Almost as soon as the army plane landed, they started on him. They wanted him to marry that bitch. At first he had merely laughed at them but he couldn’t laugh for long. They denied him food, drink, and sleep. They pounded at him hour after hour, preying on everything he held sacred. They talked about how he was betraying his country, how he was betraying his family’s name. They said they would give him a dishonorable discharge and send him home to live with the disgrace. They sent a woman in to talk to him. She purred at him, said the marriage would only be temporary and America needed him so badly.
He had agreed at long last because he realized they were telling him the truth. America did need someone to help the princess, and her country’s mineral deposits and strategic location were important to the war effort.
He was exhausted by the time he entered the conference room where some of the biggest brass of both army and navy were waiting for him. Someone had pity on him and gave him a chair and he immediately put his head down and was nearly asleep when he was woken by the princess giving him orders as if he were her lackey.
He would have liked to wring her little neck. He had agreed to help her get her country back—this was something she wanted—yet she had the audacity to belittle him.
All through the short service she stood like a martyr readying herself for sacrifice. J.T. saw the other p
eople giving him hostile looks, as if he were doing something vile to this lovely woman. Lovely, ha! he wanted to yell. He had already saved her life, spent two years’ savings on her, put up with one nasty remark after another from her, yet he was being cast as the villain.
Even the WACs were giving him hostile looks, and that was something else that was further angering J.T. He had never had trouble with girls before. At home his family was the richest in town, he and his brothers weren’t bad to look at, and he had always liked girls. It had, until now, seemed to be a devastating combination. But since he had met the princess, every woman seemed to look at him as if he were the devil incarnate. Yet as far as he could tell, he had done nothing wrong. He had saved her from drowning and he had even agreed to marry her—but everyone seemed to think he had done something horribly wrong.
After the ceremony, all he had wanted to do was sleep. It had been an ordeal getting the princess back to the hotel. She didn’t lead and she refused to follow. Every two minutes he had to turn around to see if she was still with him—which she usually wasn’t—then he had to go back and get her. He barely made it to the bed before he was asleep.
When the telephone rang and the man said she had been arrested for shoplifting, it seemed a perfect end to a hideous week. He dragged himself to the police station and there she sat with that haughty look on her face, as if she expected someone to save her.
Of course she didn’t say one word of thanks to him for once again saving her ass. She just sat there as if expecting a red carpet to be rolled out for her to walk on.
At the hotel he had almost apologized to her. He had tried to explain how tired he was, how hungry, but it didn’t affect her. She could have been carved out of marble. Her perfect little face was set into a cold, perfect little mask.
He ordered food, then had to show her how to work the bathtub. He planned to nip this trend in the bud right away or she would have him playing her maid.
He was glad to get rid of her when room service knocked. She stayed in the tub the entire time he was eating. He was a little chagrined at himself for having eaten all four dinners and he meant to tell her to order herself something else, but the bed seemed to be calling him. He fell asleep before she left the bathroom.
The next thing he knew someone was yelling “Ready!” in his ear. He came awake suddenly, sitting upright and thinking there was another ammo fire. It took him a moment to get his bearings.
The princess was lying beside him, wearing some frilly pink thing, her fists clenched at her side, her legs stiff—in fact her whole body was so rigid she could have been made out of steel. It took him a minute to understand that she expected him to ravish her. He had never seen anything as undesirable in his life as this cold, unfeeling woman.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or rage at her. It made him angry that she seemed to have successfully reduced him to her idea of a primitive male who wouldn’t be able to control himself at the sight of a beautiful female in his bed wearing a low-cut, gossamer-thin nightgown that clung to and outlined every one of her not-inconsiderable curves.
The next thing he knew he was yelling at her.
Her expression didn’t change—after all marble didn’t move. She got up from the bed and left the room.
Immediately, he had felt guilty, as if he had done something wrong. He turned on his stomach and punched his pillow with his fist. If she would just smile at him, just show him that she could be human. If she could be human, that is. It took him awhile before he could go back to sleep.
Now, he looked at the clock and knew it was time to get up. Maybe he had dreamed the whole thing. Maybe he wasn’t married to the haughty princess after all. Maybe he was just plain Lieutenant Montgomery and not Public Enemy Number One.
* * *
At nine the next morning Aria looked up as Lieutenant Montgomery emerged from the bedroom, still wearing his rumpled uniform, his jaw now black with whiskers. He looked like a pirate.
“It’s true then,” he mumbled, looking at her with eyelids still heavy with sleep. “I thought maybe I dreamed all of it.”
She rose from the couch, not letting him see her stiffness.
“About last night…” he began.
She started past him toward the bathroom.
He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. “Maybe last night I was a little too harsh. The brass kept me awake for hours, then when I finally got to sleep I get a call saying you’re in jail.”
She looked at him with cold eyes.
“Is that what you stole?” he asked, his voice lowering, one hand moving to touch her shoulder. “It’s nice.”
“It is a—as I believe you called it—‘silly’ garment.” She moved away from him but he grabbed the long, flowing skirt of her negligée.