Chapter 12
LUCAS
“So have you learned what you needed to learn for our last lesson?”
It was a few days after Liz’s first failed attempt at dancing—six days, to be exact, which was ample time for her to read up and learn what she could, then practice as she promised. In those six days, I taught her every other lesson there was to know, amazed as she absorbed each one of them like a sponge and adapted them into her daily movements and activities.
Her fear of horses? It became non-existent as her eyes lit up at the sight of Roast, then as she learned how to ride the horse solo. I could practically see the affection in both their eyes as they fell in love with each other, and it was amusing.
It was also mesmerizing.
Now, the last lesson was up, and I watched a resigned expression cross her face before she straightened her shoulders and nodded. Then Liz voluntarily stepped forward and got into position, and I did the same a few seconds later.
She bowed the proper bow. “Your Highness.”
“Lucas,” I corrected automatically.
Her mouth twitched, and amusement sparkled in those big brown eyes and had me distracted into staring for a while. Then I remembered the purpose of us being here—in one of the many rooms near the restricted wing and one the other princesses wouldn’t have access to—and stepped forward, bowing in return and holding out my hand.
She placed hers on mine, her movement graceful and her skin warm, and I placed my other hand on her waist. Liz took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a brief second before she nodded and opened them back.
“Prince Lucas,” she said. “I’m ready.”
Beside us, Kyle sat on the bed and turned the music on. I watched Liz cock her ears towards it.
Then we moved at the same time.
My expectations when it came to her learning ability were broken each time we tried something new, and this one wasn’t any different. The Liz with her two left feet was still there, and her movements were still quite stiff—but she no longer stumbled as she matched my steps with hers, as she used counting and the music itself to follow the dancing routine. Eventually, a smile slid on her face, even while she tried to maintain a straight expression.
“No, let a little bit of that smile out,” I instructed. “There’s no need to be too serious.”
“Such as yourself?” she shot back, though it was said lightly and with no malicious intention.
I smirked. “Then you don’t know me well enough.”
Our eyes met, and this time, it held. We danced and danced, making use of the space in the bedroom as I twirled her around, dipped her, and guided her some more. The music switched to fast, and I switched the tempo of my feet and almost laughed as Liz scrambled to catch up.
“Kyle!”
Still on the bed, Kyle grinned mischievously and turned a page of the book he was reading.
He asked some questions here and there, and I answered while still dancing. Finally, the music stopped, and Liz and I stepped back at the same time. There was none of that wariness now as she looked at me, and I could feel the joy radiating from her.
“That was awesome!” she said. “Wasn’t that awesome? Did you see that?”
“It was awesome,” I agreed. “And seeing as I danced with you, I did see it.”
She made a face, then grinned again. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“You’re not the bad guy you paint yourself to be, Prince Lucas.”
It was a compliment, coming from her, and I wasn’t quite sure it was safe for her to be thinking that way.
So I said what I could without giving away too much in front of the kid, who was still watching us.
“Then you don’t know me well enough.”
* * *
With the dance lessons done, there was only one thing left: setting up a new wardrobe that would fit her. Our resident clothing designer, Mr. Thompson, took one look at Liz, eyeing her critically before muttering under his breath about how Liz needed to eat some more. Then he was pulling her aside and telling me not to worry because he was going to make her as presentable as she could possibly be.
Two days later, I got an update from Mr. Thompson early in the morning, right when my head was still throbbing and the thirst for alcohol was too much. Actually, I thirsted for something else—something forbidden—and I had to wonder if Benjamin fared better than me. It was bound to consume us both, and he really needed to marry as soon as he could to get rid of this damned curse.
Which meant we needed to weed out the impostor as soon as possible.
“How’s everything going?” I asked.
Mr. Thompson clapped both of his hands together, looking pleased with himself. “I’ve done what I could, and I have to say that the end result is outstanding. Would you like to take a look inside and see for yourself?”
He’d always been elaborate, and usually I dismissed the flowery words when he tried to use them as compliments to me or Benjamin when he measured us up. But amusement slid inside me now, especially considering how he kept complaining over Liz’s figure a few days ago.
