that she’d only stomp around in her offices until she worked her anger out of her system. “Please tell my secretary that I’ve gone to the gym,” she asked a passing servant.
“Yes, your highness,” the servant said bowing and then immediately rushing to convey the message.
Marabeth stormed into her bedroom and pulled on a pair of leggings and a cotton shirt, then headed for the gym so she could work off her anger. She knew it was the middle of the morning but she was just too angry to work now. Not that she could, she thought angrily to herself as she punched the buttons on the treadmill. That obnoxious man wouldn’t even let her leave the palace so what work was there to do? She really didn’t have any obligations except to be present and lend her name to different causes. It wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating work but she felt it was worthwhile and she was contributing to society instead of just being a well known face and a convenient hanger for designer clothes.
She punched the speed button three more times, increasing the pace in an effort to get thoughts of that arrogant man out of her mind. How dare he cancel all of her meetings! He really had no right. She was going to discuss this with her father at the very first opportunity. As soon as she could calm down, she told herself and increased the treadmill’s pace again.
Thirty minutes later, she still felt angry and sweat was dripping off her face. She’d forgotten a towel but wasn’t ready to get off the treadmill. Marabeth was too busy coming up with ways to get back at the odious man. Unfortunately, none of her ideas were very practical and not many were able to be put to use without special training, of which she didn’t have. Some involved sharp objects. Although she couldn’t actually do them, just imagining doing them to Sam made her feel better.
“You’re going to burn out the motor on that if you don’t slow down,” a deep voice said from behind her.
Marabeth looked around and found the source of the voice. Sure enough, there he stood in all his handsome glory. Sam was leaning against the door to the gym, his arms crossed over his chest and he was now dressed in karate clothes and bare feet instead of his immaculate suit.
The first thought that came to mind was that the suit’s shoulders weren’t padded. It was all muscle, she realized. It was an astonishing thought and her eyes were glued to his shoulders and muscular arms for a long moment.
The second thought was that he was spying on her. But that was silly. He didn’t have time to spy on her. She knew he was an extremely busy man and had a huge amount of responsibility on his shoulders. Not only was he the Minister of Defense for Cordova but he had his own security company that logged billions of dollars in revenue each year.
She just wished the man were fat and ugly instead of so physically fit and good looking.
Marabeth ignored him and continued running.
Marabeth’s brother, Prince Maximillian, came into the gym, wearing an identical karate outfit of white and a black belt. “Careful you don’t kill yourself over there, Marabeth,” he called out, noticing how fast she was running and the sweat covering her shirt. With that comment, the two of them moved off to the mats, bowed to each other, then started circling.
Marabeth couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were laughing and joking with each other, neither really looked like they were serious about their work out. Then Max moved in and tripped Sam, pushing him flat onto his back. For the next fifteen minutes, the two men went back and forth, grunting as each of them got in a good kick or jab on the other person. Each time it was Sam, Marabeth wished she felt good. It was exactly what she wanted to do to him and the fact that it was Max shouldn’t have made a difference. But she hated each time Sam was hurt. There was one time that Sam got Max back and winded him for a few moments and Marabeth almost cheered, then remembered that she was furious with Sam and stopped herself, feeling like an idiot who had no control of her feelings. She didn’t understand them very well anyway.
After another five minutes and several painful looking kicks or jabs,