Daisy wears a puzzled expression before she laughs, clapping along with the others.
“Li-am! Li-am!”
The crowd screams—it’s not as though their king just died. It’s a fucking madhouse. They love me. It’s more than just the girls throwing their tits at me now. They believe in me.
What about her?
Daisy smiles prettily, occasionally reaching in the crowd to touch someone’s hand. Wow, they’ve really come around.
Not an Americunt sign in sight.
Wind rips through the American flag attached to the pole, which is only a few feet under Anglefell’s flag. My father is rolling in his grave.
The castle is decorated for the first-ever American festival. Daisy wanted the public to be able to attend, so we made room on the giant lawn and even made space for a crude baseball diamond. Of course, no one knows how to play baseball, so everyone swings the baseball bat like a cricket bat.
It’s a beautiful day for an al fresco party. Daisy insisted on having a barbecue. The mouthwatering smell of charcoal, grease, and salt drifts all the way to the castle.
“Your Highness, where would you like the kale snacks?”
One of the chefs approaches me with trays of some sort of dark, leafy, green appetizer.
“Put them next to the corn dogs.”
I point toward the stack of largely untouched corn dogs, and the chefs begin plating the appetizer as Daisy watches.
“What the hell is that?” she asks, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“I thought you’d know. They’re kale muffins, I think. Oh, and those are kale deviled eggs. Kale crisps—chips over there.”
Her eyes widen at all the green appetizers.
“It came up in my research when I was looking up Californian cuisine,” I say defensively.
“No one eats this stuff!”
“Then why is it all over the place?”
“People in California are health nuts. They like strange things that normal people don’t.”
I pick up a kale crisp and pop it in my mouth. The bitterness makes my tongue curl up. “It’s… not bad.”
“It’s vile.”
Another chef appears with a giant green pizza. “Where would you like the kale pizza?”
My wife’s face burns bright red as she glares at the round pie with alarming venom. There are big green leaves sitting on the red sauce.
“Just put it here.”
“Kale,” she says under her breath. “On pizza.”
“Well, you could’ve told me it was a problem.”
Suddenly one of the guests approaches with a plastic plate already filled with baby-back ribs slathered in sauce, and creamed corn. He dumps a handful of kale crisps onto his plate and tries one. His eyes go round.
“Wow, that’s good!”
Daisy watches in disbelief as he loads up on the kale snacks. I touch her elbow, and she sits at the table covered with the red-and-white-checkered cloth with her plate of food. I stab the stringy mass of pulled pork and pop it into my mouth along with a gob of cooked kale. It’s delicious.
“Unbelievable.”
She watches the locals as they pass by the corn dogs without interest, instead choosing the kale deviled eggs, pan-seared kale, barbecue kale. Everywhere, people dig into the leafy greens with gusto.
“I’ve never had this vegetable before, have you?”
“No, it’s wonderful!”
“Wonderful,” Daisy repeats, a shudder running through her body.
I scoop up another heap of kale. “You seriously prefer one of those corn dogs to kale?”
“Yes. Absolutely, yes.”
“No way. I’m actually really impressed with the versatility of it. People drink it, bake it, stew it—”
“It’s bitter and vile. I can’t believe everyone likes it so much.”
She watches the line of people queuing up for food, and I dig into my barbecue chicken. The sweet flavors not really to my taste.
“It’s a good turnout. People seem to be enjoying themselves.”
Children run across the lawn, using the baseball bats like cricket bats. There are speakers humming a throaty bass of Rihanna’s biggest hits.
“This wasn’t what I envisioned,” she says. “The theme is somewhat confused. Not quite American. You should have gotten salsa for the appetizers.”
“Salsa is Mexican.”
“Yeah, but we eat it a lot. Especially at parties.”
I elbow her. “So what you’re saying is that basically you’re thieves of other cultures.”
“Yeah, because they don’t have pasties and football in England. Eat your burger and be quiet.”
I pick up the burger, which I had saved for last because I had to conceal how badly I wanted to eat it. I take a bite, almost rolling my eyes in pleasure with the taste of the cooked meat and the cheese melting over my tongue. Damn, it’s good.
“Liam.”
She grabs my thigh under the table, and blood rushes to my cock. “There’s time to fuck later.”