Mysterious Desire(7)

His eyes are sea-green and swimming with flecks of every other color on the rainbow spectrum, I could have sworn. My insides – especially down there – melt again. I can’t help it. He has that power over me like no other person before, and I don’t know why.

“Hi,” he says in a low voice. He takes a champagne glass off my tray.

I have to contract all my arm muscles to keep the tray from shaking.

“Hi,” I say back.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

So he remembers.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here either.”

Am I really having this conversation? Because it’s surreal.

He takes a sip from his glass. “I don’t think we have ever been properly introduced. My name is Alex.”

Alex. Not Alexander.

“I’m Liz. Elizabeth, I mean.”

Oh my God. I think I might have forgotten my surname.

“Liz,” he savors my name. On his tongue – and I remember that tongue in my mouth, oh God – it sounds exotic and seductive. “What are you d– ?”

The rest of what he was going to ask me is drowned out by a shrill voice. “Alexander, don’t keep me waiting, darling.”

I back off. Redheaded goddess comes over and lays her hand protectively on Alexander’s arm, the one that isn’t involved in holding the now empty champagne glass.

“It’s only been less than a minute,” Alex says wryly.

“I’m sure it’s been longer than that.” She appropriates the glass from his hand and puts it back firmly on my tray. She flashes a predatory smile at me that clearly says “Don’t touch my property”.

I shrink back. I wasn’t planning on touching anyone’s property. Since our last encounter, I mean, because we sure touched plenty back then. OK. My mind babbling. I better get back to work.

Alex’s eyes linger on my face, and I’m the first to flush and turn away. I can hear Redhead’s receding voice as she steers him away into another pocket of people.

I bump into Cassandra on the way back to refill my tray.

“So what did he say to you?” She’s a little breathless.

“Who?”

“The prince! What did he say to you?”

OK. Right here, I’m going to admit I’ve been a little dim. I know all the clues have been telling me that Alex might be the errant and unpunctual son of the royal dignitary we are serving tonight, but I flat out refuse to acknowledge it.

“He just wanted a drink,” I reply in a lame voice.

“He’s soooo handsome!” gushes Cassandra. “Did you know that the Tattler has him as the most eligible bachelor alive since Prince William got married?”

No, I didn’t know. I don’t read Tattler. I don’t know anything about bachelors and royalty, other than I got fucked by one in probably what will be a forgettable interlude in his life.

Anyway, I don’t see how Alex being the most eligible bachelor alive has anything to do with me. It’s probably got everything to do with Redhead though.

My cheeks burning, I head off.





5





OK. I’ll admit it.

I can’t refrain from Googling Alex.

I’m in my one-bedroom rental apartment which I share with Deanna. I have my own laptop, and while I’m Googling Alex, Deanna waltzes in.

“Whatcha doing?” She immediately flops on my bed and peers at my screen.

“Hey, whatever happened to privacy?” I say, snatching my laptop away.

She grabs it and begins a tug of war with me. “I want to see. Oh wow. Prince Alexander Vassar of Moldovia. Isn’t his father in town or something?”

Alex himself is also in town, I think, but don’t say.

Deanna grabs my pillow and leans back on it, making herself completely at home in my bed. She seizes my notebook and puts in upon her knee.

Like, hello? This is still my bed. Not that she would have cared if I said anything.

“OK. This is interesting. He’s twenty-seven years old and an entrepreneur. He owns several companies, including the biggest casino conglomerate in Moldovia and the South of France. He’s worth . . . oh my goodness . . . a cool seven hundred million Euros. How much is that in our money, do you think?”

I don’t know. I’m stumped when it comes to conversion rates, seeing that I will never get the chance to travel the way I’m going.

Deanna continues, “He isn’t married, and would you look at his photos? He’s an absolute dreamboat. Like, wow!”

I, like, know. He’s even dreamier up close.

And naked.

“And . . . he studied at Harvard . . . anthropology. What a subject! You’d think it had nothing to do with running casinos. And get this, he isn’t married. Why are you Googling him anyway?”