Chapter 17
Untested
She pauses just out of reach and disappears behind a column. By the time I reach it and discover it leads to a darkened alcove, I’m sure I lost her again, but then I catch the curve of her hip peeking from the other side. Circling it, I reach around and grab her hand. I pull her towards the small privacy the alcove affords. I need my hands on her.
The weight on my chest lightens when I press myself against her. Clara fights it for a moment before melting against the alcove’s marble arch. She needs this, too. She must after dealing with all the poisoned looks and self-serving introductions from strangers. My fingers sink into her soft skin, resting the silk that keeps me from touching her bare flesh. Just the thought rockets blood straight to my groin resulting in a painful reminder that there’s too much clothing involved in this equation. But a kiss is all I can afford to risk. We’ve already suffered enough bad press. I won’t allow a lack of control to result in more mud-slinging. I promised to protect her this evening—even if that means protecting her from myself.
It takes effort to pull away from her, but I do, brushing my palm over her bare upper arm. That’s a mistake. Touching her again. I want to keep doing it. I step farther away and adjust my tie, instead. “I needed that.”
Clara stares at me, her perfect lips hanging open and giving me all sorts of bad ideas. We need to get away from this dark corner before I can commit another dark deed. I offer her my arm. She hesitates, dabbing at her lipstick, before taking it.
Does she know how careful she needs to be? A hair out of place? A smear of lipstick? It isn’t something she can risk. Not with the attention of the room on her.
“You look beautiful.” I hate that I need to reassure her. I want to kiss her senseless until her hair is wild and her cheeks glow and then I want to lead her back into the crowd looking like a woman claimed.
But tonight is a test. Of her. Of me. Of us.
And I’m determined to pass.
We’re not two steps back into the ballroom when Stefan or Anton or whatever the fuck my father’s latest simpering aide is named approaches us. He bows to me, which is completely unnecessary, but only nods to Clara.
I make a note to get him fired.
“Your Highness,” he says. “Your father requests that you join the family for the toast.”
“I showed up,” I say through clenched teeth. “That should be enough.”
“I’m afraid he’s quite insistent,” he says. “I suspect he’ll just call you up in front of everyone if you don’t—”
“Fine!” I toss my hands in the air, giving up and unintentionally losing Clara in the process. She’s frozen next to me, still not speaking. What must she think of this? Of us?
“I’ll see the young lady to a table,” maybe Stefan says.
“She stays with me.”
“But sir—”
“She stays with me,” I say again. There’s no way he’ll dare question me twice. But in case, he has a death wish, I grab Clara and drag her towards my family before I punch him. Maybe Stefan is only doing as he’s told, I remind myself—it’s something I should have sympathy for.
But I don’t. All I can feel as I approach my father is dread.
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