Once Upon a Billionaire

Chapter Nine

The limo pulled up to the palace, and slowed to a crawl as it waited for its turn at the front of the opulent building. As it inched forward, Maylee grew more and more nervous. They’d passed the gates where paparazzi hovered. The grounds themselves swarmed with people dressed in finery, and the stairs leading to the massive doors of the palace were carpeted in red.

Maylee was pretty sure she was going to puke on that nice red carpet.

“Are you all right?” Griffin asked her for the second time in the last minute.

“Just a little . . . scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he said in a soothing voice. To her surprise, he put an arm around her shoulders and gave her an awkward hug.

It was strange to have Griffin comfort her, but welcome. She huddled a little closer. “I’ve never been to anything like this. Well, I mean, we had prom back home in Pine Valley, but they held it at a Best Western. This is a bit different.”

His mouth twitched. “Just a bit.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I’m going to mess something up.”

“I’ll be with you,” he told her reassuringly, and that heavy arm over her shoulders squeezed her again.

“Aren’t you supposed to go and hang out with the royals?” she asked him. “And I’m supposed to go hang out with the staff?”

“Mmm, something like that.” He leaned a bit closer, and she blinked up at him, startled at how attractive he was in the dim light of the car. Not that he wasn’t normally attractive, of course. But the way he normally looked at her—like she was a bug for squashing—was gone. In its place was a warm, appealing gaze. “Tell you what. I’ll steer you to the appropriate people so you don’t get lost. Is that a good compromise?”

It was. “I’d really appreciate it so much, Mr. Griffin.” Then she wouldn’t have to worry about smiling at a duke to be polite and having him look at her like she was garbage.

The limo stopped and the driver got out. Maylee’s stomach lurched again, and she gave Griffin a terrified look. He smiled down at her, encouraging. “It’s going to be fine. No one’s going to be paying a bit of attention to you, Maylee. They’re all here to see my cousin and the famous actor she’s marrying.”

She relaxed a little at that. He had a point.

The chauffeur opened the door to the limo, and a voice began to ring out over the crowd. “Griffin, Viscount Montagne Verdi.”

Heads turned just as Maylee slid out of the limo. Her eyes widened, and her stomach felt like it was trying to make an escape from her gut.

But Griffin was right there, shielding her from prying eyes as she got out of the car. She tugged at her low-cut bodice again to make sure everything was proper, touched her jewelry, and then smiled at Griffin when she noticed he was fighting a laugh at her actions. “Easy for you to laugh,” she muttered, but she put her hand in the crook of his arm that he offered.

And they went in.

Griffin wasn’t surprised to see that the party was wall-to-wall. Everyone who was slightly anyone in Bellissime and several surrounding countries had been invited, and no one wanted to miss out. As soon as they entered the room, the temperature went up by a few degrees simply from the crush of bodies, and he heard Maylee’s uncomfortable gasp as they made their way in.

His hand tightened on the fingers that lay on his sleeve. “Everything all right?”

“I didn’t expect to see so many people.”

He did. But that wouldn’t make her feel better, so he simply patted her hand. “I’ll help you find my mother’s equerry.”

“What’s an equerry again?” she asked as they descended the stairs into the ballroom.

“It’s a word that the royal family uses for personal assistant,” Griffin said in a dry voice. “But my mother would never be so common as to use an assistant.”

He heard Maylee stifle a giggle. If she could laugh, she’d be okay. He knew she was incredibly nervous—hell, this wasn’t fun for him, either—but he doubted he was feeling the same levels of panic that were written across her face.

A visiting dignitary nodded at Griffin as he passed by, followed by a Hollywood actress. The royal family was nowhere to be found. Damn it all, where were those cowards hiding? If he had to be out here, mingling, so did they.

With Maylee clinging to his side, it would be almost impossible to navigate the room quickly. Even now, people pressed and brushed up against them, casting him curious looks and Maylee scrutinizing ones. They knew who he was, and they were trying to figure out who she was. Nearby, a photographer was taking photos of people as they mingled. Princess Alex must have allowed one or two of the papers into the ball as a show of good faith, but Griffin was displeased to see it. He carefully steered Maylee in the other direction.

They made their way to the far side of the room and turned. Maylee gave him a nervous look and swallowed hard.

That made him concerned. “Are you all right?”

She grimaced. “I haven’t eaten anything. My stomach couldn’t handle it.”

