Page 19 of The Problem with Princes
I fight the frown that wants to come to my face. That feels like such an archaic mind set. The little lady belongs at home doing wifey things and raising the kids. Was it an Atraxia thing or a royal thing?
Texie grabs onto my arm, her hand clutching me like a vise, as we walk to the sofa.
“Miss Martindale, tell us about yourself.” The king looks my gown over and smiles. His face is kind, but I can see he finds humor in the situation. I’m beginning to think I’m just a big joke for the whole royal family. Except for maybe Prince Tyrone, because he has already fled. Not that I blame him entirely. If given the opportunity, I would bolt too.
I lift my chin a fraction. I’m sure this is going to be the story they tell everyone at their next fancy cocktail party. They will tell of the ridiculous Americans who didn’t listen and came to a casual dinner dressed for the red carpet.
I can’t really fault them. I mean, I would totally tell everyone if the roles were reversed. This is story time gold. But it’s probably going to be a few years before I find humor in it.
“Umm, I am not sure what you want to know. We live in Washington, DC. Texie and I came to Europe to celebrate her recent promotion.” I glance over at her, and she nods, smiling like an idiot at Prince Barak.
I elbow her. “Calm down. You look like a crazy person,” I whisper when I turn my head to fake cough.
“What fun.” The queen looks at Texie. “What kind of promotion?”
Finally, Texie snaps out of her googly-eyed fantasy world. She squares her shoulders, putting on her serious face. The face she gets when she is in lawyer mode. All the crazy melts away to expose the calm and no-nonsense attorney. “I was named as a junior partner at my law firm, Your Majesty.”
Both the king and queen’s brows rise on their foreheads. Apparently, we have not conveyed the fact that we are both well-educated and usually well-spoken.
“And are you a lawyer, also, Miss Martindale?” the king asks.
I shake my head. If they are like most people in America, I will see their impressions drop a bit. My job never elicits the kind of response Texie’s does. “No, Your Majesty. I’m a lobbyist.”
My prediction is spot on. Their brows drop as much as they had risen at Texie’s announcement. “A lobbyist? Meaning companies pay you money to bribe members of your congress to vote in favor of their agenda?”
Ouch. I cringe. He hasn’t sugarcoated it. Normally people don’t use the “B” word. It seems the false generalization about American lobbyists has reached all the way to this little island in the Mediterranean. “Not exactly, but close. While that is a general misconception, we do not bribe members of Congress. We merely provide them with facts and figures that they may not have access to or have uncovered in their own research.” I put a particularly perky tone in my voice.
His brow does not smooth out in the least. “We havelobbyistshere too, Miss Martindale. Only we have laws governing their actions.”
Wow. I have heard people use the word politician with less disdain than when the king uses the word lobbyist. I’m never going to see this guy again. Why didn’t I just lie and say I am a lawyer like Texie? Dinner would be less tense, that’s for sure. “Yeah, we have laws too.” Much of my previous perk has abandoned me.
“Do you even need a university degree for such a job in America?”
My brows shoot up and my mouth drops open. What is with this guy? Not only is he dissing my job to my face, but now he is questioning my education? Hmm. Guess the proverbial acorn didn’t fall far from the tree. ModernZeusstands before me. “Yes, actually. I have a master’s degree in business administration from Dartmouth. My under grad is in political science from Stanford.” Hah. That seems to smooth out the creases in his forehead, at least a little. Although, my education does not completely erase the distaste of my job. I can still see that in his eyes.
I raise my chin a notch higher. Would it be rude to feign illness and just return to the hotel? Why do I even care if it’s rude? He’d been rude first. I sulk like a two-year-old. They can keep Texie as their proper guest.
Queen Salene seems to sense the tension in the room. You’d have to be completely socially awkward not to feel it. She clears her throat. “I am very impressed with the level of education you’ve both received.”
I move to the edge of the couch. My hackles are up, as my father says. Why was this woman so surprised that an American woman could be educated?
Texie must sense my irritation because she places a hand on my arm and whispers, “I don’t think she means it as a slight, Gee.”
I force the tension out of my shoulders. She is probably right. This whole evening had started off on the wrong foot, and I’m just allowing that to dictate my attitude.
The queen’s lips set into a firm line, and I follow her gaze to see Modern Ares has returned. My cheeks heat and I think my heart might beat out of my chest.
He’s no longer wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Instead, he is decked out in a navy-blue suit—by the way it hugs his form in just the right places it’s obviously tailored just for him—complete with a vest and tie. It’s not a tux, but it’s really close. Many of my friends’ husbands had worn something similar for their weddings.
My breath whistles quietly out between my teeth. Wow. And I thought he looked like a god in jeans?
I stare at him as he walks across the room and I feel like crying, which is completely stupid. But it’s one of the nicest things a man has done for me in the memorable past. My brow furrows. Or had he done it for Texie? Regardless, it’s a completelyunAres thing to do. Does he have an ulterior motive behind the action, or had I simply misjudged him?
I bristle. I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. Maybe not where Tanner was concerned. But as a general rule, I do pretty good. It bothers me that I might have been so wrong about this guy.
His mother eyes him suspiciously. “You changed your clothes,” she says in Greek.
“I believe that is quite obvious, Mother,” Modern Ares—no, that name doesn’t seem to fit the man standing beside the couch—Prince Tyrone replies in Greek.
