and cucumbers. It’s not the worst thing in the world, but it’s not exactly pleasant. I pretend it’s the best shit I’ve ever tasted while Lucian goes purple in his attempt to stop himself from laughing.
“So good, guys. Liam, try it!”
“No thank you,” he says, attempting a thin-lipped smile.
Lucian chimes in with a strangled voice. “Yeah, Liam. Try it.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
He cuts his eyes at me. “No.”
I shrug, smiling at the other guests. “Oh well. You’re missing out, buddy.”
The same woman who spoke earlier leans across the table again. “Princess Dai—”
“Please, just call me Daisy.”
“Daisy, how are you liking Anglefell?”
What a dangerous question.
“It’s a beautiful country, but I’m still getting used to all the differences, like the lack of cheeseburgers.”
Her eyes widen. “Cheese-burgers?”
“Yes, and fries. It’s the American equivalent of fish and chips. Oh look! Dessert is coming.”
I smile to myself as waiters arrive with a dozen or so cake pops striped with red, white, and blue frosting with little white candy stars. You know, because America.
Bemused guests take their cake pops, spinning them around. I sink my teeth into mine. It’s red velvet cake. Liam’s face whitens as I dip the half-eaten cake pop into my tea and take another bite. It’s actually pretty damn good. I keep dipping it into the tea, completely abandoning all of my princess etiquette because watching the flesh melt off Liam’s face is totally worth it. He doesn’t even touch his cake pop, but his brothers devour theirs.
“What an interesting concept,” an older gentleman says, staring at his. “A cake popsicle.”
“It’s one of the many amazing things to come from America. I was happy the kitchen was able to accommodate my request.”
“Pardon me, but I think I speak for everyone when I say that we find your American ways very charming.”
You mean stupid.
I smile brightly. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”
“I’d be delighted to hear more about your country.”
Liam clears his throat. “I’m not sure the king would—”
“Of course! Heck, we could make an American festival to celebrate my country. July Fourth is just around the corner. You people have no idea what you’re missing out on. Chili dogs, for one.”
“All right,” Liam practically yells. “I think my wife and I have stolen enough of your time. Thank you all so much for coming.” He drags me upright, effectively silencing me as the rest of them murmur their thanks.
Then before the guests have even had a chance to say good-bye, Liam yanks me from the table, striding across the lawn as paparazzi kneel on the grass, taking pictures.
“Fucking perfect,” he snarls.
Wow. I might have gone too far with the whole American festival thing. “That was pretty rude, you know. You left without saying good-bye to half of them.”
He stops abruptly in the middle of the lawn. I nearly walk right into him. “Talk to me about rudeness again, and I swear I will rip off your trousers right here and spank you in front of the paps.”
An involuntary shiver runs through his body as he glances at my t-shirt, and then he continues walking, dragging me behind him.
“Will you stop walking so fast? Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?” He glowers at me over his shoulder as we reach his tower and climb up the narrow steps.
“Good. Maybe then you’ll explain why you’ve been such an ass.”
But Liam doesn’t seem to be in the mood for explanations. As soon as I walk through the door, I spot the FUCK YOU pillow sitting prettily on his bed. Then Liam’s torso blocks my view as he grabs my arms and pushes me against the door.
“You drive me fucking crazy.”
“Oh yeah? Well, same here.”
Suddenly, he rips my t-shirt over my head.
“What the hell? Give it back?”
He holds it high. “I will never give it back.”
Liam’s mocking grin becomes maniacal as he walks over to the fireplace and tosses my t-shirt over the logs. It’s not like I’m attached to the stupid thing. It was a ratty shirt I only used for sleeping in, but it was perfect for pissing him off. Liam catches me around the waist as I try to retrieve it.
“Let me go!”
He pushes me aside as he kneels to turn on the gas, and then with a quick spark of the lighter sitting on the mantelpiece, the grate erupts into blue flames. They leap over my t-shirt, eating the soccer ball design.
“Burn, baby. Burn.”
“You really think I can’t get another t-shirt? It’s called Amazon. The next one I’ll buy will be