At the end of the day, none of this is my business, and the more detached I can remain, the better.
I’ve nearly convinced myself to let it go when I spot a glob of partially chewed sausage from this morning’s breakfast with Andrew on Lizzy’s blue satin dress, and my good intentions evaporate. The man is so passive-aggressive that he would rather spit food on his fiancée than have an honest discussion about his reluctance to enter into an arranged marriage.
He deserves a taste of his own medicine, and what better way to keep kissing off his radar than by ensuring our dance lessons are as miserable for him as every meal has been for me?
Spotting the back of Andrew’s artfully mussed hair above the railing surrounding the gazebo, my lips curve into a hard smile.
Oh, yeah. It’s on.
I climb the stairs to the gazebo platform, pulse leaping at the sight of Andrew in a white dress shirt open at the top and perfectly tailored black suit pants. He’s still off-limits and a sneaky rat, but damn, he’s beautiful.
And the smile that lights his face as he turns my way…
I’m sure he grins that wicked, sparkly-eyed grin for other girls, but so far, I’ve only seen it when he looks at me. His family and employees don’t get that grin. That grin is mine, and I can’t help but love it a little.
But I’m still going to do my best to wipe it off his face.
It’s time for some good, old-fashioned petty justice.
I return his smile as I toe off my flats and step into my heels.
“Princess! So lovely! You’re a vision, darling.” Our dance teacher, a toned older woman with jet black hair at odds with her lightly wrinkled face, strides across the gazebo, taking my hands in hers and drawing my arms out to my sides. She smiles, nodding as she gives me a once-over and clucks her tongue in approval. “Yes, yes, yes, this will do very well. You are perfect for our Andrew. Not too tall, not too short. Just right. I am Madame Beatrice, and this is our time together. Let us make the most of it!” She reaches for Andrew, motioning him in as she continues in an accent I can’t quite place. “There, now, into position, and I’ll start the music for the waltz!”
Andrew slides an arm around my waist and holds out his hand, whispering beneath his breath, “Thank goodness you’re the right height. We would have had to call off the wedding.”
I bite back a grin as I place my hand in his. “Thank goodness.”
“You do look beautiful, by the way,” he murmurs, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes me keenly aware of how close we are and how good he smells—like spicy cologne and sweet, smoky tea. “I should have mentioned that this morning at breakfast.”
The mention of breakfast is enough to shore up my flagging enthusiasm for revenge. He’s handsome and charming, but he’s also gross and in desperate need of an attitude adjustment.
As the first strains of a popular Gallantian waltz swell from the speakers and Andrew’s arm tightens around me, I whisper, “Thank you,” and step forward as he guides me to step back, planting my kitten heel squarely in the middle of his instep, making his eyes widen pain.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” I cry, my hands flying to cover my mouth as he flinches and bends sharply at the waist, lifting the wounded foot into the air. “I forgot which way to go first.”
“It’s all right,” he grunts, waving me off with a smile, though I know his foot must be throbbing. “I’m rusty, too. We’ll get the hang of it.”
“You will be beautiful on the floor. There is no doubt,” Madame Beatrice insists, putting a hand on each of our shoulders and smooshing us back together. “Now try again. Back with the right, Princess, and let your big, strong partner guide you from there. In life, we women have so much responsibility, yes? Always so much on our minds and in our hearts and so much thinking and doing and busy, busy, busy. So on the dance floor, we let the men be in charge.” She leans in, adding in a faux whisper Andrew can absolutely hear, “They can’t cause too much trouble while they are dancing. This is a safe place to let them think they are the boss.”
“Got it.” I smile and nod, hating to disappoint this feisty elf. But if she knew what was going on, I’m sure Beatrice would support my plan.
She clearly understands how frustrating the male of the species can be.
As she restarts the music, Andrew counts down, “And three, two, one,” before he steps forward and I step back. This time I let him whirl me around a few times before I deliberately trip over my own foot and fall to the floor, kicking his shin on my way down.