Page 16 of His Princess Brat
Of course, if I were a smarter, less stubborn woman I’d do the smart thing and simply settle for someone like Mswati. Ninth son or not, he was at least nice and would make a perfectly respectable husband. I’m sure my mother would prefer Tamar, but he was exactly the type of man I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life having to tolerate. He cared only for wealth, titles, and propriety, and I just couldn’t care less about any of that.
Neither of them matched the picture I had in my head of who my future husband would be. But Azid, with his bald head and bulging muscles, that stupid dimple, his snappy comebacks and brilliant, mischievous smile... he was the one I couldn’t stop fawning over. There wasn’t a thing about him that said ‘stuck-up royalty,’ which was, in my opinion, exactly how a royal should be.
And that threat... I had been replaying it in my head over and over for all last night and much of this morning. It made my stomach clench every time I thought of it. But it wasn’t just my stomach; my throat went dry and my pussy got wet. It was the most inexplicably chauvinistic thing that had ever been said to me, and that was saying something. On the flip side, it was also the hottest.
And he thought I had a pretty face. Of course he also thought I was the world’s most spankable girl... or princess... whatever.
God, I loved his banter.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts and fantasies, I didn’t hear my mother come on the line until she was practically screaming into the receiver to get my attention.
“Hello, darling,” she said, lowering her voice a timbre when I finally acknowledged her.
I should have started with niceties, asked how she was doing, asked how my father was, apologized for leaving on bad terms, but there was no time for any of that. Azid could be out in the garden proposing to Bethany at this very moment!
“How do I wax my eyebrows? How do I calm my frizzy hair? Should I get it cut? Should I color it? Do I need fake eyelashes? Fake nails? Fake toenails? Would it be easier to just get a wig? How do I become pretty enough? Mother, why haven’t you taught me any of this stuff?”
A muffled snort on the other end of the phone let me know my mother was laughing at me. My own mother! Maybe I really was a hopeless case. I should just marry Mswati, and be thankful that I could find a husband at all.
“Mother!” I huffed indignantly. “This is not a laughing matter! I thought you wanted me to find a husband!”
Another chortle escaped, and then she sobered. “I do, darling, I do. It’s just that I’ve spent years trying to talk to you about your hair, your nails, and all those tools of feminine wile, and you never wanted to hear it. So I gave up and stuck to the subjects that actually interested you, like horses.” She chuckled again, and I could all but see her smiling through the phone line. “Should I take this to mean that a gentleman has caught your eye, and that you might actually return to Bahar with a suitable mate?”
“No! Yes! Probably not! I don’t know!” I was making no sense and probably coming across like a crazy person. Crazy was exactly how I felt.
“Pita, darling? Are you okay?” My mother had gone from tickled pink to cautiously concerned in the blink of an eye.
“I’m fine!” I snapped. “Are you going to help me or not? I don’t know anyone here. If you don’t help me then I’m screwed and I may as well just come home now as a hopeless, broken-hearted spinster. I’ll adopt ten cats and never leave my room!” I knew I was being dramatic, but I needed help and I needed it now!
“Goodness, well, we wouldn’t want that.” My mother’s voice had changed tone again, and she now sounded gravely worried. “I’ve barely gotten used to the horses. I don’t think I can tolerate the scandal of cats too.”
Cringing under a stab of guilt at my harshness, I rushed to reassure her. “I’m fine, Mother, I promise. But yes, I did meet someone, and there are all these beautiful women throwing themselves at him every second of the day, and I don’t know how to compete!”
“Give me one day,” my mother promised smartly. “I’ll get you looking and feeling like a proper lady in no time, and this man won’t stand a chance.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, thank you so much.”
“No trouble at all, darling.” She paused, and this time when she spoke all I heard was wild curiosity. “So tell me, who is this mystery man? What country is he from? Is he a prince? The son of old money, new money? Who is he?”
“I... I...” I paused stuttering as I searched the recesses of my brain for some tidbit of information to give her and came up short. “I don’t know yet,” I finished lamely. “Only that he is the special guest of Mazi.”
And bald, muscular, great-looking in nothing but yoga pants, and liked to threaten my butt. Somehow I doubted if any of those things would impress her.
If she was bothered by my lack of information, she didn’t let on, instead forging ahead with even more questions I had no answer for. “Who are his parents? Oh, I do hope he’s from Egypt, like... what’s his name, the son of that hotel baron? Now he would make a good husband, if only I could stand the smarmy little weasel. Still, a union between the two of you would go a long way toward strengthening our ties with Egypt, now that one of his brothers has married into royalty.”
I rolled my eyes. “You said I could marry for love,” I reminded her.
“And you can, darling. It doesn’t mean that a mother can’t hope that the man you fall in love with is from a well-bred family with connections.”
“Mother, will you please focus? It’s not going to matter how well-bred or well-connected he is if I can’t get him to look at me! First and foremost, I need to get his attention. That’s the most important thing.”
“Good point. I’ll see what I can do and call you tomorrow. Unfortunately, I must run. I’m having lunch with Zimbabwe. Ta-ta!”
“Ta-ta, Mother,” I muttered to dead air. Well, that was less than helpful. Dropping my phone on the nightstand, I threw myself backward onto the bed.
I hoped my mother came up with a good plan. Left to my own devices, I didn’t stand a chance.
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