Special Delivery Winter - Aria Grace Page 0,2
his lap to show me. “It says online that this is the King’s favorite color,” he said, and it didn’t at all surprise me that Dad had already researched that piece of trivia.
The designer suit on the screen was a deep blue, bordering on purple, with dark but subtle, thin blue vertical stripes. Though the model wearing it had a much nicer body than mine, I thought it would still look good on me — until I glanced at the price.
“Two thousand dollars? I don’t care how nice it is, no suit is worth that,” I said.
Dad shrugged. “It’s a small price to pay for a potentially life-changing event.”
“You don’t even have that much money in the bank, Dad. Believe me, I know. I’m the one paying your bills every month.”
“That’s what credit cards are for. Buy now, pay later.”
I cringed; that was exactly what Charles used to say, and exactly the thinking that’d almost bankrupted us.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea. What if—”
“We’ll make it work,” Dad interrupted and clicked a button to add the suit to his cart. “You just stay focused on how to woo the King.”
I didn’t bother arguing because I knew I couldn’t change his mind. Instead, I tapped on a recommended video of King Kenway, his most recent Christmas greeting that I hadn’t yet seen.
He sat at an ornate wooden table, his flowing, blond hair spilling over his broad, velvet-robed shoulders like liquid gold. Rather than his usual immaculate jeweled crown, a silver circlet rested on his forehead, its single gem a sparkling emerald. He looked regal in every way imaginable, the perfect made-for-TV alpha King for our modern era.
Kenway smiled at the camera, revealing flawless white teeth and making his olive eyes flash. Though I mentally kicked myself for it, something stirred in me. I used to roll my eyes at the sight of him, curse him from afar for his effortless poise, beauty, and masculinity, but as he greeted the country and spent the next ten minutes wishing us the merriest of Christmases, I realized I’d wanted him all along. Who wouldn’t?
And, amazingly, now I had the chance to have him. I just had to get through a royal soiree without making a fool of myself. No pressure.
2. Heath
“I absolutely love the look of the snow on the grounds during this time of year, don’t you?”
I glanced up from my feet where I’d focused to take a cursory glance at the powder-dusted shrubs and walls. The staff had decorated every piece of flora on the property with white Christmas lights, the same as they did each year, and they twinkled against the snow with every crunching step I took.
I shrugged. “If you’ve seen one snowflake, you’ve seen them all.”
George Winthrop, my full-time assistant, frowned at me and shook his head. “Always a charmer, aren’t you, Your Majesty?”
“Please don’t call me that, George. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times how much I hate it. My name is Heath. Use it.”
“Of course, Your Maj—er, Heath,” George corrected. “I’m sorry. Bad habits are hard to break. Your father would never have stood for me using any other title.” An uncomfortable smile flashed across his round, rosy face at the mention of my father, and the red that usually rested solely on his cheeks crept up his face to rest on his bald head.
I’d inherited George as an assistant from my parents after their accident, and I liked him well enough. We’d gotten along fine before then too, but when I became king after my parents died, George seemed to take a whole new interest in me, and I still couldn’t tell if it was because he knew I needed a stand-in father figure or if he was just doing his job.
Either way, I was mostly glad to have him around, especially during the first few years. Having to get up in front of the nation and be strong for them while they mourned for and with me, their poor orphaned teenage King, wasn’t easy, especially when all I wanted was to drown my grief in booze and meaningless encounters with all-too-eager omegas. I couldn’t have done it without George backing me. One or both of my preferred vices surely would’ve killed me by now if it weren’t for George’s continued interventions.
Since then, we’d settled into a stasis in which I continued to push things too far, and he reined me back in and put out whatever fires