“Up in the Air” Chapter Three: Why I Pick on Italians So Much

In Monday’s post, I shared the back-cover description of “Up in the Air,” – due out on Friday on Amazon.com! – in  which I mention a certain “playboy Italian prince.”

Which made me start to think about my other novels, particularly my other series – Dirty Politics – which I’ll be publishing between May and July. It made me realize that I pick on Italians a good bit in my story lines.

I do that for a reason though, mainly because every group of people – and I’m not just talking about nationalities; pick a category, any category – has some average defining quality that’s absolutely ridiculous. In fact, most of the time, these subsets of humanity have a whole lot of laughable defining qualities.

And who doesn’t like to laugh? I know I appreciate a good giggle.

Then again, there’s always the risk of hurting people’s feelings, which I genuinely don’t want to do. Hence the reason why I maybe go overboard with the whole Italian thing. Because I’m half-Italian and identify pretty strongly with the pasta-eating crowd, I feel like I can poke fun all I want since I’m poking fun of myself.

Makes sense, right? It does in my head at least. But to any fellow Italians, I’m genuinely sorry we’re so easy to pick on.

Long live the ravioli! (And manicotti, and lasagna, and baked ziti, and… great. Now I'm hungry.)

Chapter 3

W

hen even Claire had left, Deanda followed up on that hand squeeze. Standing right in front of Sabrina, she placed both hands on her practically bare shoulders.

“How are you doing? Better? Do we need to talk about it now or later?”

With a fond smile, Sabrina shook her head. Ten minutes after the episode, she was past it. If anything, she wasn’t sure why she had been about to cry in the first place. It seemed unnecessarily silly when she really did recognize that things were better the way they were. She and Alex wouldn’t have been able to ever get past the alterations the HPAC had made to their relationship.

“No need to talk about it now or later. I’m fine.” She let her gaze rake over her friend’s physical form. “And you really do look exquisite, by the way. Has Alistair seen you yet?”

Managing to look both concerned and giddy at the same time, Deanda shook her head with the excitement of a little girl held at bay by the more mature sympathy she had for her friend. “No, I wanted to surprise him.”

“Oh, you’ll surprise him all right,” Sabrina noted with raised eyebrows. “Somehow, I don’t think his mind is going to be on my party tonight.”

Deanda blushed but didn’t bother to disagree. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Dallas is going to be able to keep his eyes off of you. You look absolutely amazing.”

Sabrina turned to look in the mirror once again, her wings fluttering slightly at her reflection. It was an automatic sign of some form of happiness she couldn’t repress. And maybe – just maybe – some tiny voice of hope informed her, she could focus on the princess staring back at her instead of the nervous commoner casting that image.

It was getting close to go-time.

Due to an ancient custom the Scottish court still adhered to, arriving at least twenty minutes late was considered polite. Apparently, back a few thousand years, the queen had been prone to fickle tastes and constant fits of change. One day, she would want the standard green decorations. The following Thursday, everything had to be gold.

Naturally, that drove the servants crazy during regular hours, and special occasions sent them into absolute fits of panic. They would do their best to manage her mood swings, ensuring that guests never knew the carpeting had been completely stripped and laid out again from one day to the next, or that the mess of draperies had been replaced mere hours before an international gathering.

That was until the queen pushed her luck and her servants too far too late one fateful occasion. So when everyone arrived, the featured rooms were in chaotic disarray that took another hour to fix.

After that, invitees became much more wary about showing up on time. And for whatever reason, the tradition stuck long after a new court took over.

That was true for the guests, anyway. Not the hosts, who never knew which delegates would be familiar with the proper observances in the Scottish faerie court and which ones were complete newbies. So Sabrina needed to be there about a half hour early. There would be no grand entrance for her, despite the theatre of her first dance. Instead, she’d stand with her brother, sister-in-law, nephew, Deanda and Dallas, greeting each person who came in. Since the RSVP list was close to four hundred names long, the first two-hour span was reserved for greeting guests.