Griffin frowned and waved over a waiter with an hors d’oeuvres tray. The man arrived with a flourish and presented his tray. “Lobster wrapped in cucumber and prosciutto?”

Maylee took one of the little confections and popped the entire thing into her mouth, chewing like a chipmunk. He knew it was nerves, but he had to smother a laugh. “It’s good,” she mumbled, putting a hand in front of her mouth to cover it. “Thank you.”

“Eat another,” Griffin insisted.

She plucked one off the tray, and the waiter nodded and moved on. Immediately, another waiter came up with a small crystal finger bowl on his tray, a linen napkin beside it. The queen was a stickler for finger bowls, so guests could wash their fingers after snacking. Griffin was used to seeing the little delicate bowls at parties, a slice of lemon floating atop the water to keep it fresh.

Maylee crammed the other hors d’ouevre in her mouth and then reached for the finger bowl. She picked it up and lifted it to her lips.

Dear God.

Griffin leaned in, stopping her before she could make a fool of herself. “Maylee. You don’t drink that.”

“Oh.” She looked at the little crystal bowl in her hand, then back at him. “It’s not a cocktail?”

“It’s for you to wash your hands.” He gestured at the napkin, ignoring the shocked look of the waiter that held the empty tray.

“Oh,” she repeated, and an embarrassed look crossed her face. She returned the bowl to the tray and gave Griffin an uncertain look. “That was stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She blinked rapidly, as if she were fighting the urge to cry.

“Not at all,” Griffin said, and dipped his fingers into the bowl to show her how it was done. Then, he wiped his fingers on the napkin and gave the waiter a challenging look, as if daring him to mock Maylee in front of his face.

The man nodded at Griffin, waited patiently until Maylee finished cleaning her fingers, and then moved on to the next guest.

As soon as he was gone, Maylee turned to Griffin and gave him a frantic look. “I don’t think I can do this, Mr. Griffin.”

“Nonsense,” Griffin said. “You’re doing fine.”

“I’m not,” her whisper rising to a hysterical note. “I’m going to embarrass both of us! I don’t know what to do in parties like this. I—”

“Shhh,” Griffin said, and reached out and caressed her cheek. “You’re fine.”

She looked startled at his touch. He didn’t blame her; he was a little startled that he’d done it, himself. But it had felt right and natural to comfort her. She was his to protect, damn it.

“You’re fine, and you’re beautiful,” Griffin reassured her in a low voice, and leaned in. “And I would bet my entire wallet that one of these Hollywood types does the same thing that you did.”

She gave him another nervous giggle that nearly broke his heart. “Your wallet is always empty, Mr. Griffin. That’s not much of a bet.”

That little tease of hers made him feel better. “You’ve figured me out, have you?”

“Oh, I think I have you pegged.”

God, was she flirting with him? He liked that. He liked that a lot. “I think you’d be wrong about a few things.”

“Is that so? Try me.”

I don’t think you realize I want to kiss the hell out of that little smile of yours right now, he thought, but said nothing. He was just happy her nerves were fading. “I would love to, but alas, I see my mother’s equerry.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay right here.”

She pointed at her feet, indicating she’d stay put, and winked at him.

And he laughed.

Five minutes later, he had Maylee sent off with the equerry, who was all gentle smiles and encouragement to poor frightened Maylee. He made a mental note to give the man a raise, since Griffin was the one who paid for all of his mother’s servants anyhow. When the two left, Griffin waded into the crowd, looking for family members. He could do his time, spend a while talking to George and his mother, greet Alex and Luke Houston and the queen, and hopefully do one dance or two and then escape.

An arm went around his shoulders. “There you are, little brother.”

George. Well, one obstacle down. “Hello, Your Grace.”

George laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “So formal. Mother must be getting to you.”

“Not at all,” Griffin said, allowing George to steer him to a group of his friends. They were all titled men, all about the same age, and all incredible assholes. Griffin had hated them and their foxhunting, woman-chasing, champagne-swilling ways for as long as he could remember. They were definitely not his kind of friends to hang out with. He’d rather have Logan, Hunter, Jonathan, Cade, and Reese and all of their finance talk any day. He didn’t need his brother’s friends.

“So,” George said, steering him right into the crowd of bored nobles. “Tell us about that fancy little piece you came in with.”

“She’s my assistant,” Griffin said flatly, a surge of anger building. “Off limits.”

“So you’re sticking your prick into her?” another man said to him, a cheesy smirk on his long face. “Are her tits real? I heard all American girls have fake tits.”

