Uck. I hate women who do that.
Apparently, my gorgeous stranger does too. He wipes off her kiss with obvious distaste.
“Natasha, you know I don’t do PDA.”
I can’t help overhearing their conversation, being as close as I am.
“PDA, darling? What is that?” Her accent is decidedly European.
“Public Display of Affection.”
“You’ve gone so American, darling, with your abbreviations that I can’t keep up.” She takes his arm and steers him away from the smiling throng. “It would seem that your father is displeased.”
“What? That I got sidetracked from his party?”
Wait a minute. Something is clicking in my head, only I’m a bit slow on the catch. I have no time to make the instant connection that I should be making, however, because he suddenly sees me.
We both freeze.
Does he recognize me in this outfit? Obviously, because his eyes are shocked and staring at me in the way of an apparition. A dozen conflicting emotions flit across his face, and I’m amazed – because I’m sure I have been nothing more for him than a fifteen-minute fling. Yes, it was passionate and exciting . . . for me, but I thought this kind of thing would be commonplace for someone like him.
Because he’s a player, I’m sure of it. That kind of chance sexual encounter doesn’t happen for an average Joe. He does this all the time, and I just happen to be conveniently there for whatever sexual demons he’s trying to exorcise. Maybe he got frustrated by redheaded goddess over here. Maybe he was just having a hormone overload.
I don’t know. I will never know. I’m just a maid/waitress struggling to get through college.
I expect him to avert his head. To bypass me as if I’m nothing but wallpaper. But instead, he surprises (no, shocks) me by striding over.
“Where are you going, Alexander?” Redheaded Goddess says suspiciously.
“To get a drink.”
He doesn’t say ‘I’ll be right back’, I notice.
He doesn’t walk. He strides – confidently, assertively in that self-possessed manner. But he’s not pompous. He’s merely very sure of himself.
I wish I had that kind of confidence.
As for me, I’m rooted to the spot. My mouth dries as my gut goes flip-flop, and I can feel the blood draining from my face.
He wants a drink, nothing more, a little voice tells me.
He comes up to me and our eyes lock. In that instance, I experience once again that magnetic, goose-walking-over-my-grave sensation of worlds colliding, of opposite poles that are meant to be. But I’m sure it’s one-sided. I’m sure he has that effect on every woman who sees him, especially Red-headed Goddess who is glancing over at us in a peevish manner.
His eyes are sea-green and swimming with flecks of every other color on the rainbow spectrum, I could have sworn. My insides – especially down there – melt again. I can’t help it. He has that power over me like no other person before, and I don’t know why.
“Hi,” he says in a low voice. He takes a champagne glass off my tray.
I have to contract all my arm muscles to keep the tray from shaking.
“Hi,” I say back.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
So he remembers.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here either.”
Am I really having this conversation? Because it’s surreal.
He takes a sip from his glass. “I don’t think we have ever been properly introduced. My name is Alex.”
Alex. Not Alexander.
“I’m Liz. Elizabeth, I mean.”
Oh my God. I think I might have forgotten my surname.
“Liz,” he savors my name. On his tongue – and I remember that tongue in my mouth, oh God – it sounds exotic and seductive. “What are you d– ?”
The rest of what he was going to ask me is drowned out by a shrill voice. “Alexander, don’t keep me waiting, darling.”
I back off. Redheaded goddess comes over and lays her hand protectively on Alexander’s arm, the one that isn’t involved in holding the now empty champagne glass.
“It’s only been less than a minute,” Alex says wryly.
“I’m sure it’s been longer than that.” She appropriates the glass from his hand and puts it back firmly on my tray. She flashes a predatory smile at me that clearly says “Don’t touch my property”.
I shrink back. I wasn’t planning on touching anyone’s property. Since our last encounter, I mean, because we sure touched plenty back then. OK. My mind babbling. I better get back to work.
Alex’s eyes linger on my face, and I’m the first to flush and turn away. I can hear Redhead’s receding voice as she steers him away into another pocket of people.
I bump into Cassandra on the way back to refill my tray.
“So what did he say to you?” She’s a little breathless.
“Who?”
“The prince! What did he say to you?”
OK. Right here, I’m going to admit I’ve been a little dim. I know all the clues have been telling me that Alex might be the errant and unpunctual son of the royal dignitary we are serving tonight, but I flat out refuse to acknowledge it.
“He just wanted a drink,” I reply in a lame voice.
“He’s soooo handsome!” gushes Cassandra. “Did you know that the Tattler has him as the most eligible bachelor alive since Prince William got married?”
No, I didn’t know. I don’t read Tattler. I don’t know anything about bachelors and royalty, other than I got f**ked by one in probably what will be a forgettable interlude in his life.
Anyway, I don’t see how Alex being the most eligible bachelor alive has anything to do with me. It’s probably got everything to do with Redhead though.
My cheeks burning, I head off.
5
OK. I’ll admit it.
I can’t refrain from Googling Alex.
I’m in my one-bedroom rental apartment which I share with Deanna. I have my own laptop, and while I’m Googling Alex, Deanna waltzes in.
“Whatcha doing?” She immediately flops on my bed and peers at my screen.
“Hey, whatever happened to privacy?” I say, snatching my laptop away.
She grabs it and begins a tug of war with me. “I want to see. Oh wow. Prince Alexander Vassar of Moldovia. Isn’t his father in town or something?”
Alex himself is also in town, I think, but don’t say.
Deanna grabs my pillow and leans back on it, making herself completely at home in my bed. She seizes my notebook and puts in upon her knee.