Stealing Cinderella(17)
“Shh.” I peek over at the door. “She’s been in a foul mood for days. I don’t need to give her another reason to lose her shit.”
Charlotte shakes her head, quietly mulling over her thoughts before she seems to decide on something. “Oliver and I are moving into our flat in just a couple of months. We’ll have a spare bedroom. You could come and stay with us. It won’t be an imposition, Ella. I can help you find a job. You can check out some local trade schools. Whatever you want.”
Her offer sounds like a dream come true, but at the same time, I’m already reasoning it away as too much. I don’t want to put her out anymore. She’s done so much for me over the years, and it’s never been her responsibility to help me. But logically, I don’t know how much more of Narcissa and the girls I can tolerate. It’s only a matter of time before I break completely.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, hoping to placate her for now.
She nods eagerly. “That’s practically a yes. Now tell me something good. Any news from the prince?”
Warmth flushes my cheeks as I shake my head. I was too mortified by the mix-up to confess the truth to Charlotte. As far as she knows, I spoke to the prince I thought was Aston but never got a firm answer. After all the trouble she went through to get me a ticket, I mucked it up completely by getting in the wrong line. And then to make matters worse, I yelled at the Prince of Norway and lost my mother’s shoe.
“No news.” I shrug. “I don’t think he’s going to help.”
“What an asshole,” she mutters under her breath.
If only she knew. Thorsen Lykken is known for being an asshole. His reputation in the media has never been a favorable one, not that I believe half of what the papers print. But after meeting him in person, I’m convinced at least some of it must be true. Still, I can’t seem to stop thinking about the way he chased after me. Tall, dark, and too handsome for his own good. The man might have a horrible disposition, but he has the body of a Nordic god. Long after I left the palace that night, I could still feel his touch branded into my skin. I’ve never been touched by a man, and Thorsen is all man. A strapping, virile, muscular brute of a dark prince. I’d be lying if I said those stormy gray eyes haven’t continued to haunt me in my sleep. His temperament might be pitch black, but there’s something undeniably attractive about that enigma. My imagination has taken that image of him and run wild with it. In my dreams, he isn’t just holding my arm. He’s caging me in with his body. Branding me with his lips. Moving inside me, altering me forever as he infects me with his darkness.
“What are you doing this weekend?” Charlotte’s voice stirs me from the depths of my depravity. “Do you have time to hang out?”
“I don’t know.” I frown. “Narcissa has been adamant that the manor is spotless. She’s still convinced the prince is going to knock on our door any day, intent to carry Lavinia off into the sunset.”
A strangled laugh bursts from Charlotte’s lips. “Poor miserable bastard he would be.”
A commotion from downstairs catches my attention as a herd of footsteps clomps across the floor. Someone squeals, and then there’s a knock on the front door.
“Shit, I gotta go,” I tell Charlotte. “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay,” she answers frantically. “Go, go.”
We both hang up, and I stuff the phone beneath my pillow just as I hear a masculine voice at the front door. Running to the window in the attic, I press my face against the pane, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious visitor, but all I can see is a fancy car sitting in the drive.
My curiosity gets the best of me, and I know it’s a risk, but I crack open the door to the attic and hold my ear against the gap. Narcissa is speaking with someone, insisting they come in while she offers tea, coffee, or anything their heart desires. She’s being far too kind for a regular guest, and my heart leaps into my throat when I recognize the voice that responds. Masculine. Accented. Unmistakably Nordic.
Holy freaking shit.
“I can’t stay,” Thorsen answers. “I just came here to ask if you are familiar with any other women from Kent who attended the ball on Saturday as well.”
A sour note colors Narcissa’s voice. “Another woman?”
“Yes, a blonde. Petite. Blue dress. She left her shoe behind, and I don’t know much about her, only that she was from Kent, and—”
“That’s my shoe!” Lavinia interjects. “I can’t believe how silly I was to leave it behind. I’ve been looking everywhere for it!”
“Your shoe?” Thorsen answers with a biting note. He knows she’s lying, but Lavinia is too self-involved to notice. Meanwhile, I can scarcely breathe, praying he doesn’t say anything that will incriminate me. What is he even doing here?
“Yes, it’s mine,” Lavinia assures him. “And I was wearing a blue dress that evening as well, Your Highness.”
“In that case, you wouldn’t mind showing me the other shoe,” he suggests.
There’s a pause of silence, and then Narcissa answers. “We would, Your Highness, but unfortunately, it’s at the repair shop. Her heel broke.”
Another silence. “Then perhaps I can return another day when you have the shoe in your possession.”