“I am not going to answer that.”

“That means he doesn’t know,” George said with a laugh.

“It means I’m not going to answer it,” Griffin repeated, his voice stiff with fury. God, he hated these spoiled bastards. They thought they were better than everyone, and thus treated the rest of the world like it was shit beneath their feet. “She is my employee.”

“Yes, but George fucks his little employees all the time.”

“And I see she’s wearing the Verdi emeralds,” George said in a sly voice, and Griffin mentally winced. “So she must be doing something right.”

“That is none of your concern, George,” Griffin said. He wanted to tug at his chokingly tight tie, but decorum insisted that he not touch it for fear of leaving it askew. His appearance had to be perfect at all times. George could spill filth to his friends in private, but his appearance—and smile—was always immaculate for the public.

“I never thought you’d be the kind to fall for an American,” the man next to him said. “Doesn’t she have the most ridiculous drawl?”

A surge of anger made Griffin see red. Not only because it was rude to talk about Americans when their crown princess was marrying one, but because Griffin saw himself saying the same things just a few short days ago. Mocking Maylee’s accent. Condescending to her because of who and what she was.

Hearing it from these asses made him realize just how wrong he’d been. He’d been no better than the spoiled men before him, and that was revolting to realize.

What an unmitigated ass he was.

“Oh, come on,” said George. “Relax. It’s good that I found you. Someone’s been asking for you tonight.”

Distracted, Griffin scanned the room. “Who?”

“I’ll show you,” George said, and steered his brother away from the men. He looped an arm around Griffin’s shoulders—no mean feat, since Griffin was taller than him by two inches—and leaned in. “So where did you send your succulent little assistant off to?”

“She’s with Mother’s equerry,” Griffin said absently. He tried to pick familiar faces out of the crowd, but it was nothing but a sea of tuxedos and jewel-toned dresses. “Why?”

“No reason,” George said smoothly. “Ah. Here we are,” his brother said as they came upon a group of ladies on the edge of the ballroom floor. “Your Highness, I think I’ve found the man you were looking for.”

At the sound of the title, Griffin stifled a groan, though he kept his face impassive.

The woman who turned around was stunningly beautiful. Tall, blonde, and Nordic, Princess Heloise of Saxe-Gallia, a tiny country on the other side of Denmark, turned and gave Griffin a predatory smile. She swept past her ladies and extended her hand toward him.

Griffin was forced to bow over her hand and kiss it. “Your Highness. It is lovely to see you.” Such a lie. He couldn’t stand Heloise. They’d been tossed together at royal functions since they were both children. His mother wanted him to marry Heloise. Heloise, however, wanted to be famous . . . Hollywood famous. So she dressed scandalously and acted even more so. Even tonight, she was wearing a sweeping white gown that was a bit too low cut to be appropriate for someone else’s wedding. “Why, Viscount Montagne Verdi. I was hoping I’d see you here tonight.”

“I’m flattered,” Griffin said in a polite voice. He took the hand she kept extending at him and tucked it into his arm, since George had trapped him here.

“Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone to catch up,” George said with a wink at Griffin. He pulled away, and Griffin saw that George headed to the back of the ballroom, in the direction that he’d left Maylee and his mother’s equerry. Damn his conniving brother. He was going after Maylee, was he? As soon as he extracted himself from the princess’s grasping hands, he’d make sure his brother knew to stay far the fuck away—

“It’s so good to see you again, Griff,” Princess Heloise cooed at him, leaning on his sleeve and pressing her ample breasts against the sleeve of his tuxedo.

“Likewise, Your Highness.” He was not on a first name basis with the woman, no matter what she thought.

She delicately steered them past the crowd and into the center of the dance floor, making sure that everyone possible saw the two of them together, including the photographers. “I told myself I would be positively bereft if I didn’t see you here tonight. How are things in the States?”

“Fine.”

“I’ve heard you’ve made yourself quite the fortune over there,” she said, toying with his lapels in a far too familiar way. “And rumor has it that you’ve financed the repairs of George’s little house and your mother’s palace. That’s so sweet of you.”

He raised an eyebrow at Heloise. As a rule, royals didn’t talk about money. Whether you had it or not, no one spoke of personal fortunes. It was assumed you’d simply conduct yourself as if you were richer than Croesus. The fact that Heloise was flaunting protocol and talking about his money meant that she was far too interested in it.

