My Best Friend's Royal Wedding (ARC) Page 8

  After yet another interruption, she lays a hand on my arm. “We’ll catch up tomorrow, I

  promise.” Then she and Max head off to circulate among the guests, leaving me alone with Adam

  once again. I sip from my still-full champagne glass.

  “You know, you really don’t need to stay here and make nice with the bridesmaid,” I say.

  “Consider yourself free of that Best Man obligation. Go mingle with the beautiful people.”

  “Oh, it’s not an obligation, and I’m already mingling with the most beautiful woman at the

  party.”

  I roll my eyes. “Bullshit. Everyone else here looks like a movie star. All glossy and shiny

  and-”

  “Fake?” He laughs, and the sound has an unexpectedly bitter quality to it. “It’s not hard to

  look good if you have money. Most of these women spent the entire day at a beauty spa primping for this party. I can guarantee that not one of them went looking at eighteenth century frescoes.”

  Is a day in a spa seriously all it takes to look like one of them? I eye two women gliding

  across the room, tall and slender as supermodels, hair and make-up impeccably perfect, graceful even though they’re wearing four inch heels.

  “Phoenix did suggest a spa day,” I say speculatively. “Maybe I should take her up on it.”

  He shrugs. “You’re better off spending your days looking at frescoes.”

  What the…! Did he just insinuate I’m so hopeless even an entire day in a beauty salon can’t help me? I round on him, indignation firing my blood, but Adam just laughs. “That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of working the room: it’s refreshing to meet a woman who hasn’t spent the entire day preening in front of a mirror.”

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  I narrow my eyes at him, not buying this back-handed compliment, and wondering if I

  should point out that neither Phoenix nor any of the palace staff spent the day preening.

  Adam grins. “No, you’re right, I’m just being nice. You looked lonely, and I felt sorry for you. Is that more believable?”

  “I’m not lonely,” I protest.

  “Liar. But don’t worry - as soon as they find out you’re the soon-to-be Arch Duchess’ BFF,

  you’ll have more ‘friends’ than you know what to do with.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But the truth is, I’m talking to you because all the other women at this party know me.”

  That sounds like the first honest thing he’s said all day - and it explains the unfriendly looks.

  “Do you mean that they already know you’re a douche, but since I’m new here you think I might

  not? Or do you mean they know you in the biblical sense?”

  His grin turns to a smirk. “Yup.”

  Just how many women at this party might he know in the ‘biblical’ sense?

  “Sorry, but you’re too late. I already know you’re a douche.” My smile is so sweet it could

  cause cavities. It’s the smile I use when I feel like stabbing a difficult customer with a fork.

  He lays his hand over his heart, looking pained. “I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t

  like me.”

  I pretend a shocked expression. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  He laughs, throwing his head back, and a couple of heads turn our way. I have to admit that

  Adam has a really nice laugh, warm and intimate, as if he’s letting me in on a secret. It is quite possibly the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, even sexier than his purr.

  “Adam, dah-ling!” At the interruption, Adam’s amused, slightly bored, mask slips back into

  place.

  It’s the two supermodel types I spotted earlier. Up close, they’re not as tall as I thought. I can tell that the brunette has had work done; her features are a little too symmetrical, her lips a fraction too big. Her friend, a classic blond with wide blue eyes, smiles at me in a vague way, but

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  I’m unable to smile back. She reminds me too much of the cheerleader who tormented me all

  through high school.

  Adam leans in to kiss the brunette’s cheek. “It’s been a while, Elena.”

  She turns narrow, assessing dark eyes on me. “And who is your little friend?”

  Since I’m her height without the advantage of heels, the ‘little’ is clearly there to put me in my place. Adam hardly seems to move, but suddenly he’s right there next to me, closing the gap between us, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me in against his side. When I try to

  squirm away, he holds me tighter.

  “This is Khara. Khara, may I present my cousin Elena, Baroness Cassel.”

  My tongue feels like it’s glued to the top of my mouth. Am I supposed to curtsy, or call her

  ‘Your Highness’? Where is Phoenix’s protocol secretary when I need him? But Elena isn’t even

  looking at me. Her gaze is laser-focused on Adam, and the desire in her eyes is plain to see.

  I hope I don’t look at him like that, because it’s enough to make me nauseous.

  “Very, very distant cousins,” she corrects. “And you didn’t seem to mind the connection

  when we were together.” Her emphasis on the last word makes my skin crawl. Then her coy smile

  turns sympathetic, so quickly that I wonder if either emotion is real. “I am so sorry about your cousin Nick. You must all be so devastated.”

  I glance up at Adam. His easy-going smile doesn’t waver, but there’s a betraying tightness

  to his jaw. What happened to his cousin? I remember fair hair and soft hands, but beyond that I can’t even picture the man who tried to grope me. Adam left a far more lasting impression.

  “There’s a rumor that you might inherit in his place?” Elena leans in, sliding her hand up his arm, as if claiming him.

