My heart tripped. Ethiopian was my favorite cuisine. Of course, Rhys could’ve chosen it at random without remembering the fact, which I’d let slip one time during a drive home.
“I don’t believe you,” I said. “Best Ethiopian is on U Street.”
It wasn’t. One taste of Walia’s injera sourdough flatbread and tibs wot beef half an hour later, and I knew Rhys was right. It was the best Ethiopian spot in the city.
“How did I not know about this place?” I demanded, breaking off another piece of injera and using it to scoop up the meat. In Ethiopian culture, the bread was an eating utensil as much as it was food.
“It flies under most people’s radar. I guarded an Ethiopian VIP for a few months. Only reason I found out about this place.”
“You’re full of surprises.” I chewed my food, thinking. After I swallowed, I said, “Since it’s my graduation night, let’s play a game. It’s called Getting to Know Rhys Larsen.”
“Sounds boring.” Rhys flicked his eyes around the restaurant. “I already know Rhys Larsen.”
“I don’t.”
He heaved a long-suffering sigh, and I fought the urge to cheer because the sigh meant he was about to cave. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, I reveled in it like a kid in a candy store.
“Fine.” Rhys sat back and folded his hands over his stomach, the picture of grouchiness. “Only because it’s your graduation night.”
I smiled.
Bridget: one. Rhys: zero.
For the rest of dinner, I peppered him with questions I’d always wanted to ask, starting with the small stuff.
Favorite food? Baked sweet potatoes.
Favorite color? Black. (Shocker).
Favorite movie? Reservoir Dogs.
After I exhausted the basics, I moved on to more personal territory. To my surprise, he answered most of my questions without complaint. The only ones he skirted were those about his family.
Biggest fear? Failure.
Biggest dream? Peace.
Biggest regret? Inaction.
Rhys didn’t elaborate on his vague answers, and I didn’t push him. He’d already given me more than I’d expected, and if I pushed too hard, he would shut down.
Eventually, I worked up the courage to bring up something that had been needling me for the past few weeks.
The honey wine helped. It made me all warm and buzzy, and it eroded my inhibitions with every sip.
“About the indoor festival you set up for Rokbury…”
Rhys stabbed at a piece of beef, ignoring the table of women ogling him from the corner. “What about it?”
“My friends didn’t know what I was talking about when I mentioned it to them.” I’d checked with Ava and Stella too, just in case, and they’d both stared at me like I’d grown two heads.
“So?”
I finished my wine, my nerves jumping all over the place. “So, you said my friends helped you with the setup.”
Rhys chewed quietly, not answering me.
“Did you…” A strange lump formed in my throat. I blamed it on too much food. “Did you come up with the idea? And set it up all by yourself?”
“It’s not a big deal.” He continued eating without looking at me.
I’d known it was him since my phone call with Jules, but hearing him confirm it was a whole other matter.
The butterflies in my stomach escaped all at once, and the lump in my throat grew. “It is a big deal. It was…very thoughtful. As was tonight. Thank you.” I spun my silver ring around my finger. “But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me it was your idea, or why you did it all. You don’t even like me.”
Rhys’s brow scrunched. “Who said I didn’t like you?”
“You.”
“I never said that.”
“You implied it. You’re always so grumpy and scolding me.”
“Only when you don’t listen.”
I bit back a tart reply. The night was going so well, and I didn’t want to ruin it, even if he made me feel like a misbehaving child sometimes.
“I didn’t tell you because it was inappropriate,” he added gruffly. “You’re my client. I should not be…doing those types of things.”
My heart crashed against my ribcage. “But you did it, anyway.”
Rhys’s mouth flattened into a displeased line, like he was angry at his own actions. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He finally lifted his eyes to meet mine. “Because I understand what it’s like to be alone.”
Alone.
The word struck me harder than it should’ve. I wasn’t physically alone—I was surrounded by people all day, every day. But no matter how much I tried to pretend I was a normal college student, I wasn’t. I was the Princess of Eldorra. It meant glamour and celebrity, but it also meant bodyguards and round-the-clock protection, bulletproof vests and a life that was planned, not lived.
The other royals I knew, including my brother, were content with living life in a fishbowl. I was the only one clawing at my insides, desperate to escape my own skin.
Alone.