Infamous Desire(12)

“I’ll get you for that later.”

Our spirits seem to have recovered since morning, and we put on our clothes again and slowly make the trek to another summit.





Chapter Seven


It is right after one dinner with Alex that Jasper summons me to an antechamber. Alex is chatting to the palace chefs regarding the type of menu his father requires when he comes home – probably a long time from now as the King still requires intensive monitoring.

Jasper appears quite secretive, which is unusual for him.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. It’s nice to be ‘wanted’ for once by Jasper, who usually thinks I’m slightly above kitchen sink scum when it comes to bestowing attention.

He hands me a note. Frowning, I open it.

It says:

‘PLEASE MEET ME TOMORROW AT 2.30 PM. A CAR WILL BE WAITING AT THE PALACE EAST WING ENTRANCE. WE HAVE MUCH TO TALK ABOUT. DO NOT LET ALEX KNOW YOU ARE MEETING ME.

TATIANA.’

Jasper eyes me knowingly. For the first time, he almost smiles.

“I do suggest you go, Ms. Turner,” he says in that dulcet tone of his. “You might find it quite interesting.”#p#分页标题#e#





Chapter Eight


I tell Alex I’m going out shopping, which isn’t a big deal because I have been making it a daily routine to go shopping – Moldavian-style, of course. Alex has to go to work anyway. I was surprised to find that princes actually do work.

“I’m on the board of directors for several companies,” Alex explains, “and yes, I do have to work. As does my mother. It isn’t just lip service.”

I’m sure his job is more glamorous than a hotel maid’s.

Anyhow, my nerves are jangling as I make my way down to the East Wing entrance at 2.30 p.m. sharp. I’m dressed in one of my non-Moldavian dresses, with a Moldavian jacket slung around my shoulders. Nothing like mixing modern styles from different ethnicities. I’m sure that Tatiana will not be choosing a public place for our tete-a-tete.

Then again, I can’t be sure.

After all, what do I know about her? I have never even spoken to the woman in my entire life. Everything I know about her has been painted for me in a portrait larger than life. Tatiana has been in turns glamorized, lionized, put on a pedestal and made to look like yesterday’s news – all in one sitting. How much of it is true?

A sleek magenta Rolls Royce with darkened windows is waiting for me at the entrance, as promised. So she is punctual. A good thing.

I get into the backseat.

Butterflies invade every part of my anatomy.

Lady Tatiana Natasha Guernberg is seated there, and she gives me an encouraging smile. OK, Fallacy One disposed of. She doesn’t have fangs and two horns sticking out of her head. Her hair is as red and vivid as I remember it, and it is augmented by carefully constructed curls that must have taken hours of perming in a salon not unlike the one I went to.

Her clothes are in the color of what designers consider ‘nude’. (You see? I’m getting really good at fashion.) The bodice of her dress is embellished with a pearl and mother-of-pearl motif. I’m willing to bet those are real too.

“How are you today?” she asks.

“Good.”

I’m extremely conscious of how ordinary I look compared to her. She possesses an old world beauty that harkens back to glamorous movie stars from the last century – like Marlene Dietrich and Grace Kelly. If there’s anyone who resembles a real life princess, even though she isn’t technically one, it’s Tatiana. Her lips are painted scarlet and she doesn’t have a hair or thread out of place.

Up close, her skin is flawless. She’s breathtaking in every way.

My guts shrivel.

How can I possibly compete with this?

But you have, a joyous inner voice sings. You have and you’ve won.

This isn’t a game, I tell myself sternly. Where matters of the heart are concerned, it is never a game.

But I can’t help feeling elated. I mean – I’m nothing special. Just look at me. All I can manage to be is to look fairly attractive in designer clothes. To think that Alex prefers me (momentarily) over this exquisitely beautiful goddess is nothing short of a marvel in itself. And Alex clearly desires me. I can feel it in the cock pressing against my thigh every morning at dawn when we both wake up together.

“Drive on, Manfred,” Tatiana instructs the chauffeur. “And put up the glass, please.”

The Rolls Royce revs off smoothly. A glass window slides into place between the front seats and the back, effectively soundproofing us from the driver.

I grip both my fists. My fingernails have been nicely manicured and done up in mauve. Tatiana’s fingernails are as scarlet as her lips.