he should have been by this piece of news. It was just that he liked the meddling Imogen and the gruff Kai. They seemed like good folks.
She must have sensed his disappointment, because she cocked her head and looked at him without speaking for longer than he was comfortable with. “I wouldn’t say we’re not friends. We just don’t really see each other much anymore.”
“Maybe I’ll bring her in again before I leave town.”
“We would love that.” She tapped the bar in front of Kai. “Wouldn’t we, Kai?”
Kai grunted.
“We would love that,” Imogen said again.
Back at the palace, after Gabby was whisked off by Frau Lehman to help sample some of the recipes for Cocoa Fest—apparently they served some old standbys each year but also invented new, elaborate flavors—Leo was approached by the butler. He was carrying a sealed envelope—on a small, silver tray, for crying out loud.
But Leo’s derision disappeared when the man said, “Her Royal Highness asked me to convey this message to you, Mr. Ricci.”
She’d left a note for him. An actual physical note, which he found oddly charming, given that she could have just texted him.
Leo, if you’re not busy, will you come see me in my suite when you get back?
–M
All that talking about Marie at the pub earlier, combined with the bulk of the day spent without her, made him . . . miss her. Dammit. He couldn’t deny it. And worse, he didn’t even really want to. Denial felt like too much work. That feeling he’d had earlier, of setting aside his cares, of letting the fairy tale of Eldovia take over? He was ready to surrender to it. He was on vacation, after all. So he just let himself be happy to be summoned.
The door to her suite stood ajar, so Leo rapped on it to announce his presence and pushed it open.
And found her in some other guy’s arms.
Wait. No. Other guy implied things that were not true. Implied territory. A claim where there was none. He ordered himself to unclench his fists.
Marie hadn’t heard him because she and the guy—no other, just guy—were dancing. Music was playing, and they were doing some kind of formal thing he suspected was a waltz. At least, it looked like a Cinderella-at-the-ball sort of dance. The man was older. He had graying hair, wore a suit, and was saying something to Marie that Leo could not make out.
Once more, he had to make a point to relax his fists. He cleared his throat.
“Oh!” Marie tripped over her partner’s foot and pitched forward—toward Leo. “Leo!” she exclaimed after he’d grabbed her and set her on her feet. She was pink. He wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or from the dancing.
She was wearing a dress that looked like it was made out of men’s suit material. It was gray and had a subtle checked pattern to it. It was belted around her waist and fitted snugly until it flared out and came to the middle of her calves.
It was a conservative dress.
It should have been a conservative dress.
It was making him crazy.
“Leo,” Marie said, oblivious to the fact that she was driving him batty, “this is Jean-Paul Lavoie. Monsieur Lavoie, this is my friend Leonardo Ricci I was telling you about.” She smiled at Leo. “Monsieur Lavoie has been my dance teacher since I was six. And I am afraid it’s a thankless job. I have him come out every year before the Cocoa Ball to give me a refresher, and I don’t know why he hasn’t quit in a fit of pique. I’m hopeless.”
Dance teacher.
Suddenly Leo’s fists were completely chilled out.
“Nonsense, Your Royal Highness. You’re very . . .”
Marie laughed, even as she raised her eyebrows at the older man.
“. . . diligent,” he finished, his eyes twinkling.
“Monsieur Lavoie cannot tell a lie,” she said. “He’s very honorable.” She patted him on the back. “But at least I keep you in business.”
“You are too kind.”
There seemed to be a friendly familiarity between the two of them—an almost family-like vibe. Clearly, Leo had misinterpreted the scene at first.
Marie shook her head fondly at Monsieur Lavoie before turning to Leo. “So. Mr. Leonardo Ricci of the Bronx. Do you want to learn to dance?”
Marie didn’t expect Leo to agree. Leo was, understandably, sensitive about his background. She didn’t want him to feel like he had to learn the waltz or any of the other traditional Eldovian dances they did at the Cocoa Ball. But if