7
Annika
As I sit down in the very front row of the Greta von Grissel fashion show, I smile wanly at the big names that are present to support the show. I suck on my hard candy discreetly and try not to wonder how some of the people around me get so thin. A couple of actresses, a celebrity blogger, a fairly famous rocker… they’re all stuffed around me, arranged like dolls for the cameras.
One of the actresses shyly asks me for a selfie. I smile and comply, not because I’m particularly in the mood. But because it’s expected of the princess of Denmark.
I’m playing the part, being the perfect Danish princess. Short black velvet dress, sky high black heels, and a tiara to top it all off.
Normally I would relish a Grissel fashion show. After all, being here is paying tribute to my primary hobby. Change the world through using fashion to raise money for charitable causes. But the reason I’m in a sour mood is heading my way… and he looks like he just walked off the pages of a fashion magazine.
Tall, elegant, with sandy-colored hair and those cutting green-brown eyes. He’s dressed simply but stylishly in a slim cut navy wool suit, a pristine white shirt, a crisp black tie, and spit-shined black leather Oxford shoes.
I watch the crowd notice him as he approaches me. The gorgeous women attending this fashion show arch their eyebrows and aim their pouts at him. The handsome men cock their heads and wonder who he is.
And Erik doesn’t even know that he’s being measured. His gaze locks on to me and narrows a little. Even from a distance, he appears brooding.
The lights start to dim. Behind Erik, the runway is lit while the area given over to the guests darkens. He walks right up to me, looking at the people carefully arranged around me on the white marble bench.
“Do you mind if I move you down?” he asks the young actress seated beside me.
She flushes prettily. “Ja, ja. Let’s see…”
My mouth thins. She stands up and motions to everybody to move down. My gaze slides to the event planner, who is staring at us as though we’ve just ruined her life.
Erik sits down beside me. “Your highness,” he says, nodding to me.
I narrow my eyes at him and adjust my dress. I continue to smile as there are camera flashes about every five seconds. But inside, I’m seriously pissed off at Erik. He is definitely high up on my shit list for the things he said yesterday.
I freeze him out, turning ever so slightly away from him. He casts a skeptical glance over me.
Then I hear the actress on his other side introduce herself in a whisper. I force myself to continue smiling and lean forward so that I can see her around Erik.
“He’s in trouble,” I say, smiling brightly. “Please don’t talk to him.”
The starlet’s eyes go wide but she just nods. Erik shoots me a glare. But before he can say anything, the music starts blaring.
He shifts in his seat, watching as the models begin to work their way down the runway. I keep up my end of the bargain, applauding politely at every single model.
Privately, I’m not paying a single bit of attention to what’s going down the runway in front of my face. But Grissel doesn’t need to know that. And I still want her to make me ten designer dresses for next season…
A few minutes into the fashion show, Erik shifts his weight, pressing his thigh up against mine. My eyes widen just a bit.
It’s probably an unknowing move on his part, but holy hell. The warmth of his big body radiates, heating my exposed skin.
I look down at where our bodies are pressed together, distracted beyond reason. Why is this the most erotic thing that’s happened to me all week?
I stare at the spot where we touch. For some odd reason, all I can think of just now is Erik moving his hand to my thigh and inching up my dress.
I lick my suddenly parched lips, a rush of memory hitting me. Now I can remember exactly why I wanted him to be the one to take my virginity.
Suddenly the house lights go up. Everyone around my is rising and applauding Greta von Grissel, who traipses down the runway looking like a mythical goddess in a flowing dress of her own design.
I rise and clap too, wondering where the last twenty minutes went. Did I really spend them fixating on how good Erik’s thigh felt when it was pressed against mine?
The designer bows. The paparazzi swoop in, shooting photos of us famous people.
“Can we get a shot with you and Greta, your highness?” one man calls.
“Who is your escort, your highness?” a woman asks.
I blanch. “Thank you, everyone! I have to go, unfortunately.” I lock eyes with the designer, gesturing to mimic a phone. “Greta, I’ll call you!”
And with that, I turn, raise my head, and sweep out of the room. Bodyguards fall in around me once I step outside of the ballroom.
Another of Erik’s decisions, I bet.
By the time I climb into the back seat of the limousine, I’m furious. I pluck the tiara from my hair and run my hands through my strands, pulling out bobby pins and wrecking an entire morning’s worth of effort.
Erik climbs into the backseat beside me, glancing at me as I irritably pull bobby pins from my sinuous mane.
I avoid his green-brown gaze, my brow hunched as I glare at the seat in front of me.
“What is wrong with you?” he asks.
I snort. “Believe it or not, I’m still pretty damn mad at you.”
He exhales loudly. “Is this about yesterday?”
I glare at him. “Yes.”
I gather all the bobby pins into a fat bundle, toying with them.
Erik grunts. “I’m sorry I said… whatever is making you upset.”
“Agh!” I moan, sinking down in my seat. “The fact that you don’t even know what made me mad, but you apologized anyway… that makes me angrier.”
He laughs, a humorless sound. “This is insane. I can’t keep up with you.” He shakes his head. “You know what? I think this is still about how I rejected you on the beach.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. Like I can’t have whatever or whoever I want, whenever it pleases me. I am the only fucking princess of Denmark, you know.”
He glares at me. “Maybe that isn’t good enough for you. Maybe you have some… some fixation on me. Forbidden fruit and all that.”
I look at him, shaking my head. “Actually, you aren’t explicitly taboo to me. This whole forbidden fruit thing only really works from your perspective.”
He narrows his gaze on me, eyeing me up and down. “No. I think you are infatuated with me.”
I open my mouth, hitting him on the arm repeatedly. “I am not, you pompous… arrogant… jerk! I could never be interested in somebody so self-righteous and buttoned up! Ugh!”
His lips curve upward. “You seemed to think differently on the beach last week.”
I turn straight ahead, blushing deeply. “That was just a physical thing. I was there, you were there…” The lie feels a little forced, but I just keep on anyway. “I could never, ever, ever actually feel romantically attracted to you.” I laugh at the very idea of it. “Like… no. Ew.”
Erik frowns, crossing his arms and adjusting his position against the seat. “It’s nice of you to lay it out there so that even I can understand it, princess.”