  “You should know better than to trust rumors, Elena.” There’s a bite to his voice. His other

  hand slides down from my waist to rest on my butt in an unmistakably intimate gesture. I’m

  tempted to slap his hand away, but the tension in him stops me. This isn’t a man trying to get lucky.

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  “We should get together again sometime,” Elena continues, not put off in the slightest by the

  fact that he’s groping me right in front of her. “For old time’s sake.”

  “As you can see, I’m here with a date.”

  Elena’s laugh is low and seductive. “That didn’t stop us before.”

  “You know I never come back for seconds.” His voice is still so smooth, so polite and full

  of charm, that it takes both Elena and I a moment to register the hit. Her eyes narrow. I’m pretty sure mine have too. Her friend seems oblivious to Adam’s snub.

  Elena removes her hand from his arm. “You’re right. The rumors can’t possibly be true if

  you’re choosing a cold-blood over a thoroughbred. Perhaps Mátyás will be more open to a woman

  with class and breeding.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, but the glance she sends me is enough to know it

  was a dig at me. I certainly don’t feel cold-blooded with the surge of fury rushing through me. I suck in a breath to retort, but Adam squeezes my hip in warning, as if to say ‘don’t descend to her level’, so I bite my lip.

  “I am sure you and Mátyás will be perfectly suited to one another,” he says, still smiling.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, Khara and I were in the middle of something.”

  Elena glares at him, but her parting shot is aimed at me. “Enjoy him while you can, honey,

  because he won’t stick around until morning.”

  When she and her friend are out of earshot I look up at Adam. “Ew! You dated your

  cousin?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t call it dati
ng, and we’re only distant cousins. Fourth or fifth, I think.

  Half the guests here tonight are related in some way, and the other half want to be. European

  aristocracy is a hotbed of in-breeding.”

  Our bodies are still pressed together, and even though he’s wearing a jacket, I’m suddenly

  aware of just how solid and broad his chest is. His hand still rests intimately on my butt, holding me against him. “You can remove your hand now,” I say pointedly.

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  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I’ll make you.” I smile sweetly up at him, but my voice is a good imitation of The

  Godfather, and he quickly removes his hand.

  I shift away, hoping it’s not obvious that I need to place distance between us to get my

  breath back and my raging pulse under control. Damn hormones! “I’m sorry about your cousin.

  Were you close?”

  He cocks his head, as if he has to think about it. “I was closer to him than almost anyone,

  but Nick was…challenging.”

  I think of that long ago night in Vegas, of Adam keeping the conversation flowing,

  smoothing over the difficulties, diverting his cousin away from me. Well, since I’ve now diverted Elena away from him, we’re fair and square.

  “And what was that about me being cold-blooded?”

  He clears his throat, looking sheepish. “In horse breeding, thoroughbreds are known as hot-

  bloods because of their more highly-strung temperaments. Cold-bloods are hardier, calmer horses which are bred for work.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “And that was supposed to be an insult? I take it as a compliment. I’d

  rather be a reliable work horse than a high-strung thoroughbred any day.”

  He laughs. “I think I might agree with you.” For the first time since Elena’s interruption, the amusement in his eyes looks genuine. “Thank you for playing along. What Elena wants, Elena

  usually gets, and she would have been a lot more difficult to get rid of if you hadn’t been here.”

  “I can’t imagine why she wants you,” I tease. “You’re not that much of a catch.”

  Okay, I’m not teasing, I’m flirting. What can I say? After years of harmless flirting to earn

  bigger tips, it’s become a habit. It has nothing at all to do with the way my pulse is still going pitter-pat, and my body wants to plaster itself back against him. Liar, a little voice in my head whispers.

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  Adam laughs again, but that bitter edge is back. “It’s not me she wants. My cousin died

  recently in a car accident, leaving…an inheritance. That’s what Elena’s after. And she’s not the only one. Since the day Nick died, I’ve been swatting them off like flies.”

  “Oh, it must be so hard to be you,” I mock. But now I understand why he’s hanging out here

  with me rather than working the party like everyone else. It’s not because he finds me particularly interesting, or because he feels sorry for me. It’s because I’m the only person at this party who doesn’t want something from him.

  I’m still puzzling out what kind of inheritance would make an already wealthy man seem

  even more attractive to a Baroness, when a man more smartly dressed than all the guests, in a black coat, gray waistcoat and long black tie, appears in the doorway. “Dinner is served,” he announces in a voice that carries through the room.

  Immediately the guests start to move out of the wide double doors at the far end of the

  drawing room.

  “Ladies first,” Adam says, gesturing for me to lead the way. I drift after the crowd,

  nervously expelling my breath.

  “You’ll be fine,” he says in a low voice. “Just remember to work from the outside in.”