“Is that why you’ve been on the lookout for a mere viscount tonight, Your Highness?” His words were sharp, and his eyes watched George’s retreating back. The man disappeared between double doors reserved for the staff.

Damn it all. Griffin’s hand clenched.

The princess of Saxe-Gallia laughed, batting at his arm as if he’d said something hilarious. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and for a moment, he was struck by how she looked. Flawless makeup, flawless pale blonde hair, low-cut dress, and dripping family jewels. Heloise was stunning, of course. But all he could see was the artificiality of her appearance.

And he’d made Maylee fix her appearance so she would be exactly like this.

Hell.

Heloise continued to stroll the room, leading him right past the photographers again. “So when are you going to marry, dearest? My father has been pressing for me to find a good union for myself, but I’m bored with all the nobles in Saxe-Gallia, and all the available European princes are too young or way too old.” She gave him a mock pout.

“Perhaps you should find yourself an American, like my cousin,” Griffin said smoothly.

Heloise froze. She blinked, at a loss of words, and he felt a vindictive stab of spite. If she insulted Americans—as he suspected she would have—she would then be insulting her host’s bridegroom. But if she admitted otherwise, she would probably feel as if she was insulting herself. Heloise simply gave him a brilliant smile and squeezed his arm. “Or perhaps I should find myself a viscount. I hear they’re all the rage.”

And she leaned in and touched his jaw, just as a photographer knelt in front of them and took their photo.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Griffin waited for Heloise to remove her hand, and then gave her a polite smile. “I’m not looking to marry, Your Highness.”

“It’d be a wonderful political union.”

“I’m not interested in furthering politics, either.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m surprised you’re turning me down, Griff dearest. You know my family’s lineage is immaculate and I’m fourth in line to the throne of Saxe-Gallia.”

As if that was a selling point. “And I’m the one who brings the enormous wallet to the table, yes?”

Her mouth tugged into a forced smile. “Don’t be gauche. That sounds like something you’d hear from—”

And she paused.

Griffin laughed. “Were you going to say ‘an American’?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But there were spots of high color on her flawless cheekbones.

He merely smiled.

“There’s just one rule,” Maylee said as she gently touched the neck of Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Alexandra. “You can’t thank me or pay me in any way, or this won’t work.”

The tearstained eyes of the princess nodded into the mirror, and then she winced anew.

“All right, then,” Maylee said, and gently felt the sides of the princess’s neck. They’d called her in from Thomas’s side and asked if she knew anything about first aid. The princess had been burned with a curling iron and asked Maylee for help. She’d volunteered, of course, and the equerry had whisked her to the princess’s dressing rooms.

The private chamber of the princess was in an uproar. Luke held his fiancée’s hand, looking almost as distraught as the teary princess. Nearby, a serving maid sobbed into her hands, and staff moved in and out, not sure what to do. A woman was busy trying to repair the princess’s makeup even as tears spilled down Alex’s pale cheeks, and an older woman held an ice pack to the back of the princess’s neck.

Maylee had immediately swept in. “I can fix this.” She’d taken the ice pack from the woman and realized too late that she’d more or less just elbowed aside the princess’s mother and another royal highness. Nothing she could do about that, though.

And so Maylee had removed the ice pack, put her hands on the sides of the princess’s neck, and began to talk. When someone was hurting, she pitched her voice low and smooth and made the person describe the injury. It seemed that the princess’s hair stylist—who was the woman sobbing in the corner—had been trying to curl a few stray tendrils with a last-minute application of the curling iron. A nervous servant had dropped a tray of wine, breaking a bottle, and the woman had jumped.

When she did, her curling iron ended up flattening on the princess’s neck and burning the tender skin. The mark was long and bright red, and it looked like it would blister. The skin surrounding the burn was hot to the touch, so she stroked her fingers over the good skin next to it and kept the princess talking. Was she excited about her wedding? Did she want to dance at tonight’s party? Was Luke a good dancer?

He was not, the princess admitted, and her admission made Luke laugh. He squeezed her hand even as Maylee continued to urge the princess to talk. Every so often, she’d ask the princess if she wanted to give Maylee the pain. The woman seemed a little skeptical, but agreed every time Maylee prompted it.

If pressed, Maylee didn’t know exactly how her ability worked. Her mama had passed down the skill to her, and it was an old Meriweather tradition. Some families had water-dowsers and people who could predict the weather. Meriweathers were talkers. Maylee touched the burned skin and gently rubbed the inflamed mark one last time. “Now, Miss Alexandra—”

“Your Highness,” her mother stiffly corrected next to Maylee.

