Rox made a hard decision and rolled her eyes. "I'll bet you say that to all the girls."
FRISO
You know that exhilaration, Casimir thought, when you're zooming down the wide and open freeways of Los Angeles, when the traffic becomes tightly packed around your car and yet no one slows down?
When you are barreling at eighty miles an hour, a missile in a speeding flock of missiles, and the pavement runs away underneath you and you know that you should divert but the feeling, the utter joy of getting away with it, of sailing as the wind rushes over your car, that takes you, and you fly?
The other cars ahead of you are blocking your view, and the sunset streams across the sky, glaring on the windshield and blinding you. Your music roars around you from the stereo. You're moving almost by instinct, keeping your car even with the others, the equivalent of flying wingtip to wingtip, as you and other cars form a dart and flow together.
And then you dodge through an opening and survive yet another minute.
That was what Casimir was feeling when he and Rox were sitting on the couches in his office, when she so casually asked about his middle name, Friso.
Friso.
What a name.
What an odd, obvious name.
Casimir dodged, and he feinted, and he survived each moment of the conversation, when any comment could have turned into a flaming pile of rubble and twisted metal.
And yet, surely Rox wouldn't want things from him. Surely she wouldn't take advantage of him for something that he couldn't control and had never sought.
The cynical side of himself laughed at such immature thoughts.
Of course, she would.
Any time that anyone found out anything more about him, they changed, and they always changed for the worse.
It was better to keep quiet.
He had no need to tell her the things that he had shoved deep down inside, the pain, the horror, all the reasons why he was a monster. It wasn't as if they were dating. It wasn't as if he had any sort of a shot with Rox. She was married to someone else.
She. Was. Married.
So it didn't matter, while they talked about Holland and tulips, that he was a prince of the Netherlands, currently sixth in line for the throne. It wasn't like he was particularly hiding it.
All right, he was.
But surely he would never inherit. His older sister and her four children were ahead of him in the line of succession, and Ana might plan to have more children.
He was never going to inherit the crown. He had given up all his official duties to be a lawyer and occasional trade ambassador for the Netherlands. Being a member of the royal family had nearly no impact in his day-to-day life.
Casimir could not have been more delighted.
So he hadn't mentioned it to Rox or to anyone else.
He had no reason to mention it.
It was not as if he were in love with her or had any chance to build a life with her.
She. Was. Married.
BEAUTIFUL
Boxes of Peruvian food, all stamped with the logo for Inca Papa, littered the low coffee table where Rox and Cash were sitting. Their laptops lay beside them on the velvety leather upholstery. Wine glasses and an empty bottle stood among the foam boxes and paper litter.
The couch was so deep that Rox's feet stuck out straight, but tall, leggy Cash looked proportional sitting across from her with his ankle crossed over his knee. Even though they sat catty-corner to each other on the sectional, Cash had been reaching over with his chopsticks to feed her little tastes from his chicken and carrot dish, which was scented with garlic and soy sauce and was savory in her mouth.
His suit jacket was draped over the end of the couch, and he had rolled up his sleeves again. Black inked fire snaked to his wrist on his left arm.
Rox had to lean way over to hand him her fork so he could taste her steak thing, a heady mix of caramelized onions and dark tastes.
She scooted to the edge of the couch so that she could reach his outstretched fingers. Truly, she was so short that she was just a ball with hands and feet sticking out, sometimes.
Pirate, Midnight, and Speedbump had acclimated to Cash's house astonishingly fast, even though they still were clingy. Speedbump and Midnight were wound in a tangle of warm black and gray fur on Rox's lap, and she had her arms locked around both of them to keep them from falling off while they slept and she ate. Speedbump's gimpy back leg was stretched out to the side.
Pirate was sitting on Cash's lap, purring, while Cash carefully scratched around his ruined ears. Cash asked, "This isn't hurting him?"
"He looks ridiculously happy. I really can leave them locked up in the guest bedroom so they won't get fur all over your house."
"You can't lock up an animal like that. It's unkind." Cash gingerly moved to scratch under Pirate's chin, and the cat stretched his neck to get more. His tongue was hanging out a little on one side of his mouth in his delirium.
"I really appreciate you letting us stay here, Cash. I found a guest house in between contracts today. They're fine with cats. I filled out the form online, and they said they can do the credit check in the morning so I can move in tomorrow after work."
"Good. As long as you're safe. I started Melanie on drawing up documents to serve your old landlord. We'll have your things and your deposit back within a few weeks, I predict." He leaned his head to the side, watching Pirate, and smiled. "Okay, I know that they're your babies, or whatever, and I hate to say anything harsh about an innocent animal, but these are some beat-up beasts."
"They're beautiful," Rox said, scratching Midnight on his scarred back. The mound of cat fur on her lap began to purr. "Besides, it's what's on the inside that counts."
Cash laughed a full-throated laugh. He threw his head back and everything. Pirate looked up at him, bemused. He said, "No, it's not."
"Of course it is."
He raised one eyebrow. "If you're not beautiful on the outside, you can't get laid, no one likes you, and you won't get ahead in life."
Rox shook her head and released Midnight, who trotted away and licked his tail. "I call baloney, Cash."
"It's not. It's the absolute truth."
"You think you got where you are because you're pretty?"
An incredulous look floated up his face. "Absolutely."
Rox laughed at him. "Humble, much?"
"This is how I look. I am aware of how everyone reacts to me, every day. Yes, I have a bit of success because I am, as you have said, pretty."
"You're a damn fine lawyer, Cash. You went to Yale."
He shrugged. "Money and flirting with the admissions board."
"Every actor and model in this town wants you to look over their contract."
He raised one eyebrow. "And then sleep with me."
"Some of them are in New York and go over the contract via video chat."
"And then they all fly in for one last meeting," Cash said.
"You don't sleep with the guys."
"It's not for their lack of trying."
"It is not just because you're a pretty boy! Look at me. I work my ass off, and I'm advancing within the firm. I'm not beautiful."
Cash looked up from the cat in his lap and blinked, a slow movement of his lids over his brilliant green eyes. "Yes, you are."
"Oh, my stars, Cash!" She cracked up. He could not be serious. "Look at me. I'm dumpy. I'm chubby. My hair is boring brown. So are my eyes. My bone structure is so-so and buried under pudge anyway. Don't tease me."
His hand stole along the back of the couch, and he stroked her bare shoulder with one finger, a breach of their established etiquette. "You are beautiful. Your eyes are the color of the caramels back home. When you smile, everything about you is a delight."
"Stop it. It is not." She was losing her breath. He shouldn't say stupid things like that to her.
"Doesn't your husband tell you that you're beautiful?" he asked.
His hand drifted down her arm, and he tugged her elbow. Her hand floated away from the cats, who adjusted so they wouldn't fall off her lap. Midnight grumbled.
Cash caught her fingers in his with his hand underneath, as if he might kiss her hand in an old-fashioned way.
She couldn't quite look away from his hand, his long fingers that held hers, even while she reached for righteous indignation. She lived in Los Angeles. Surely the ability to act was in the water, there. Her voice was a little breathy as she said, "He doesn't have to."
He turned his chin, looking at her sideways. "He does though, right?"
"Um, no." She looked away. None of her imaginary friends lied to her, not even her imaginary husband.