to be enough to stop Kelsey.
“Nope. I’m on to you with that subtle callout to being shot. It doesn’t work anymore. Not when I’m in the gym with you every other day. The doctor cleared you. For exercise. Of all kinds,” she added, with a leer and an eyebrow waggle.
No kidding. She’d used her abs quite a bit balanced on the edge of that desk while Christian thrust into her. And she’d been pain-free. Talk about passing the ultimate test with flying colors.
Not that she’d share that win with Kelsey. Or Elias.
“Life here is complex enough. I’m not ready to add dating into the mix.”
“Who said anything about dating? You need to get your flirt on. And then a foreign fling. I highly recommend them.” Kelsey twisted around to lean her back against Elias’s chest, then wrapped his arms around her waist.
They looked good together. Happy. Natural.
All the things she’d felt with Christian the other night.
“I don’t need a fling,” Mallory stated emphatically. Because she didn’t need one.
Not anymore. On account of the super-hot fling with Christian.
Now would be the perfect time to explain that, in detail, to Kelsey. It’d help her stop feeling so guilty about keeping this secret from her.
This, though? It wasn’t hers alone to share. Christian’s involvement added a whole extra layer to the debate about telling/not telling.
“You’re just out of practice. Tell you what. You can practice on Christian. He’s been so sweet about joining us for breakfast since you returned. I’ll bet he could school you in Moncriano-style flirting.”
Mallory was quite sure she didn’t need to be schooled. That the prince had already given her top marks in that. But Kelsey’s offhand remark made her wonder.
Why was Christian joining them for breakfast? Was it an attempt to make her feel like a part of the family?
Or was the attraction she’d felt for him from the start actually a two-way street? If that was true? It, ah…complicated things even more.
Mallory needed to learn the Moncriano word for complicated. Before the ball. Probably before tomorrow’s breakfast. She needed to have a prepared shield of that word in as many languages as possible in case Christian tossed her another one of those secret, knee-melting, panty-dropping looks. Or wicked winks.
And to bolster her internal resolve every time she thought about how nice it would be if she did get to dance with a prince at her first ball…
Chapter Five
Christian wore ties most days. He’d had to wear them in school, too, so it was fair to say that he’d worn them since prepuberty hit. They never bothered him. The cinch at his neck was as easy to ignore as the French cuffs at his wrist.
Until tonight.
Tonight, his white bow tie wasn’t just tight. He was having trouble dragging in air through his constricted throat.
Or maybe—just maybe—it was the thought of having to marry one of the women in this ballroom that choked him up.
The Persephone Ball looked the same as it did every year. The crème de la crème of Moncriano nobility, business leaders, foreign dignitaries…and women who wanted to be his queen someday.
It felt like a vast conspiracy by the females in the room.
The single ones wanted a crown. The married ones wanted it for their sister or friend. The older ones wanted it for their daughter or niece. They all schemed. Simpered. Strategized. Looked at him like he was a prize to be fought for.
Christian fucking hated it. Each year, he tried to ignore the heavy-handed hints, the forced flirting. Each year, everyone upped their game to be more obvious.
This year, he couldn’t ignore it. Because he had exactly two jobs ahead of him: to rule the country, and to sire the next ruler. With his father being checked out of the first job, the urgency of marriage was being mentioned to Christian on a weekly basis. Daily, this week, with the ball looming.
He wasn’t ready to rule the country.
And he damn sure wasn’t ready to tie himself forever to a woman because her credentials looked good on paper. So he took the safest course of action. He threw back the shot of whisky in his hand, and then threaded his way through the wide gowns and shoulder-to-shoulder throng to greet his sisters.
“Genevieve.” He kissed both of her cheeks, as he knew the assembled crowd would expect as much. “You look stunning.”
An entire committee had decided that extra effort had to be made by the House of Villani tonight to distract from King Julian not attending.