She sounded so much like Griffin in that moment that Maylee got distracted. But she recovered and finished her sentence. “Go ahead and give me the rest of the pain.”

Alexandra blinked for a moment, and then a smile crossed her face. “It’s not hurting anymore. How on earth did you do that?”

Maylee lifted her hands. They always felt a little warm and achy after a good talking. “Don’t know. It runs in my family. My mama can talk the warts off anyone, but I’m only good with burns.”

“Warts?” said a horrified woman nearby. “How vulgar.”

“I don’t care,” Alexandra said, smiling into the mirror at Maylee. “I wasn’t quite sure when Griffin told me, but I have to say, I’m impressed. You have my thanks.” The princess waved her makeup attendant forward, and the woman rushed in, cosmetic sponges in hand, to fix the crown princess’s makeup.

“Just be gentle with it,” Maylee cautioned. “Put some aloe vera on it tonight and cover it so you don’t irritate the skin more. The mark will go away in another day or so, but it shouldn’t blister.”

“That’s incredible,” Luke said, a relieved smile on his face. He grinned at the princess again. “You sure you’re okay, baby? Up to this party?”

“It doesn’t matter if I am or not,” Alexandra said, but her smile took the sting out of her words. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go downstairs.” She indicated at a chair nearby. “Sit, Maylee. In case we need you again.”

“No more curling irons,” Luke said firmly. “You’re lovely just as you are.”

Alexandra’s smile curved her mouth. “We’ll just pin the rest.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at her hair, and the crying woman wiped her eyes and sprung into action.

Maylee approached the chair designated for her, but she smoothed her dress nervously. “If it’s all right, Miss Alexandra, I’d rather stand. I’m afraid I’d bust a seam or something awful, and then Mr. Griffin would be really unhappy with me.”

The princess stared at her mirror, but her gaze flicked to Maylee and then back again. “Speaking of Cousin Griffin, I see he’s dug out the family jewels?”

Maylee quickly touched both earrings and the necklace again. “Lordamercy, yes, and they’re making me as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

Luke snorted a laugh.

“Indeed,” Alexandra said in a pleasant voice. “Still, he must be pleased with your work.”

“Oh, this is just a loan,” Maylee said again, her hand pressing against the far-too-expensive necklace. “I think he felt sorry for me because I didn’t have any jewelry.”

“That doesn’t sound like Griffin,” the princess said.

“What doesn’t sound like Griffin?”

Maylee turned at the sound of his familiar voice, suddenly uncertain. “Hello, Mr. Gri—um, Lord Montagne Verdi.”

He moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. The move was oddly possessive for an employer, Maylee thought, but she didn’t pull away. It was kind of nice, really. Like he was including her in the group instead of making her feel like an interloper.

“Has George been sniffing around?” Griffin asked, and she felt his fingers tense on her shoulder.

“He has not,” Princess Alexandra said, leaning in so her attendant could whisk mascara on her lashes. “We’re about to head downstairs, which means the dancing will start. Are you going to run out as soon as it does, like usual?”

Griffin scowled. “I do not.”

“You do,” Alexandra said, and their bickering sounded more like siblings than princess and viscount. “I told Luke you always sneak out of these functions because you hate dancing more than he does.”

“Oh, are we going before we watch the dancing?” Maylee couldn’t help the wistful note in her voice. Now that they were here and she’d met the princess—who was quite nice, really—she was feeling more relaxed. And she wanted to see what an actual royal dance was like.

“I suppose we could stay for one,” Griffin said.

“Two,” Alexandra corrected, and got to her feet in a swirl of delicate blue frothing lace. “The first dance is for myself and Luke.”

Twenty minutes later, the princess and her fiancé had been announced to the crowd, and the band started to play. The official ball had begun, and Alexandra and Luke moved around the dance floor in an elegant swirl.

“She’s so beautiful,” Maylee breathed. “I’m so happy for her. She looks wonderful.”

“She does,” Griffin agreed at her side. He hadn’t left Maylee since they’d emerged from the princess’s chambers. When someone called Griffin over to chat, he’d more or less dragged Maylee with him. She’d been flattered, but remained silent as Griffin chatted with another politician about the recent Bellissime election of a prime minister. She watched him as he talked, though. Even if he didn’t want to be here, it was clear that he could handle himself with the crowd. He looked utterly at ease, small talk coming naturally to him.