Sabrina had done the math in her head when they first told her the estimate, and it seemed rather ridiculous to think she’d be able to say “hello” to that many people in that period. But Alistair, who had gone through more than enough royal events already, assured her that most people would respect her limited time and politely move on after introducing themselves.

Sabrina remained somewhat skeptical. About a lot of it.

“I’m so happy you’re going to be standing with me,” she told Deanda, though she didn’t turn away from her reflection while she spoke.

It was, she felt, rather calming to look at herself dressed up so elegantly. If her royal fashionistas had managed to make her look so good, then she could totally pull off the next few hours.

“Well, technically, I’m standing with Alistair,” Deanda pointed out with a grin. “But we’ll still be close enough to give each other meaningful looks.”

“I wish I could have you as my date,” Sabrina sighed with the smallest smidgen of actual discontent on the topic. “It really is a shame that faeries are so closed-minded.”

Deanda knew exactly what she meant, because she gave a melodramatic sigh of her own. “I know, because if we just accepted same-sex marriage like the civilized humans above us, we’d be able to celebrate our relationship in the open instead of hiding our love like this.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Sabrina finally allowed herself to look away from the mirror, her mouth dropping into one of the good-natured smirks she used to feel so much more familiar with once upon a time. “But sadly, you have to go date a prince, and I have one of Faeriedom’s most eligible bachelors as my escort. Our lives are so difficult.”

“So true,” Deanda agreed, looking like she wanted to say more except that her phone beeped from an incoming message that had her eyes brightening. “The boys say they’re ready, so I’m going to tell them to come and get us.”

Sabrina nodded her assent, drawing strength from the fairytale image she’d seen in herself just a minute ago. In fairytales, at least the ball scene was always gorgeous and romantic and dreamy. So if all went according to script, she supposed she and Dallas would be sharing in true love’s kiss before the night was over.

Though perhaps that only worked if godmothers and wands were involved. As far as she knew, her attire had been made the old-fashioned way; nothing magical about the process whatsoever.

That aside, she had to admit that the official festivities seemed to be starting off on the right glass slipper when their escorts arrived.

As predicted, Alistair was exceptionally attentive to Deanda. The crown prince was smitten even on her worst hair days, much less when she looked like she did in the red gown. It was difficult for Sabrina, her straight best friend, not to notice the way the dress rustled when she walked, or how well the fabric followed Deanda’s body so well. So she could only imagine how much it captured her nephew’s attention.

Then again, come to think of it, she supposed she didn’t want to imagine that at all.

Dallas was very gallant as well, paying attention to her and her alone after the first round of compliments were exchanged and they were walking to the grand ballroom. He took her arm and told her she looked beautiful, a compliment he seemed to mean if his frequent glances were any indication. It was rather endearing the way he thought he was being subtle, despite how he had no good reason to think he might possess that ability.

Besides, she was casting a few lingering looks his way too. He looked phenomenal in his tuxedo, which emphasized his broad shoulders and the impressive difference in their heights. Sabrina liked that about him. It made her feel safe.

“You should never go to America looking like this,” she mused out loud.

Dallas tilted his head curiously. “Oh? Why?”

“Because they’d never let you leave. At least the women wouldn’t, especially after you opened your mouth with that accent of yours.” She’d complimented his brogue herself once upon a time.

He grinned. “I wonder how much tickets are going for these days. I hear American women are pretty easy on the eye themselves.”

Sabrina grinned right back. “Yeah, they can clean up well when they want to. But you’re not allowed to go gallivanting anywhere until tonight is over.”

She used her free hand to slap his bicep lightly for emphasis. It felt like a rock. A very, very sexy rock. Which may or may not have prompted her to keep running her mouth.

“You’re mine for now, and don’t you dare forget that.”

The responding look he gave her was particularly intriguing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not leaving.”

They would have descended into silence again, but Sabrina found herself grasping at still another straw. If there was a way to keep the conversation going, than she was in the mood to take chances.

“So seriously, how bad are these things?”

