”
Alfred had built an aviary on his estate, and according to Mikaela, one of his birds famously pooped on Lord Ashworth’s head during the Earl’s annual spring ball.
Alfred mumbled a reply.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I said politely.
Another mumble, accompanied by a crimson flush that spread all the way to his bald spot.
I did us both a favor and stopped talking. I wondered who’d forced him to attend tonight and who was having a worse time—him or me.
I stifled a yawn and looked around the ballroom, searching for something interesting to hold my attention. My grandfather held court with a few ministers in the corner. Mikaela hovered near the dessert table, flirting with a guest I didn’t recognize, and Andreas snaked through the crowd, looking like, well, a snake.
I wished my friends were here. I’d video chatted with Ava, Jules, and Stella earlier that day, and I missed them so much it hurt. I would much rather spend my birthday eating ice cream and watching cheesy rom coms than dancing my feet off with people I didn’t even like.
I need a break. Just a small one. Just so I could breathe.
“Apologies,” I said so abruptly a surprised Alfred stumbled and nearly knocked the tray out of a passing server’s hand. “I’m…not feeling well. Would you mind if I cut our dance short? I’m terribly sorry.”
“Oh, not at all, Your Highness,” he said, his words finally audible and filled with relief. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thank you.” I snuck a peek at Elin. She had her back turned as she chatted with the society columnist covering the party, and I slipped out of the ballroom before she saw me.
I hurried down the hall until I reached the restroom tucked into a quiet alcove, half-shielded by a giant bronze bust of King Frederick I.
I locked the door, sat on the toilet seat, and kicked off my shoes with a sigh of relief. My dress poufed around me in a cloud of pale blue silk and tulle. It was a gorgeous creation, as were my strappy silver heels and the diamond necklace resting against my collarbone, but all I wanted was to change into my pajamas and crawl into bed.
“Two more hours,” I said. Or maybe it was three. It couldn’t be more than three. I must’ve already danced with every man in the room, and I was no closer to a husband than I’d been at the beginning of the night.
I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands. Don’t think about it.
If I started thinking—about how the entire nation was watching me and how one of the men in the ballroom was likely my future husband—I would spiral. And if I started thinking about one particular man, gruff and scarred with eyes that could melt steel and hands that could melt me, I would end up on a path that could only lead to ruin.
I’d avoided looking at Rhys all night, but I knew he was there, dressed in a dark suit and earpiece and oozing such raw masculinity several female guests fluttered around him instead of the princes who were usually hot commodities at such parties.
We hadn’t had any time alone since that day outside the drawing room, but that was probably a good thing. I didn’t trust myself around him.
I stayed in the bathroom for another few minutes before I forced myself to leave. Otherwise, Elin would hunt me down and drag me back like I was an errant child.
I slipped my shoes back on with a small wince, opened the door—and walked straight into a wall.
A six-foot-five, unsmiling wall.
“Dear Lord!” My hand flew to my chest, where my heart beat triple time. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Rhys didn’t sound sorry.
“What are you doing here?”
“You left the party. I’m your bodyguard.” He raised an eyebrow. “Put two and two together.”
Classic Rhys. If there was a rude way to answer a question, he’d find it.
“Fine. Well, I’m ready to return to the party, so if you’ll excuse me…” I sidestepped him, but he grabbed my arm before I could go any further.
Time stopped and narrowed to where his large hand encircled my wrist. His natural tan contrasted with my winter pale skin, and his fingers were rough and callused, unlike the smooth, soft hands of the lords and princes I’d danced with all night. A knee-weakening desire to feel them slide over my skin, branding me as his, overtook me.
Bucket list number four.