I can’t help but wonder if I’m the right complement for Garrick. We’re so different. I can’t imagine we could really work.
“I’ll try,” I tell them. “For you and dad and Dahlia. For Elexia.”
“And by try, I’m telling you, Iris,” Hunter adds, “walk around in a negligée. Forget to wear a bra. Play with your hair. Wear a garter belt. Spray whipped cream on a banana and eat it slowly.”
Violet and I crack up, but I think he’s right.
I thank them and end the call.
Then I immediately begin to make a list of things I need to get in town.
I smile, and underneath winter coat and winter boots and wool socks and long underwear, I write whipped cream.
I am going to win.
14
Look, I’m not looking for a woman who’s going to do exactly as I say. But throwing a tantrum without even trying to understand where I’m coming from is not going to fly.
Iris thinks she wants to play hardball with me? She has no idea what she’s up against. No way in hell am I going to change my way of life for a woman I just met.
Iris looked so fucking hot stepping straight out of the shower, it had my cock rock hard.
And for a second, I considered giving in to her request. For a second, I thought losing my convictions would be worth another taste of her perfect pussy.
But then I remembered that this girl woke up, in a new place, without any clue of what she was getting herself into.
So, of course she’s going to throw down ultimatums the first chance she gets. That doesn’t mean I have to give in. No way in hell is Iris going to hold out for longer than a day. She won’t be able to suppress herself that long. Not after having experienced an entire night with my cock.
With my rifle slung over my shoulder, I hike deeper into the woods. I thought checking my traps while out in the open air would help calm me down.
It was a good call. Being out in the woods always clears my head, and I don’t need to catch some big game in order to get my ego stroked.
It’s about being outside, about the clean air and the high altitude and the quiet—the exact opposite of the castle. You’d think being a Historic Village would mean people pay a little more reverence to where we come from. But that’s not the case. There are so many damn tourists clogging those cobblestone streets that any understanding of what Alpinweiss was five hundred years ago is nonexistent.
No one seems to care about our forests and rich natural resources. They just want a beer served by barkeeps in lederhosen. They want sausage on a fucking stick.
I check my traps. I was out here yesterday morning, and everything is still empty. I walk a few miles and almost forget the fight in my cabin this morning, almost forget the way Iris and I ended things.
But then I look up, see a flock of birds squawking in the tree branches, and I’m reminded of our heated exchange.
Hopefully Iris has gone into town by now and gotten herself some things to wear. Maybe spending some money and seeing the village will take the edge off. She doesn’t want to stay in my rustic cabin? Fine. Then let her go spend some time in town.
I just hope she can make her way around without my mother catching wind and sinking her claws into her.
I know my parents are going to try to lay down the law and have a whole bunch of expectations of us now that we’re married. They’ll try to fill her calendar with dinners at the castle, and meetings—but I’m going to hold out and avoid that shit as long as possible. There has to be some way to have boundaries between my private and public life.
Maybe that’s pie-in-the-sky thinking, that I can be royalty without my entire life being devoted to the monarchy. I don’t imagine I’ll be able to do this forever, if there isn’t a better balance.
I walk back down the mountain and head back to the cabin.
It’s empty.
Quiet.
Looking around, I notice Iris’s suitcase is no longer on the bed with clothes in disarray. I hang my rifle back on the rack, not having needed it … and possibly having exaggerated my use for it in the first place.
Looking around the kitchen, I see that Iris left her coffee on the counter, her scone in the bag. I feel like shit, walking away like I did. I have most of my dinners at the bar in town, and breakfast and lunch? I eat granola bars, fruit. Beef jerky and trail mix.
I’m a man, not a chef.
But I think about Iris, and wonder if she’s going to be able to deal with the lack of food in the house. Not that I was willing to admit it to her earlier, but now I can see how it might be an issue. She deserves better than a cabin without a working fucking fridge.
Living as a bachelor, grabbing a growler of beer for the night, and a bag of chips—well, I didn’t need much more. But Iris isn’t a bachelor. Iris is a princess. My princess. And way more than I ever expected, with my parents arranging my marriage.