She’d already asked Deanda and her brother and her sister-in-law that question more than once each, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she wanted to keep hearing him talk, accent and all.

He shrugged as if such events were old hat, which they somewhat were for him. He might not be royalty, but he and his younger sister were practically adopted into the family considering that their mother was dead, their father obsessed with his own doings, and Alistair and Dallas had been best friends since childhood.

“These parties are a nuisance more than anything,” he assured. “Just smile and nod a lot, and pretend you care about what everyone else thinks. And whatever you do, don’t get into politics with the Spanish prime minister. Once he starts, you can’t get him to shut up.”

Sabrina racked her brain for a face and name to go with the title. She knew she should know it by now, considering the detailed lists of attendees she’d poured over. It had been both annoying and time-consuming, but she had committed to the effort all the same, determined to come across as something other than the clueless country bumpkin she might otherwise be.

“I’m going to look like an idiot by the end of the night, aren’t I?” It was an utterly shameless fishing expedition for reassurance, and maybe another compliment.

Deanda responded instead and with her usual brand of directness. “You look like a goddess in that dress, your hair alone is going to get you rave reviews in every society page written about tonight, and you’re on a very hot guy’s well-muscled arm. Shut up, stop complaining and enjoy yourself already.”

Sabrina started laughing. She couldn’t help herself. Leave it to her best friend to say something so blunt. She should have known.

Meanwhile, Dallas had stiffened in embarrassment at the unrequested attention. Since his arms tightened and she was still holding onto him, that gave her another involuntary feel of how much he’d been working out.

“Yes, ma’am,” she managed to say after she got herself under control again. And just to be even sassier, she snapped off a jaunty salute while she was at it. Then, turning to her escort, she patted his bicep again. “You know, Dallas, you really do have very well-muscled arms. How much can you bench at this point?”

“Five hundred,” he told her, sounding and looking smug the way he had when they first met.

It made her want to goad him further. “So you could bench me without breaking a sweat then, huh?”

“Oh, he’d break a sweat alright,” Alistair muttered loudly enough for even the bodyguards around them to hear. It was surprisingly ungentlemanly of the normally polite prince.

“I heard that,” Dallas retorted.

“You were supposed to,” he replied. “Just remember what I told you.”

It was apparently Dallas’ turn to mutter something, though it was under his breath. Sabrina would have pressed him to repeat it right then and there, but they were already approaching the ballroom doors. So she tucked it away for later.

Something in her nephew’s tone informed her she definitely wanted to know what that little exchange had been about.

Kenneth and Kyla were already inside and walking around the enormous room, inspecting everything. At least Kyla was inspecting everything. Kenneth was walking beside her, maintaining a casual conversation and trying to snitch treats from the passing servants, who were setting up the last of the food tables. Sabrina had no idea why he kept at it when his wife caught him each time, smacking his hand whenever she did.

If that bothered him, the faerie king didn’t show it. She saw him bend down to kiss the top of Kyla’s head before either of them realized the next generation of royals was behind them.

They made a striking couple, he in his practically black green suit with matching bowtie, and she in a light green dress that fell in beautiful silk folds down to the floor. For that matter, they also very nicely matched the room, which was a cavernous creation at least the size of an American football field. Done up in silver, bronze and green, the size of the dance floor alone was enormous, mainly because faerie wings necessitated the extra space. Soon enough, the entire expanse would be taken up with mingling guests, but for the time being, the scurrying servants were accentuating how very large the room really was.

“Sabrina!” Kyla was the one who first spotted them. “Don’t you look beautiful!”

Though she had to raise her voice to be heard, there was barely an echo.

Kenneth put an arm around her shoulders, his booming voice carrying all on its own without having to shout. “She scrubs up well, doesn’t she? Nice tiara by the way.”

The couple started walking over, but Sabrina didn’t wait to reply. Feeling deliciously silly, she called back, “Thanks! My rich big brother got it for me.”