Meanwhile, she stood at his side, tongue-tied and terrified of speaking and embarrassing him.

A round of applause made everyone look to the center of the floor, and Alexandra and Luke were leaving, heading to the dais where the queen watched the festivities from her throne. An additional throne had been set for Alexandra, and she sat down, Luke moving to stand just over her shoulder.

They looked wonderful, Maylee decided. Romantic and like something out of a fairy tale. She could have watched them all night, and judging by the dreamy expressions of some of the other women in the room, she wasn’t the only one.

Once Alexandra had her skirts settled, she gave a nod at the direction of the band, and the strains of another song began to play. Couples moved out onto the dance floor, and Maylee watched them with shining eyes. She wanted to etch the memory into her mind so she’d never forget it, all these expensive, gorgeous dresses and beautiful women on the arms of dashing, formally dressed men.

A hand extended in front of Maylee. “Shall we?”

She stared down at Griffin’s hand, then looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” he agreed. “Though I must warn you, I have two left feet.”

“That’s okay,” she said happily, and slapped her hand into his. “I’m not much of a dancer, either.”

“Lovely,” he said in a dry voice. “We shall make a terrible pair together, then.”

His acerbic humor only made her laugh.

Her breath fluttered in her throat with excitement, and Maylee let Griffin lead the way as they headed out onto the floor. The song was stately, and everyone around them was clasping hands and moving closer to dance. Oh, how magical.

Griffin’s hands went to her waist, keeping her a modest length from him. Unsure of where to put her own hands, she slid them to his neck.

He gazed at her for a long moment, and she felt her breath catch all over again with the intensity of his stare, even through the square frames of his glasses that normally hid his expressions. His eyes flicked from her face, then down to the necklace at her throat. “I see you haven’t lost them.”

His words confused her. Was that meant playfully? Or did he truly think she’d do her best to lose his jewels? “No. I’ve been very careful.”

“Of course.”

They danced, more of a swaying than any sort of waltzing, which was what she’d imagined. It actually reminded her a bit of a high school prom, and a giggle escaped her throat.

“What is it?”

“Just thinking this reminds me of a school dance.”

A hint of a smile curved his austere mouth. “Oh? In what way?”

She nodded at a couple that moved nearby. “The dresses. The awkwardness. The cool kids and the wannabes.”

“Cool kids and wannabes?” His eyebrow rose. “Which one are you?”

“Oh, definitely a wannabe.”

“Why would you think that?”

She swallowed hard, averting her gaze from him. It was easy to do; she just pretended to watch everyone dancing nearby. “I just worry that I’m going to say or do something wrong and mess everything up. So I try not to speak.”

He shook his head and his hands clasped her waist a little tighter. “No one could be embarrassed by you tonight, Maylee.”

For some reason, that didn’t make her feel better. “Because I don’t look like myself, right?”

“Why would you think that?” He stared, his feet barely shuffling as they danced, and he was right; he wasn’t a good dancer. He’d stepped on her skirt twice and her foot once, but it somehow didn’t matter.

“You said so yourself.”

Griffin sighed.

“Well, you did,” she said defensively. “And then you drove me to the salon so they could make me look “presentable.” Your words.”

“You misinterpret them.”

“I’m really not sure how it’s possible to misinterpret them, Mr. Griffin. You just said that no one could be embarrassed by me tonight. Seeing as how I normally don’t look like this, I have to think I’m embarrassing on a day-to-day basis. And you made that pretty clear by buying me clothes.” Oh, now she was spewing all kinds of hurt at him. She needed to stop, but she couldn’t help herself. “So please tell me how I am misinterpreting that. I may be country, but I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid.”

“Let’s just forget I said anything, all right?” She was ruining this lovely evening. She then turned to look at all the incredible dresses whirling past. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m sure it’s not my place.”

“Miss Meriweather,” he began. Then said, “Maylee.” Then stopped again. And sighed.

And now she felt bad. He’d spent a lot of money to get her all gussied up tonight and this place truly was something she’d never forget.

“I . . . I am not good with people,” he admitted.

“Now that’s a lie,” she told him. “You’ve been swanning around with the rest of these nobles all night.”

“I’m good at mingling,” Griffin told her. “I’m not good with . . . people. One on one.” His hands moved at her waist, and he shifted, tilting his neck from side to side as if wanting to tug at his collar. “I know a lot of people, but I don’t have many friends, Maylee. And I never say the right thing.”

