“I’m off tomorrow evening,” he said upon seeing me.
“Beers, then?” I asked as I walked up the three steps and set the basket down in front of the door.
“Sure. Which villa do you stay in?”
I stared at him for a long moment, wondering if I should tell him. He probably already knew though. I pointed next door.
“Oh.” He laughed. “You know you could walk here.”
“I could, but the basket would make my fingers fall off, so I’d rather drive the little golf cart over.”
“They are pretty heavy.” He lifted it.
Now that he was standing in front of me, I realized he was much taller than I was, but then, most men were. I was five foot five and usually wearing flats. He was also standing much too close to me. Close enough that I could make out that his eyes were pale blue and his face needed a shave.
“You’re really pretty,” he said.
“Thank you.” I smiled. “I don’t think I even told you my name last night.”
“What is it?”
“Adeline.”
He smiled. “I’m Pierre.”
“Nice to meet you, Pierre.”
“May I pick you up at seven tomorrow?”
“I . . . can you make it seven thirty?”
“Seven thirty it is.” He smiled wide. When he did that, his eyes twinkled.
The door opened beside us and he took a giant step back, leaving me exposed to the person on the other side of the door. Prince Elias. Again. This time, he was wearing a white button-down shirt, his dark hair in disarray. He had the perfect bedroom hair. And bedroom eyes. And they were staring right at me. My heart pounded in my ears. Again, I couldn’t seem to move. It was as if he’d cast me under a spell and there was no escaping it.
“Miss Adeline brought your things, sir,” Pierre announced, his back toward me now.
“Set them inside, please,” Prince Elias said, his eyes still on mine, his voice a command no one would dare to contend. Pierre disappeared inside.
“I . . . ” I licked my lips, clasping my hands together. “I hope you find everything well. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to tell me. Good night.”
I turned around, my skirt whooshing with my movement as I did so. I needed to get out of here before I made a fool of myself. Why was I even talking to him? He hadn’t said one word to me. Why was he even opening the door every time I got here? It was annoying and unnerving and I hated the way he made me feel. Thankfully, my feet worked quickly and I was off the porch and back in front of the cart in no time.
“Adeline.”
My heart ceased at the sound of my name coming from his lips. I stopped walking. Stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Somehow, I managed to turn around and face him. Prince Elias was just walking down the last step when my gaze met his.
“I’m having a party tomorrow night.”
“Oh.” I perked up. He was inviting me to one of his famous parties?
“I’d love you to serve drinks for us.”
“Serve drinks?” I blinked. “I . . . um . . . I don’t think I’m qualified to do that.”
I wasn’t a bartender. Besides, I didn’t do this. I didn’t serve people or make them baskets or work parties I wasn’t being paid to plan. I hired people for that. How in the world had I found myself in this position? I didn’t expect Prince Elias to know that but surely he knew I was wearing designer and wasn’t meant to be his houseworker? Then again, his nannies and house employees probably wore designer too. The point was, I was usually invited to parties like these, not working them.
“It doesn’t matter. I would appreciate your help and you being there anyway.”
“I really can’t. I can hire someone to do it though.” I smiled politely.
“I’d prefer it if you did it yourself.”
“I can’t. I . . . ” I paused, trying to decide how much I wanted to explain. Finally, I simply smiled again and said, “I have a date.”
“A date,” he repeated, his eyes assessing me closer now, as if he was trying to figure out who would ask me on a date. It was the moment I realized I could definitely grow to hate Prince Elias. How had I ever slept with this man? How could I have given him my virginity? I was disgusted with myself.
“Yes, a date.”
“So you won’t be available at seven?”
“No,” I said too quickly, then added, “I will bring your basket and whatever else you need at seven, but after that, I’m indisposed.”
“What about nine o’clock?”
“I’ll still be on my date.”
“Eleven?”
“What are you getting at here? I’m not a bartender, Prince Elias. I can hire you one from the bar down the street if you’d like, though I’m sure your staff probably has a list of capable bartenders who can go to your party.” I was losing my patience and trying really hard not to. “I won’t be available tomorrow night and you should be grateful for that. I make shit drinks. All of my friends say I do. I put too much alcohol and too little mixer and everyone ends up getting drunk way too quickly and feeling sick at some point or nursing massive hangovers. I’m not available tomorrow night nor am I here for your entertainment. I’m sure it’s a concept you’re not familiar with, but some of us have actual lives and actual jobs that don’t revolve around the Crown.”