A Princess for Christmas - Jenny Holiday Page 0,108
“This is not your business.”
“It is if you want to keep taking those moonlit walks, my friend,” he said to Marie.
“What?” What the hell was this guy on about?
Max retracted the hand that Leo had not shaken and switched to beckoning him over to a chair near the fireplace. “Marie and I were settling in for a plotting session on how to avoid our parents’ matrimonial machinations. Join us.”
“Max!” Marie nearly shrieked, and Marie was not a shrieker. At least not in this sort of circumstance. And “matrimonial machinations.” Did that mean what he thought it meant? Leo eyed the pair of them. The hand that hadn’t been beckoning him was now resting on Marie’s lower back with a familiarity that suggested that yes, “matrimonial machinations” meant exactly what he feared it did.
“You should have told me,” he said quietly. He’d thought it was going to come out like a yell—that’s what he’d intended—but he had to settle for a shaky whisper. His lungs felt like they were working overtime yet couldn’t seem to suck in quite enough air.
“Leo.” Marie rushed over to him. “There’s nothing between Max and me. There never has been.”
“That’s right.” Max came over, too, looking alarmed, and Leo’s fingers flexed. He wanted to punch this guy even though he understood with his higher brain that that would achieve nothing. “Marie is like a sister. We’ve been plotting ways to postpone this engagement for years. It’s almost a hobby of ours.”
“You’ve been engaged for years?”
“Well, not technically,” Max said. “That will happen at the ball tonight, unless we can—”
“That’s not what he means, Max,” Marie said quietly. She met Leo’s gaze unflinchingly, which he had to give her credit for. “Yes. Max and I have known for years that our parents wanted us to marry. Our fathers are friends and want to unite the two houses.”
Unite the two houses. Was this the Middle Ages?
They must have read the derision on his face. “My family, the House of Aquilla—my father is the Duke of Aquilla—have extensive mining holdings,” Max said.
His father was a duke? So this guy would be a duke when his father kicked the bucket? Like Marie would be Queen of Eldovia someday?
“We could supply trace minerals for the Morneau watches,” Max went on. “Our fathers have been talking for years about joining forces.”
“So why don’t they just fucking join forces? Why do they have to—”
He’d been going to say, Sell off their children, but what was the point? Leo already knew these people were different than he was. He’d been reminded in a thousand little ways since he got here.
And more to the point, why the fuck did he care? Because he wasn’t going to get his stupid springtime in New York with the princess? It was always going to end at some point. As Dani said, better to end things now, before he got hurt.
Except it was too late, wasn’t it? He was already hurt. So much that, apparently, his lungs had stopped working. He was literally panting now. It felt like his chest was being punctured by a million tiny needles.
He had fucked this up big-time. He’d let this woman get to him.
He’d flown across an ocean and eaten excruciating five-course meals. He had endured passive-aggressive abuse from her father—like Dani used to have to do with her in-laws. And he wasn’t even married to Marie—or engaged to her. He’d done that part voluntarily.
He’d built a fucking log cabin for her.
“We’re going to use a turkey baster if it comes down to it,” Max said, and oh fuck, Leo doubled over.
“Max!” Marie whisper-shouted.
“What?” Max protested. “I’m trying to say that if we can’t avert this, you guys can come to some sort of arrangement. I’m certainly not going to get in your way. That’s always been the plan, hasn’t it? We do what we want on the side?”
Oh god, they were talking about making him a royal mistress. A master? Whatever. No fucking way.
But good, actually. That additional little bit of info was enough to tip him from hurt to angry. To royally fucking pissed, actually.
He didn’t know what had happened with him and Marie, but he did know that he was never going to be her dirty secret on the side while she was married to someone else. Leo didn’t consider himself a practicing Catholic. But he still believed in enough of that shit to know that when you stood in front of a church—or a judge or whatever—and vowed to