“You sure do say a lot for someone who doesn’t say the right thing,” she muttered.

His hands shifted on her waist and, to her surprise, he moved one of her hands from his neck and clasped it in his own. It was almost like a waltz, except she doubted either of them knew how to dance a waltz. “Just because I talk doesn’t mean that I don’t keep fucking things up.”

She squeezed his hand with hers, feeling oddly connected to him at the moment. Maybe it was the intense look of concentration on his face, or the words that echoed her own misery at being out of place. He was at home with high society and didn’t know what to say one on one. She was the opposite—she loved chatting with everyone, but amongst this glittering crowd, she felt like an alley cat that had somehow snuck through the back door. “So if you keep messing things up, what do you think you should be saying?”

Griffin swallowed and for a moment looked so uncomfortable she wanted to laugh. Then he spoke, and the laugh died in her throat.

“I should be telling you that I think you are . . . impressive,” Griffin said in a low voice. “I should tell you that your smile makes the room warmer. That the room seems a little darker when you leave.”

Her eyes widened. All of a sudden, his hand in hers felt incredibly intimate . . . incredibly sexual. It was almost as if he had it on her breast instead of against her own hand.

And for a wild, brief moment, she wondered what Griffin would be like in bed. Would he be that incredibly polished, arrogant—almost bored—nobleman he normally was? Or would she get a glimpse of someone else underneath?

“Say something.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she murmured. She was so astonished that she was at a loss.

“You’re blushing,” he declared, and that soft tone of his voice had changed a little, becoming a shade of its normal arrogant self. “That blush does ridiculous things to me, I’ll have you know.”

“You don’t have to sound so disgusted about it,” she said defensively. Was that supposed to be a compliment? Was she supposed to be flattered that he sounded revolted at the thought of being attracted to her?

“I’m disgusted because you’re my employee,” Griffin said. “You are off limits because of that. I am not a predator to attack you simply because I hold a bit of power over you.” He looked angry at the thought. “That is not a situation I should ever put you in. I shouldn’t have said a thing tonight, and yet here I am, spouting off like a teapot.”

For some reason, the thought of stuffy, staid Griffin as a teapot made her giggle hysterically.

The music slowed and the song ended. “And I’ve already said too much,” Griffin told her, and his hands left hers. People stopped dancing and turned to clap, and she and Griffin parted, leaving Maylee with a wealth of confused feelings.

They left the party about a half hour later, and Maylee was relieved to escape, despite the awkward car ride back to the hotel. Griffin was silent, occasionally fidgeting with his cufflinks.

She wished he would talk, but he seemed to already think he’d said too much. So she stared out the window and watched the night streets of Bellissime roll past. Her own thoughts were a mess, but she couldn’t straighten them out, not with him sitting a few feet from her in silence. So she touched the jewels to make sure they were still on, stared out the window, and tried not to think about how quiet he was.

They didn’t speak as they took the elevator up to Griffin’s room. The security guard posted at the end of the floor nodded at both of them. Outside of her own door, Maylee paused. Her hand touched the ridiculously expensive jewelry again. “I should give this back to you.”

Griffin took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, not glancing at her. “It’s been a long night, Maylee. I’ll collect them in the morning.”

“All right,” she said softly, and opened her door and went inside. Once it was shut, she quickly checked the room for intruders. She could have asked him, but her mind was still all goofed up when it came to Griffin, and for some reason, she didn’t want him in her room if he didn’t want her.

At least, not the real her.

Maylee looked in the mirror at her reflection. The woman who stared back at her had long, dark eyelashes and perfect, smooth blonde hair. She glittered in jewelry and wore an expensive gown that made her look like an elegant lady. It only made Maylee more confused.

Griffin had told her that he liked her tonight, even as he constantly insisted she change what she look like. How was she supposed to take him seriously even as he tried to fix her?

She carefully removed the heavy necklace and set it down on the dresser. Next, the earrings. Then, she removed the pins from her hair and shook it out. It was still too smooth and strange to be her own. So was the perfect face that stared back at her. She needed a shower.

Maylee shimmied out of the dress—no easy feat considering she didn’t have any help with the zipper. She grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom and washed her hair.

When she emerged, her face was squeaky clean, her hair was back to wet, roping curls, and she felt more like herself. She dressed in her camo pajamas and picked up her knitting and climbed into bed. She couldn’t concentrate, though. Her gaze kept straying over to the jewelry on the dresser, and her thoughts kept playing over the night.

