A Princess for Christmas - Jenny Holiday Page 0,55

and for the most part, I genuinely don’t care. I don’t have a long, graceful neck—fine. It’s not a character flaw. But it’s absolutely true that if you look the part, people treat you a certain way.”

She didn’t have a long, graceful neck? Huh? A long neck would look stupid on her. It didn’t fit her proportions. “But you’re—”

“Remember when I was hiding in that bathroom on that yacht?” Marie didn’t wait for him to answer—she was on a roll. “I overheard Lucrecia and her friends talking about what a shame it was that I didn’t take after my mother in terms of looks and grace. It’s not enough for them to comment on what a professional disaster that party was? I have to be ugly, too?”

“Hey. None of that.” That was objectively wrong.

She didn’t seem to hear him. It was like she was talking to herself, now, rather than to him. “And it’s almost like they see a causal relationship between the two things, you know? The Philip Gregory disaster order has nothing to do with what I look like, or at least I’d like to think it doesn’t, but you’d never know it to hear them talk.”

There were angry embers inside Leo, and her words were stoking them. “My point is, when you’re a princess, beautiful is the baseline. If you’re beautiful, people can look past that and judge the rest of your merits. If you’re not, well, good luck.”

He stopped walking. It took her a few steps to realize she’d gotten ahead of him. She shined the flashlight between them at chest height, its ambient light enough to allow him to see her face.

“Are you done?”

“Am I done what?”

“Comparing yourself to Audrey Fucking Hepburn?” Leo didn’t bother tempering the annoyance in his tone.

Marie’s eyebrows shot up.

“Look. I know I’m only here for a week, but I swear to God, if I hear you call yourself ugly again, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions. In addition to being possibly the prettiest human I have ever laid eyes on in the flesh, you’re smart, so don’t tell yourself things that objectively aren’t true.”

Her mouth fell open. Then she closed it. Then opened it again. He’d flustered her. Good. Maybe it would be enough to knock some sense into her. “Okay, point taken. I’m not ugly. On my best days I achieve cute. It’s . . . It’s hard to explain.”

She was cute, with her rosebud mouth and those goddamn dimples, but apparently that was a bad thing? He would never understand this world of hers. “It’s hard to explain because you’re not making sense.”

She huffed a frustrated little sigh. “There’s a certain quality that the most popular female royals possess. Think of Princess Diana. Grace Kelly. Meghan Markle. There’s a grace there that’s hard to define except I can say I don’t have it. Part of it is height. I’m five two.” She chuckled. “But it’s more than that. It’s more just . . . ease. I’m awkward. I’m always worried about what I’m going to say next.” She laughed again, but it had turned bitter. “And you should see me try to dance.” She cut off the laugh with a small snort. “Which you will, if you come to the Cocoa Ball.”

“I’m not going to the ball,” he said reflexively. But he sort of understood what she was saying about ease and awkwardness. His first impression of Marie had been that she was snooty and formal. But he’d come to realize that it was a cover, a way of keeping people at bay. He did it, too, but with different qualities. Her snootiness functioned the same way his grumpiness did.

But it wasn’t a crime to feel awkward in social situations. And he wasn’t about to start agreeing with her because she’d muddled up all kinds of traits in her mind into some paragon she thought she had to aspire to.

So instead he baited her. “Dancing is not hard. Anyone can dance.” He started walking again as he spoke, and she fell into step beside him. “Even me.”

She took the bait. “Really? I don’t know. I’m not picturing it. You all dressed up in a suit, cutting a rug? I bet you can’t keep the steps straight any better than I can.”

“Steps?” He laughed, suddenly seeing what the problem was, at least as it related to dancing. “Nah. You’re overthinking.” Before he could do the same, he grabbed the flashlight from her, turned it off, and