It was a good start to the festivities, she thought. And she was still of that mind when the first guest arrived well before the polite twenty-minute period had passed. But since it was Geoffrey and he wanted to scope out the place one last time, nobody was surprised. The head of Intelligence was thorough, to say the least, and had already driven palace security insane by inspecting the entire room three times over. According to her sources, he had also wanted to frisk every guest before they came in, which wouldn’t have gone over well diplomatically.

Dallas hadn’t been altogether against the notion either, which didn’t surprise Sabrina either.

What did throw her for a loop was Geoffrey’s wife. Somehow, someway, she had never considered the possibility of him being married. It was a fascinating realization made that much more so when the woman in question came across as pleasant and likable. In stark contrast to her husband, she managed to have a lighthearted chit-chat about nothing in particular while he went around the room eying everything with solemn suspicion. He was still doing that when the rest of the guests started wandering in.

Soon enough, Sabrina didn’t have more than a second at a time to gather herself. As the first person in a welcoming line of six, she smiled and complimented and welcomed away until all of the faces and names, dresses and wing colors started running together in her head. Her cheeks began to hurt well before the first hour was over, but still she kept her lips turned upward until the very last faerie had made his appearance.

That very last faerie just happened to be the infamous Prince Vatuicci, who planted a lingering kiss on the back of her hand before moving on to greet a none-too-happy Dallas beside her. Sabrina was practically seeing spots by the time he came along, so she barely registered that he was as handsome in person as on all those magazine covers he’d graced. If anything, the publications hadn’t done his runner’s build, deep brown eyes and copper-colored hair justice. Yet the second he was moving away from Kenneth at the end of the line, Sabrina forgot his presence entirely.

Gratefully accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter who walked over as if on cue, she forced herself not to down the whole thing on the spot. She’d survived the first stage of her official ascension into society, but she’d have to save any serious celebrating for later.

Deanda patted Alistair’s hand before breaking free from him to stand beside her best friend. “I told you you’d do fine,” she assured like her normal know-it-all self, before switching to the kind of accent found in the Hamptons. “You were marvelous, darling. Simply marvelous.”

Sabrina smirked in self-mockery, but the compliment did feel good and she knew that showed. “I still have to get through another how many hours though? Still plenty of time to step on a foot or two.”

“You’re not going to step on anyone’s feet,” Dallas assured, but he looked slightly worried all the same.

“So what happens now?” Sabrina asked, looking around the room at her fellow faeries mingling about. “When do I dance and start making my rounds?”

Like they had heard her question, the full orchestra against the left wall struck up the introductory notes to her chosen song. The musicians had been playing more fun, folksy pieces up until that point, but they moved into the softer ballad with a few graceful flourishes like the pros they were.

The time had come for Sabrina to make it or break it in front of everyone. So it was a good thing for her that she had Dallas to rely on. He took her hand and led her out onto the green mural that was the dance floor. And in a surprisingly insightful move on his part, he looked her right in the eyes when he pulled her into his arms.

“Just concentrate on me. Forget they’re even there.”

“Easier said than done,” she replied, but her gaze remained locked on him regardless.

Sabrina found out quickly that it actually was easy to tune everything else out when she was focusing on his rich brown eyes and the way his hand pressed against the small of her back. Despite its classical tones, the music felt entirely potent. Every time the stringed instruments took the lead, she could feel a delicious little shiver race through her nerves; and every time the pianos stood out in particular, her mind tingled with possibilities.

Combined, it was almost enough to give her the courage to tell Dallas something she might later regret. Her lips went so far as to part and her tongue rose to form the first syllable; but it almost seemed irreverent to break the heady spell of the moment. That and traces of cowardice kept her silent, though that fear wasn’t because she was afraid her sentiments wouldn’t be returned. If anything, it was the exact opposite.

In front of her and above her and around her, Dallas’ emotions were written all over. And as they glided to the beat, stepping and turning without any noticeable mishaps on her part, all of her personal demons stepped away to give her total clarity. Everything about him, from his touch to his posture to his expression, told her what she had already recognized deep down inside.

