W
erewolf hearing, she thought. He’d heard her coming. Oh, well, at least she knew he was competent. He might hate her, but she was in no danger so long as he protected her.
“I intend to stay in today,” she announced. “I wish to be fully rested for the ball.”
“That’s fine,” Nick said.
“All I require from you is your protection while I buy some items from the shops downstairs,” she added.
“Sure.”
“I presume I do not need to wear a bulletproof jacket within the hotel or to the ball?”
“No.” He sounded tired. She looked at him more closely. He had dark smudges beneath his eyes, easily visible against his pale skin. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well either.
If they could have only curled up together, no doubt they’d have slept marvelously. Or gotten no sleep at all, which would have been even better.
Raluca stamped on that thought. Also on the thought that followed, which was to feel sorry for Nick. One bad night’s sleep was nowhere near enough punishment for the appalling music and the World’s Biggest Hairball.
She retired to her room, where she showered and put on the blue jeans and floral blouse Destiny had provided, had breakfast without inviting Nick to join her, and then went with him to explore the hotel stores.
Like many five-star hotels, it contained several shops, all with good and varied selections of their products. She first bought some books, noting that while most of his attention was on guarding her, he periodically glanced at the thriller section while she selected some critically acclaimed fiction. He didn’t buy anything himself, but he didn’t seem to mind watching her browse.
The makeup store, however, visibly bored him. So she took far more time than she needed to select the perfect shades of lipstick, foundation, powder, eyeliner, and mascara, waiting between each just long enough for him to think she was finished before turning to the next aisle.
When she was done, she returned to their rooms. Standing in the doorway between them, she said, “We must leave early. I need to drive to Protection, Inc. so I can get some jewelry from my hoard.”
This is your chance, her dragon hissed. Ask him what jewelry men wear.
Raluca inwardly shook her head at her dragon’s ridiculous conviction that some day she would adorn Nick, but it was true that she might never get a better lead-in for the question. “Do American men wear jewelry?”
“Uh... I think Rafa said he’d get me cufflinks,” Nick said. “My suit’s at Protection, Inc. too. So yeah, we’ll leave early. I’ll brief you while we’re there.”
“Please do,” said Raluca. “I have an excellent memory, so if I say anything foolish or dangerous or naïve, it will be because you failed to warn me not to.”
Before Nick could reply, she stepped back and shut the door in his face.
It was a gratifying moment. But it was the only one for the rest of the day. Her dragon was dissatisfied with the response to the jewelry question, and kept breaking into Raluca’s attempts to read and relax with remarks on the insufficiency of cufflinks as a mating gift.
We’re not mates, Raluca protested, but her dragon ignored her and continued to brood over American men’s lack of good taste. Eventually she began making hopeful suggestions that Raluca could break with American fashion, give Nick a proper dragon’s gift, and perhaps start a nationwide trend.
Anything he wears might inspire others to vain attempts to look as handsome, her dragon suggested.
Raluca was already having difficulty concentrating, and her dragon wasn’t helping. Nor was the periodic swearing she heard from the next room. Nick appeared to be getting a lesson on etiquette over the phone, and sounded outraged at the entire concept.
My dragon has gone mad, my supposed mate hates me, unknown assassins are trying to kill me, and I never even saw Lucas, whom I came here to find, she thought.
The hotel balcony called to her. She longed to leap off it and fly away. But she would then have to extract her hoard from Protection, Inc., and that would require explaining herself to Hal. She disliked the idea of admitting that she had made a mistake — many mistakes — every possible mistake. Choosing Nick. Coming to America. Perhaps even renouncing her title and leaving Viorel.
She could return to Viorel and reclaim her position, Raluca supposed. But she suspected that doing so would not solve the problem of the assassins. Someone had decided that they wanted the throne or to be the power behind the throne, and they were willing to kill her to get it. Once that decision had been made, it didn’t matter whether she was officially a princess or not. She was nothing but a piece on a chessboard, a pawn who must be destroyed before she could become a queen.
She stepped on to the balcony and stood looking out at the busy streets. The sun was setting, lighting the sky in a blaze of red and orange. It reminded her of dragonfire.
Raluca made her decision. She would attend the ball, if for no other reason than to annoy Nick by making him dress formally, speak politely, and eat elegantly, just as he’d annoyed her by making her eat at Big Bacon, listen to terrible music, and pay to look at World’s Biggest Wastes Of Time.
And then she would take her hoard and fly back to Europe. Or Asia, perhaps. She’d change her name again, and take her chances with the assassins. If they killed her, so be it. Her mate didn’t love her, anonymity was no better than the chains of royalty, and travel had brought her no joy. At least she would fly free again before she died.
Raluca turned her back on the balcony, changed into her blue couture gown and glumly zipped it up herself, and added the gloves, shoes, and clutch purse that would make it white tie. She went to the bathroom and did her own makeup. She’d have to leave her hair for when she had ornaments. Then she knocked on Nick’s door.