Griffin said he liked her. He liked her smile. He liked her touch.

But did he really like her? Did he want the real Maylee? The country girl who wore camo pajamas and knitted and tried to drink out of finger bowls at fancy parties? Or did he want the smooth, elegant blonde he’d tried to make her into?

She put aside her knitting and turned off the light. Even then she couldn’t sleep. What did he want from her?

I’m not good with people.

Maylee thought it wasn’t that he was bad with people; it was that he didn’t know how to ask for things after a lifetime of having them handed to him.

And that thought made her sit upright in the bed.

He didn’t know how to ask for things. Griffin just assumed that they would naturally become his. All the nobility thought like that. He didn’t know how to ask her if she was interested in him. He’d hemmed and hawed around things tonight and eventually told her he liked her.

And that was it. He hadn’t said more. Maybe he hadn’t realized she needed to hear more?

Was that Griffin’s weird way of asking her if she liked him? If she wanted to kiss him? Simply telling her he was bad with people and leaving it out there for her to interpret?

Suddenly, she needed to know the answer to that.

She flicked on the light and jumped out of her bed, crossing the room to the adjoining door. Without stopping to think about the hour or if it was polite to do so, she knocked quickly.

There was a loud rustling on the other side of the door, and a moment later, Griffin flung it open, his eyes slightly wild, hair mussed. “Maylee! Is—is everything all right?” He pushed into her room, and she noticed he had the bedside lamp in hand, brandishing it like a weapon once more.

Oh, dear. She’d scared him. “It’s all right,” she told him. “There’s no one in my room but you.”

He exhaled slowly and then looked over at her. With a low breath, he nodded and relaxed. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, tucking her hands in and feeling a little stupid. “I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

“Don’t be silly.” He rubbed his face and returned back to his room to put the lamp down. “What do you need?”

I need you to like me for me, she thought, and was surprised at her own thoughts. “I was just, um, curious what you meant earlier.”

“What I meant earlier?”

“When you said I was impressive.”

His face flushed. That, combined with his messy hair, made him look adorably boyish despite the long, lean chest that was currently exposed to her view. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Oh.” She rocked on her feet, hating that he was dismissing her already. She felt like they were so close to some sort of breakthrough that if she didn’t say something now, the moment would be gone forever. But was she stupid to say it? Even as she stood before him looking like her normal self instead of the elegant woman she was earlier?

“Get some sleep,” he said in a gentle voice. “I’ll check your room for you if you like.”

“No, it’s okay,” she told him. “I just would like to talk right now.”

“About?”

She ignored that sharp, clipped word. “You and me.”

“What about us?”

Maylee gave him a straightforward look. “I want to know why you’re constantly trying to change me if you like me.”

He looked incredibly uncomfortable at that. “I’m not trying to change you.”

“You are.”

Griffin rubbed his face again. “It’s not that simple. These people live and breathe protocol. I just don’t want . . . I don’t want anyone to hurt your feelings by making you feel inadequate.”

“The only person who’s done that to me is you.”

He flinched and looked away.

“It’s true. Every time I let my guard down, you hurt me. And I . . . I like you. But I don’t know if I should.”

“I’m an idiot,” he declared harshly. “It was never my intention to hurt your feelings. Anything but that.”

“And do you like me?” It felt weird to throw it out there so boldly, but she did wonder if he didn’t know how to ask. She would simply have to do the asking. “For me?”

He was silent for so long that she thought she’d made a mistake in being so blunt. Her stomach churned nervously.

Then, he looked slowly up at her and reached out to finger a lock of her hair. It was damp, the corkscrew curl loose. As she watched, he wrapped it around his finger. “I missed seeing these tonight.”

“You did?” Her breath caught in her throat.

He nodded, seemingly fascinated by that curl between his fingers. “I kept thinking your hair looked messy and unkempt and wild, but I didn’t realize how much I liked that look on you until it was all smoothed out. You were beautiful but you weren’t . . . you.”

And that was what she wanted—no, needed—to hear.

Maylee stepped forward, moving toward him. She put a hand on the center of his chest, over his heart. He was incredibly warm. He didn’t move, but she felt him tense against her. “Can I sleep in your room tonight?” she whispered.

His gaze met hers, and she saw hope and passion there. His fingers lifted, traced the lines of her cheek. “Are you scared to sleep alone?”

“No. Can I sleep with you anyhow?”

He groaned and dragged her into his room.