Frost (Frost and Nectar #1)(48)

I dropped my head into my hands, wishing I could disappear.

“In her exact words,” the host went on, “King Torin’s life is the nadir of human civilization. Don’t ask me what that means, but I don’t think she meant it as a compliment. Particularly when she called him a pretty and rich—” The host turned to Torin with a grin, then looked back at the camera. “Well, I’d love to finish her thought, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be allowed on daytime television. The real question is, will Ava drink all that whiskey and treat us to another sloppy—”

“That’s quite enough, thank you.” Torin’s commanding voice from my right surprised me.

I glanced at him. Irritation was etched on his features, and his pale eyes were locked on the host.

“It seems our royal bachelor is eager to try his drink,” the host said with a smirk. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of a king.”

He stepped out of view of the cameras, his smile instantly fading.

I felt frozen for a moment, my mind still whirling with the image the host had painted. Of course, for that one snapshot in time, it was a completely accurate image, broadcast out to the entire world.

But one night wasn’t all of me.

I could not for one moment let myself linger on what Andrew might have thought about that introduction right now, or it would throw me completely off.

I dragged myself from these spinning thoughts to find Torin looking at me with something like concern, his eyebrows raised. “I’m excited to see what you have in store for me, Ava,” he said quietly.

I took a deep breath. Pulling my gaze to the cocktail ingredients laid out for me, I went into bartender mode.

Before me stood a large bottle of rye whiskey, a smaller container of vermouth, a bottle of Angostura bitters, an insulated container of what I hoped was ice cubes, a stainless steel shaker, a Hawthorne strainer, a jigger measuring cup, a paring knife, a bowl containing lemons, a coupe glass, and to my relief, as directed, a small container of Maraschino cocktail cherries.

“Have you ever had a Manhattan?” I cleared my throat. “Your Majesty?”

“No.” Torin’s eyebrows rose. “Named after the human city, I assume?”

I smiled back at him. “That’s where it was first developed, long ago. In the old Victorian days.

And I know you like whiskey because it’s what you ordered in the Golden Shamrock.”

“I didn’t realize you were paying attention.”

“Oh, you had my complete attention.” I smiled at him, actually starting to forget about the horror of that introduction. “I was very curious to see what you were going to order.”

“Scotch is a favorite.”

I nodded, and it occurred to me that he smelled faintly like a peaty Scotch. “This is rye, but I think you’ll like it. And I’m the perfect marginally employed, responsibility-free bartender to make you your first one.”

He actually flashed me a genuine smile.

I cracked open the bottle of rye and poured two jiggers of whiskey into the shaker. “This is what the humans call a cocktail shaker. One of their greatest inventions.”

“We do have cocktails here, of a sort. But we make them with magic.”

“We don’t have magic in the human world, and that’s where all the tools come in.” I poured a jigger of vermouth into the shaker. “This is wine that’s been fortified.”

Torin watched quietly as I added two dashes of the Angostura bitters, then picked out five ice cubes.

“Stirring is traditional,” I said. “But like the great James Bond, I prefer mine shaken.”

“Interesting,” said King Torin, watching me carefully. It was clear to me he’d never seen anyone mix a proper cocktail.

I put the clear glass top on the shaker and began to shake it. The noise seemed awkwardly loud, ice cubs slamming against the metal, but at least I felt comfortable once more. Shalini truly was clever, setting me up with something she knew I didn’t have to think twice about.

After shaking up the cocktail, I popped off the top and poured it into the coup glass using the Hawthorne strainer.

“You’re not going to mix yourself a cocktail?” he asked.

I shook my head. “The entire world already thinks I’m an alcoholic. A cocktail at ten a.m. won’t improve that situation.”

Torin laughed. “Considering all the wine I’ve been given this morning, they should be judging me.”

Who was he kidding? A rich and gorgeous man could get away with far more in the public perception than I could.

He reached for the glass, but I pushed his hand away. Strangely, as our fingers touched, a little electric thrill raced down my arm.

“I need to garnish it.” I plucked out one of the cocktail cherries, and then, using the knife on the platter, sliced a thin ribbon of peel off a lemon. I gave it a twist over the glass, then dropped it in.

“Are they important?” asked Torin.

“It improves the aroma.”

“Fascinating.” He lifted it to his nose and inhaled, keeping his eyes on me. “I do appreciate a good aroma.”

The velvety tone of his voice made desire heat my skin, and I found myself blushing.

He closed his eyes and took a sip, letting the drink roll over his tongue for a moment, truly tasting it. At last, his startlingly pale eyes opened again. “Delicious, Ava.” He inhaled a sharp breath. “Now, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened in the Golden Shamrock?”