The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(50)

“The palace.”

“Ah, the palace. So what did you do? Scale the walls, tunnel underground?”

Josh smiles and places his water on the table. “My father’s here on political business. He and His Majesty King Alfred met during their military days and kept in touch. I was my father’s plus-one.”

“You know, I was invited,” Graham muses.

“Then why didn’t you go?”

“I’m protesting.”

“Why?” Josh asks, genuinely interested.

“The King missed me off his honors list again.” He sighs, exasperated.

“Oh, that sucks.”

“Will you put in a word for me?” Graham asks seriously.

Josh chuckles, the sound out of this world. “No sweat.”

“Great. I’ll invite you to the celebratory party once I receive my knighthood. Now, you’re voted the world’s hottest man. You have an Oscar, for Christ’s sake. You probably have more money than God and a body that rivals a gladiator. And I’ve never met you before today, but I think you’re quite charming.”

“Thanks.” Josh laughs.

“So your love life?” Graham drops that bombshell and sits back, waiting.

“What about it?” Josh’s laugh turns nervous.

“It causes constant speculation in the press, Josh. The pictures with her, and then her, and then her.”

“You’re straight to the point, aren’t you?” Josh rearranges himself on the couch, and I feel myself go stiff as a board. I know Matilda senses it because she glances at me. I keep my eyes on the television, my grasp squeezing around my glass. Josh gets bored easily. I must remember that.

“Anyone special?” Graham prompts again.

I swear, Josh looks straight down the camera, and I sit back, my eyes on his. “There’s no one special,” he tells the world, dragging his gaze back to his host. I don’t know how to interpret that. Was he telling me there is no one special, or was he telling me I’m no one special? I don’t know, and I hate, hate, hate that I need to. “Turn it off.” I grab the remote from Matilda’s hand before she has a chance to obey my abrupt order, and aim it at the screen, pressing the on/off button with a firm fingertip. The screen dies, leaving silence. Not for long, though.

“Tell me everything.” Matilda turns to me, and I feel myself fold.

But I need to tell someone. Someone I can trust, and who isn’t my driver. Not that I actually tell Damon. The poor man has no choice but to know since he is practically my shadow. I feel like I’m going out of my mind. “When he showed up at my private party, we somehow found our way to my suite.” My eyes are pointed to my lap, but a quick glimpse up confirms Matilda’s open mouth.

“You said you were tired. You went to bed.”

“I did go to bed. With him.” I shrug lamely. “And yesterday, he showed up at the stables.”

“You like him.”

I laugh, no counter coming to me, diving into the sanctuary of my champagne. “You know me. I don’t get attached. There’s no point.”

“You’re falling for him.” Her claim comes from nowhere, and I stare at her, flummoxed.

“That is utterly ridiculous. I hardly know him.”

“You’re falling for him.”

“Will you stop saying that?” I reach for the Mo?t and abandon my glass in favor of the whole bottle.

“Adeline, I know full well that you make a point of not getting attached to the men you …” She fades off, trying to find an appropriate word while I wait.

“Screw?” I prompt.

“Share company with.”

“This is why you make a much more suitable princess than I do.” I toast her etiquette and slurp from the bottle.

“My point is, you don’t get attached because we all know what will happen if you do. Men you see are disposed of.”

“I’ve never met a man I’d want to get attached to,” I mumble round the rim of the bottle.

“That’s because you make a point not to. But you were not anticipating Josh Jameson, were you? And now it’s driving you bonkers, because you’re falling for him and you most definitely cannot have him.” Matilda laughs, and then stops just as quickly, shaking her head in dread. “Jesus, the King would go potty.”

“Thank you for the reminder of my reality.”

“Welcome. So, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing.” I grab a magazine and casually scan the page, pretending my mind isn’t racing and my heart isn’t booming. “And I am not falling for him,” I tell her. “Just having a bit of fun, since it is seriously lacking around here. He leaves next week.”

“Well, you don’t need me to tell you that you’re on dangerous ground.” She slumps back and kicks her feet onto the table.

No, I do not, but this doesn’t feel like the usual dangerous ground I dance on. I’m not being defiant for the sake of it, to prove some kind of personal point to myself—I am my own person and cannot be told what to do and who I see. I’m dancing on this particularly dangerous ground because I really, really want to. It defies logic. I know once knowledge of my involvement with Josh Jameson is discovered by Claringdon Palace, steps will be taken to make sure he stays away. And for once, it bothers me what the King and his minions might do. Why? Because I care for him? I reach up and rub at my chest, not liking the mild ache developing. Do I care for him? I hardly know him. No, I like him. He’s fun. I grin to myself, getting a vivid and graphic playback of our time in my suite, belts, hankies, tiaras, and all. And then my grin fades when I remember our ride yesterday. He is a multi-dimensional man, and I like it all. He’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time, maybe ever, and it is real fun. Just like Josh said, it isn’t manufactured. I’m not pretending with him. I’m not fooling myself.