Page 36 of The Princess Trap
“Harald is holding a ball to introduce your fiancée to society. He expects you at the palace within a week of the event, to get Cherry settled in.” She said these words matter-of-factly, as if they were actually true. As if Harald cared about things likesettling people in. More like he wanted ample time to tear Ruben apart. “So we have about three weeks to prepare. If this is going to work...” She looked at Cherry, who looked back with an arched brow and lifted chin. It was vaguely terrifying and unfairly attractive.
Demetria seemed to agree, because she snatched her gaze away and began shuffling awkwardly through the papers in front of her. “If this is going to work,” she repeated, “you two need to pass as a couple. Harald is very observant—which you already know, Ruben, but it bears, ah…at understrege?”
“Emphasising,” he offered.
“Yes! Emphasising.” She threw Cherry an apologetic look. “I read better than I speak.”
“You speak beautifully,” Cherry murmured. And then, God damn her, she smiled. Dimples and everything.
Demi blinked, slightly dazed. Was Ruben mistaken, or was his stalwart assistant actually blushing? He looked at Hans. Hans, his bad mood momentarily forgotten, looked back at him with raised brows.
He wondered if Cherry was capable of toning down her charm, or if she just exuded it like a rose exuded scent. Then he remembered how frosty she’d been on the flight over and decided she could definitely turn it off when necessary.
But if he asked her to be less devastatingly lovely around his assistant, she’d probably kick him in the shins.
“Right,” Demi muttered, shuffling through her papers. He had no idea why paperwork would be necessary for this kind of thing, but Demi loved paperwork.
“Well,” Agathe rasped into the silence, her voice roughened by the youthful smoking habit that had never quite let go. “This is very exciting, but I think not so related to me. It is breakfast time. Ruben, you want to eat?”
If he said no, she’d force feed him anyway; she had that determined gleam in her wintry eyes, the kind she got whenever he’d been travelling or ‘working too hard’ and she was convinced only steak and plenty of vegetables could possibly reinvigorate him. Luckily, he was actually rather hungry. So he said, “Yes, please.”
“Good. Demetria, Hans, have you had breakfast?”
“Oh, sorry, Agathe,” said Demi. “I have. And I’ve got a lunch meeting anyway…”
“I am fine,” Hans rumbled.
Unusually, Agathe appeared quite pleased by that fact. “So just Ruben and you, Cherry?” she asked. “What do you like to eat,min kære? We have eggs and bacon or we have, ah, the cereals, or something else? Pastry?”
Cherry pursed her lips in thought and tapped a pink tipped finger against her chin. She looked like a fantasy, even though the pose should have seemed ridiculous. Or at least vaguely pretentious. Finally she said, “I bet you’re an excellent cook. And I’m not picky. I’m happy to have whatever you’d like.”
Agathe’s wrinkled face split into a wide grin as she stood, smoothing her hands over her apron. “Vidunderlig! I’ll start breakfast. Ruben, be good,ja?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”
“Hm,” she sniffed, clearly dubious. But she hurried from the room anyway.
“So,” Demetria said brightly. “Moving on. I’m sure that the two of you will get to know each other very well, rattling around this house, but—“
“Wait,” Cherry interrupted. Not in her usual charming manner, either, so smooth you wouldn’t realise she’d cut in. No; the word was blunt, almost blurted out. “We’re not going to be the only ones here,” she said. Her voice didn’trise in question; rather, she seemed to be saying the words as if she could make them true via sheer force of will.
For what had to be the fiftieth time, Ruben was struck by just how much he wanted this woman.
“You kind of are,” Demi said. “Hans and I are here most of the time, and so is Agathe, but we all live in the main house, so—”
“Why?” Cherry demanded, her brow furrowed. She looked adorable. When did shenotlook adorable? Of course, she also clearly did not want to be alone with him. But for now he’d think less about the stinging implications of that and more about the little line between her brows.
“Well...” Demi began. She looked at Ruben. And so Ruben, with great effort, dragged his brain into gear.
“We can arrange for a lock on your door,” he said to Cherry, his voice brisk. “If that’s what you want. And I can give you a guard. Or whatever you’d prefer.”
“What? Wait, no—that’s not what I meant. I don’t—I mean, I wasn’t saying—” She broke off, and for a moment he thought he’d somehow managed to render the formidable Cherry Neita tongue-tied. But no. She shook herself and said, much more calmly, “A guard is unnecessary, and we don’t need any more people involved in this deception. I just… so, no-one was here last night? Except us?”
“No,” he said. “No-one. But the estate’s security is excellent. You’re completely safe here.”
Cherry huffed. “I know that. Never mind.” But then she added, “Why does everyone stay in that house except you?”
Ruben shrugged, trying to hide the fact that her simple question had his skin crawling. Familiar anxiety ground against him like sandpaper, but he sounded as collected as ever when he said, “I’m one person. I have a lot of staff. This house is small. That house is big.”