When he indicated the dressing room, I entered without preamble, not really sure what to expect. Most of the princesses’ ball gowns were contemporary, a mix of their royal colors and what was trending at the moment. Of course, ball gowns weren’t the only thing I asked Mr. Thompson to make for her, but it was one of the most important pieces as it would give off an impression at her first ball.
The first thing I saw was the swirl of red and gold, a rather bold choice but pleasing to the eyes. My gaze went up to take the whole of her in, and whatever comment I’d been about to make left my mind completely, to be replaced by a vision that staggered me.
I froze on the spot.
Liz’s ball gown was beautiful—not only that, it was the ball gown that was bound to knock everyone out of the park. It was off shoulder, showing off her creamy skin before tapering down to a tight waist, then spreading to a fluttery, silky material around her hips and down. It covered whatever petticoat she had to be wearing, but I could see her toes peeking from the material’s edge in gold heels, one that sparkled and matched the muted embroidery of her gown.
She twirled around from facing the mirror, almost stumbling in her movement but catching herself in time. Her hair was up in a loose bun that softened her face, and her face had some light makeup on. It made her eyes just a little bit darker, make her cheeks a little bit pinker and her lips a little bit juicier as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.
Suddenly the hunger was back—only it was an entirely different kind of hunger this time, and it was one I wasn’t quite ready for. Something hot, then cold, went over my spine as her eyes met mine.
“I can’t do this,” she blurted out.
I blinked at her words, then looked at her more closely. When I did, I finally saw what I missed earlier—the nerves in those golden-brown eyes, mixed with irritation and the makings of a temper that was about to come out.
“Can’t do what?”
“This,” she said impatiently, indicating at her dress. “This pretending. I look like the biggest impostor on the planet, and they’ll see through me right away.”
“They’ll see through you if you keep doing that.”
“You’re not helping,” she snapped.
“Calm down.”
“I am calm.”
On the contrary, her nerves were off the chart. Because I didn’t want to add to it, I strode forward as calmly as I could, keeping my footsteps silent and placing my hands on her arms—a deliberate move, because I didn’t think touching her shoulders would ease any of us.
“Liz, do you remember why you agreed to this deal?”
She frowned at me, then nodded. “For your brother.”
“For my brother,” I agreed. “If you panic now, then all our hard work would be for nothing, and I’d have to find another candidate to train for another week, which would mean the impostor would have more time to lurk and try to fool Ben. Do you want that to happen?”
“Of course not,” she said, almost offended that I asked. But I had to ask it, and I knew she realized it too when her shoulders slumped and she finally, reluctantly nodded. “But you’re right. You’re too right.”
“I’m always right.”
That brought a little of her fighting spirit back as she shot me a look. Then she tilted her head and more panic set in, though the irritation was completely gone. “I still can’t breathe.”
“If it’s because you’re still nervous…”
“No,” she bit out. “The dress is too tight. Mr. Thompson is trying to kill me. Can you please help me loosen the corset a little bit?”
They were words that had me stunned and had my hands going numb. I was about to refuse. I really was.
But for some reason, I was turning her around, and my numb hands were going to her back and slowly easing her laces off.
We were both looking at the mirror, and I felt her body go still before I watched something hot flare in her eyes. She met my gaze there, and I saw something in them that I wasn’t supposed to see. I kept loosening the laces, feeling electricity travel in my skin and shoot down my groin as she unconsciously licked her bottom lip and took an inward breath, making her cleavage pop out even more.
Jesus.
I could feel the heat of her skin as I loosened the corset string by string, as I watched her eyes flutter closed and her breath leave her altogether.
I wanted to touch. I itched to touch, and the desire to do so was almost tangible.
She turned around, facing me—and giving me a glimpse of creamy skin on her back through the mirror.
Heat throbbed, then flashed. My cock stirred.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she said, her voice feather light against my neck.
Because I want to be. Because I can’t help it.
“Because I’m doing it for my brother.”
The words weren’t cold, but they might as well have been. A stricken expression crossed her face before disappearing altogether, and she looked down.
“Right. Thank you, then. I’ll do my best,” she intoned.
“Please do,” I said.
Then I was walking out of there and away from her before more things could be said—things that shouldn’t be said.
Things that we would both regret.