Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I sighed heavily, my shoulders dropping. “You are never going to let me forget I said that, will you?”
“Never,” she said with her chin up.
“Well, I cannot have that,” I said, sitting. “You are allowed to label me with three words then, too. So we are even.”
“What if I don’t want to be even?”
“You are not petty.”
“You just don’t know me well enough.”
I smiled. “So you are petty, bossy, temperamental, and prone to outburst.”
Her mouth dropped, and I tried not to laugh. “You are supposed to be apologetic for that, not add to it!”
“You are the one adding to it. I said you were not petty, and you disagreed.” I was truly enjoying how flabbergasted and ruffled she looked. “I can only take you at your word, Ms. Wyntor.”
“You know, it would be wiser just to tell me that I was none of those things at all.”
“Wiser, yes, but not the truth, and I promised you I’d do my best to tell you the truth,” I explained. When she frowned, I also added, “No one said those traits are bad. I am also a bit bossy and temperamental. I’ve gotten better at the outburst part, but I have my moments. So, you are not alone. Though I’m enjoying how you puff up when I say it.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but luckily, the server came over, and she held back her comment, sitting straighter in her chair.
“Your menus,” he said to us with a thick Italian accent, handing us both a menu before filling our glasses with water. “Is there a wine I can start you with?”
“I should keep away from it after yesterday. You go ahead, though,” Odette said to me, but something told me she really wanted it. Maybe it was way she sucked the corner of her lip for a brief second before rejecting the offer.
I leaned forward. “Enjoy the beauty of the moment. Besides, I am not familiar with their selection, so I am in desperate need of your help.”
She shot me a glance before looking back up at him. “May we have the Vietti Barolo Riserva Villero?”
“Of course. What year?” he asked in reply. “We have 1989 and 2003 to 2010.”
“2009.”
“I’ll bring it now.” He nodded to her before walking away.
When her eyes shifted to me, I felt a little enthralled, watching her be so decisive.
“What?” she asked.
“You really know your wines, it seems.”
“Yes and no. You grew up in Europe, and you are impressed I can order wine?”
“When you do not have a skill, you appreciate it in others. I am so bad at picking wines that my family will never allow me to choose for Christmas.”
“You can’t be that bad,” she said as she lifted the water.
“As you said, I grew up in Europe. In Ersovia, people love and know their wine. There have been a few times when I picked white, too sweet or too bitter. In my mind, I always tell them it is not Goldilocks and the three vineyards. Just drink it.”
She laughed. “Goldilocks and the three vineyards? You should be a writer.”
“I wanted to be,” I muttered, thankful the server came back with the wine, and I picked up the menu.
“May I have the bucatini with butter-roasted tomato sauce and meatballs?” she asked him at a lightning-fast speed. She looked incredibly eager for it, as well.
I wanted to know why she loved it so much. “I will have the same.”
“Right away,” he said, taking our menus.
The moment he was gone, she picked up right where I left off. “You wanted to be a writer? Why didn’t you write?”
“We are going for the deep questions first? Already?” I asked, reaching for the wine.
She nodded. “It is the least we can do since you already have a full profile on me.”
“Touché.” And I walked right into it. “Well, to answer your question, yes. I wanted to be a writer, and I am not because...because my father did not think it was suitable for a prince.”
“Not suitable? Aren’t most princes like art history majors and stuff?”
“How do those two things relate?” I asked, drinking.
“I mean, when I think of the education of princes, I think the arts, like poetry, music, paintings...fencing and polo come to mind, too.”
“I want to say I do not know how to fence or play polo so badly, but unfortunately, you are right,” I said, watching the smugness appear on her face. “I was required to learn all of those things because of tradition, but I ended up truly enjoying them. However, instead of focusing more on them, my father had my brother and me study politics, the economy, and law. Things he believed were more beneficial to know in the modern world...and my brother shines in all those things.”
“But your heart was with the poets?” she whispered softly.