The Prince's Bride (Part 1) - J.J. McAvoy Page 0,48
is wearing, where they are vacationing, even what they are reading or eating. One time, there was a rumor that Prince Arthur had become vegan, which turned into a full story, which led to the journalist on TV debating on whether or not it was a sign of weakness in the future king. Apparently, not eating meat meant he was too softhearted and didn’t have the fortitude to make hard choices.”
“What? That’s crazy? Just because he didn’t eat meat?”
He nodded as we pulled onto the main road. “You have no idea. Some hardcore loyalists even started to switch their diets. The people were split on it. It got so big that the palace wasn’t sure whether it was worthy of an official royal statement or not. Prince Arthur wasn’t even vegan. He just hadn’t eaten it because he and his wife were trying to eat a little cleaner.”
“So, how did the Vegan Crisis of Ersovia come to an end?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. It was so silly.
“Prince Arthur went to dinner with his wife, where he ordered a grilled balsamic chicken cobb salad.” He grinned again like he was really proud. “Not an official royal statement, but it was a statement. Eat meat if you want but also be healthy was the takeaway. He got a lot of praise, but vegans were disappointed.”
“Wow.” I leaned against the door. “All of this from rumors?”
“Yep, which is why Iskandar was so harsh, and His Highness accepted. He is used to it, but the last thing he wants is for you to be hounded from the get-go.”
I smiled. “From the get-go? What about not getting hounded at all?”
He frowned and met my eyes for a second in the rearview mirror. “Sadly, that’s not possible. But at least you have a little experience with the media.”
I did—especially when my father was alive.
However, it had always been directed at my mother, really. She never seemed affected by it, but I wondered if she just hid it from me when I was young.
“I apologize, ma’am.”
“Huh?” I focused back on him. “For what?”
“You looked worried. I didn’t mean to frighten you or anything—Iskandar always tells me to talk less for this exact reason.” He cringed.
“No, you’re fine. I’m not worried. And you can just call me Odette.”
“Iskandar would have my head.” He laughed. “It’s either ma’am, miss, or my lady.”
“My lady?” What? “So, you all really still do that?”
“Never stopped. As I said, Ersovians really like our monarchy and traditions,” he answered, and I made a mental note of that.
“Ma’am or miss is fine then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I glanced out the window, and only then did I even think to ask, “Where are we going exactly?”
Chapter 12
“You are fidgeting, sir.”
“I am not. Fidgeting is a nervous habit, and I am not nervous. I am only fixing my cufflinks.”
“For the twelfth time.”
I glanced up at him. “Do you have to be so close to guard me? No one else is here.”
No one else was here because the only way I could take her out to dinner was to rent out the whole place for the night. I was starting to think all of our money over the years was used only for security. Instead of answering me, he took a single step back as if that really made any difference. Trying to ignore him, I shifted the watch on my wrist to check the time. Rising from my chair, I glanced out at the décor of little Italy above the city, as her mother described it. Sapori D’italia was her favorite restaurant. It was massive, two levels in fact, and in the middle of the winding stairs was a giant tree, and old-fashioned lanterns hung inside of it. There was a Roman-style water fountain at the entrance, and the walls were made of aged cobblestone, even though I had yet to see any in this modern city at all. To top it all off was the view, the lights from every building and car glimmered like a million fireflies from way up here. She had said she was cold and wasn’t easily moved, but if this was her favorite place, I had a feeling she was much more of a romantic than she wanted to admit.
“She is here,” Iskandar stated, but he held out his hand to stop me. “Wolfgang will bring her up.”
“You will not even let me meet her at the door? What? Are journalists waiting at the entrance?” This was ridiculous.