Working Stiff(136)
“Oh, I’m riled up all the way past angry-Southern-girl level and about to go biblical on him!”
Casimir laughed. “Run, Willem.”
Willem rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed at her plebeian outburst. “I’ll see you later, Casimir.”
That last word was barbed, expressing his disdain for the commoner.
The commoner who was going to tear his face off. “You come back here and I’ll beat your fancy ass! Someone should have whupped you more often to learn you some manners!”
Willem’s last look at Casimir spoke volumes of disapproval, and he strolled out the door.
She snarled, “You let me go and I will make sure that he’s never that impolite to anyone again!”
Casimir pulled her into his arms and held her, his cheek pressed against her hair. “You really can’t threaten to ‘whup’ members of the royal family. The security staff will look askance.”
“Seriously, you’re not going to have a temper tantrum over that?”
“Not here.”
“I—really?”
“Never.”
“If we were in the office and someone spoke to you like that, you would have a proper rant,” she made fun of his British accent there, “and chew his butt a new one.”
He stroked her back. “Besides, I don’t need to. As always, you’ve taken care of the situation for me. I’ll just sign off on it.”
“You’re weird here. I can hardly wait to get you back to the States.”
He bent, and Rox felt him press his cheek to her hair. “Me, too.”
She wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed. “I will whup his ass. What a jackass.”
As she had often heard growing up in the South, evil wears a beautiful face.
PRINCESS ANASTASIA THE NEFARIOUS
Rox fidgeted with her dress. The pale pink formal dress fit her beautifully. Casimir’s sister had even supplied pantyhose and shoes that fit her, somehow perfectly. A woman had arrived to do her make-up and hair, all of which felt exceedingly unnatural.
It was like the Crown Princess of the Netherlands was actually a fairy godmother.
They waited outside huge doors. Two men dressed in royal blue and orange livery, which meant really old-fashioned servant-clothes, faced each other and would open the doors for them in just a few minutes.
Beyond the doors, Rox could hear a crowd muttering and a string quartet playing.
She asked, “Can’t we just meet Ana in your apartment or something?”
Casimir shook his head. “If we were going to be here longer, we probably could have an informal meeting and then do a formal presentation later, but I’m hoping that we can leave within a few days. Maybe we could meet one of my parents at some point, but I think you’ll like Ana better.”
He was wearing full evening dress—a black tuxedo with a white vest and tie—which was just so much more formal than she had ever seen him before. Cash wore finely cut business suits to work, of course, and he dressed in a black-tie tux for the annual Holiday Formal soiree that the law firm threw every year, which really made all the admins and paralegals swoon. It was like he was advertising for them to get in line for the next year’s harvest.
But Casimir in a white-tie tux, tails, and an orange and blue sash with medals even made stone-cold Rox’s heart go all aflutter. Damn.
Rox slid her fingers into his hand. “You really don’t like it here, do you?”
“I’m more comfortable elsewhere.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could hug you but I’m sure that the protocol guy would come back here and admonish me again. He sure didn’t like the way I curtsy, and I learned that at Cotillion.”
He squeezed her hand. “It should only take a few minutes.”
The footmen set their feet against the floor and leaned back to open the towering doors.
Contrasting colognes rode the air currents to where they stood: rose and lily and sandalwood, and her nose burned, confused by all the scents.
Rox followed Casimir as he walked from the enormous, cavernous waiting room where they had been standing into an even larger, grander room with ceilings that floated so high above them that Rox had to squint to see the delicate frescoes painted all the way up there among the arches and carved crown moldings. Every square inch of the formal room had been fitted with paintings, even up the arches and on the sides of niches.
And the ceiling! It had to be at least four stories up there. Maybe five. Possibly six. Chandeliers hung from wires and blazed with silver light like candles and sparklers hovering in the sky. Rox couldn’t even figure out the perspective, and she felt squished and tiny in the towering room.
High ceilings.