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  Chapter Seven

  Khara

  The state dining room is separated from the Yellow Drawing Room by the high-ceilinged vestibule at the head of the grand staircase. The room looks even more impressive than it did when Phoenix gave me the palace tour yesterday. The walls are covered in burgundy-red silk, and hung with

  paintings of Venice, and the room is lit by three massive, sparkly chandeliers. The table is big enough to seat at least fifty people, and if I thought there was a lot of cutlery and glassware at the breakfast table, that was nothing compared to this table. I gulp, swallowing down panic.

  Is it too late to run, to get rid of this butt-ugly dress, and escape the palace? Get a grip, girl.

  You can do this.

  There are place cards at each setting, with the guests’ names written in a curly gold font.

  Adam helps me find my place, between two complete strangers, then he circles the table to find his own. For a crazy moment I want to call him back, ask if he’ll swap places with the man next to me who looks as if he just swallowed a sour lemon.

  I notice that all the way up and down the table, men and women are seated alternately. Man,

  woman, man, woman. Now I get what Adam meant about even numbers.

  Max is at the head of the table, all the way across the room, Phoenix is closer, but there are still at least four people between us. If I want to talk to her, I’d have to shout. Adam’s seat is across

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  from me, a couple places down. Who would have thought I’d actually be sad to be separated from him?

  As Adam reaches his place across the table, smiling at the stern-faced, grey-haired woman

  beside him, an officious-looking young man hurries up to him - the palace’s protocol secretary. “I am so sorry, sir. I don’t know what happened! You should be seated higher up the table.”

  Adam glances up the table, toward Max’s end. Elena and her friend are both seated in that

  direction. “Nope, no mistake.”

  “But sir! You’re-”

  “Unless you want one of the guests throwing wine in my face, I think I’m better off where I

  am.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Dinner is about a million times more excruciating than breakfast, and I seem to do

  everything wrong. When I sit, the stern woman next to Adam glares at me. I hurriedly stand again.

  We all remain standing as Max makes a short speech, thanking everyone for being here, and for

  their generous contributions, before he sits. Only then does everyone else sit.

  It’s almost a shame to destroy the cloth napkin sculpture on my plate. The napkin is stiff

  with starch, and folded in the shape of a swan. But I copy everyone else, pulling the swan apart to spread the napkin across my lap. In fact, I’m almost scared to touch anything on the table. Every item is lined up and perfectly symmetrical.

  The first course is a thin, watery soup. Consommé, it says on the gold-lettered menu. I select a knife to cut and butter a bread roll to mop up the soup, earning another glare from the woman next to Adam. What the hell is wrong with her? Did I use the wrong knife or something?

  Since Sour Lemon Man is seated on my right, I turn to the man on my left to make

  conversation, as he looks younger and friendlier, but when I try to introduce myself, he turns his back to talk to the woman on his left. How rude!

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  So I ignore them both and sip on the champagne one of the liveried waiters fills my glass

  with. I’m starting to rather enjoy the taste of this champagne.

  When the soup is done, I’m still hungry. The waiters clear away the plates and champagne

  glasses, and move around the table filling the next in the line of glasses in front of each place setting, this time with white wine. There’s another speech, from the tall, thin and exceptionally elegant woman seated on Max’s right. Her speech is definitely not short, and my stomach rumbles audibly while she drones
on. When she’s done at last, the next course is served. Salad.

  Lunch seems so long ago. A maid brought a tray of food to my room when I was getting

  ready, which I thought very odd since I’d had a big lunch and was coming out to a dinner, but I think now I understand why. She knew how meager tonight’s food was going to be.

  When my stomach grumbles again, I earn even more frosty stares from the guests around

  me. On the plus side, I finally figure out what Adam meant about working from the outside in. He was talking about the cutlery. We start with the outermost knife and fork, working inwards with each course.

  According to the menu, the next course is fish or beef. I expect the waiters to come around

  and take our orders, like they did on the plane, but we don’t seem to get a choice; everyone gets the same small piece of fish artistically decorated with asparagus. I’ve never eaten asparagus before, and it’s so drenched in creamy butter I’m still not entirely sure what it tastes like. When the young man on my left finally deigns to make conversation with me, I answer him with short answers.

  After all, there’s only so much I can say about the weather.

  When I hand my empty plate to the server at the end of the course, I earn yet more surprised

  glances from the people around me. Clearly, I’ve done something wrong again, but there seem to be a lot of rules I just don’t know. It’s like I’m playing baseball and everyone else on the field is playing soccer.

  Dessert is a watery lemon sorbet and I’m wondering what the chances are Neustadt has a

  late night McDonalds so I can fill my still-empty stomach, when, after another round of speeches,

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  the next glasses in line are filled with red wine. Turns out that wasn’t dessert, and the main course wasn’t an either/or, as the servers bring out another course, tiny beef medallions floating in a red wine sauce, surrounded by a perfect circle of strange fluffy, green mousse that I only identify as spinach thanks to the menu.