She had known it; she just hadn’t admitted it for so many reasons, including the fact that he hadn’t been going out of his way to be around her like he had before life took such a nasty fall. So it was rather nice to see him showing that he wanted her still, that he cared and thought highly of her.

It allowed her to concentrate on the moment instead of her other blinding insight: that he wasn’t going to make any moves. Just like she channeled her pain into staying busy, he was coping by trying to insure that she never got hurt again. And in his messed-up mind, she now fully recognized, that included getting close.

The song ended and so did the dance, but Dallas held onto her for an unmistakable three seconds too long, his fingers curled around her waist. For the space of a single but poignant breath, Sabrina was sure he was going to kiss her right then and there in front of the whole entire faerie court and assembled guests.

In the end, he did, but it was only to brush his lips against her cheek. Then he spun her out so they could curtsy and bow to the assembled crowd.

The room broke out into polite but enthusiastic applause.

Sabrina’s skin tingled where his mouth had been.

“We didn’t do too bad together,” she dared to say, smiling up at her handsome escort when he began leading her off the dance floor. “And I didn’t step on your feet once.”

“I wasn’t worried you would,” he replied confidently.

“Liar.”

He had the grace to grin at that, though he still didn’t admit to anything.

After reaching her family’s side, she had maybe five minutes with them before they all had to spread out and socialize. Deanda barely had the chance to give her a meaningful look indicating loud and clear that there were comments coming later. And then the three couples were off to play the cordial hosts and hostesses.

For her part, Sabrina clung to Dallas’ arm like a life raft, though she once again had her princess face on. It had been so much easier back in the reception line, where she didn’t have to think of proper conversation topics and meaningful replies.

It got worse when she was forced to let him go to shake the hand of someone who came up to her side. In retrospect, she realized it was a distinct tactical move on the newcomer’s part since he had help with it. He first walked over with a beautiful female friend with pale purple wings and auburn hair swept into an elegant up-do. And with almost imperceptible nods that Sabrina just happened to catch by a chance turn of her head, they separated: the woman to distract Dallas, and Prince Vatuicci to capture Sabrina’s attention.

She briefly considered shrugging him off entirely with a few kind but dismissive words, but he never gave her an opening for that. Taking her hand in his right from the get-go, he didn’t kiss it, but he did claim it.

Sabrina saw Dallas shoot her a concerned look, but he couldn’t politely detach himself any more than she could. It made her hate the leggy woman at his side, and not just because of the slit in her dress, which stopped mid-thigh and was therefore unnecessarily slutty for a formal event.

Prince Vatuicci was speaking though, forcing her to turn to him. “Princess Sabrina, may I just say that the rumors of your beauty didn’t come close to doing you justice.”

His smooth, Italian accent made the words seem less cheesy than they were, though she still wasn’t sure how she felt about his tone caressing her skin quite so intimately. Sure, he held his wings folded in the back like a gentleman, but something in his eyes and olive-tinged complexion made her guess at what he was thinking all the same.

“Oh, you know,” she tried to reply with light dismissiveness, risking a glance backward while he pulled her further away from Dallas and toward the less crowded wall. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

To her ears, her American inflections sounded so much less impressive than his smooth tenor.

He chuckled anyway. “Am I making you nervous drawing you away from Sir Dallas?”

The way he pronounced the faux title made her reach two quick conclusions, the first being that he knew Dallas personally. The second was that they didn’t get along.

Sabrina decided to be equally blunt. “Well he is my escort for the evening, and he’s been amazing so far. But I also think it’s impolite to go gallivanting off with one person when it means I’m neglecting my other guests.”

Vatuicci smiled, looking both younger and older than the late twenties she knew him to be in. “I don’t think taking ten steps with me constitutes ‘gallivanting,’ but we can dance if it makes you feel less uncomfortable about skirting these stuffy rules.”

He said that last part as a distinctive dare: a supposed challenge to be her own woman and stick it to the man. The truth was Sabrina recognized it for the manipulation attempt he meant it as. Yet it got her competitive side going anyway, and so she raised her eyebrows right back.

“How about you tell me more about yourself, first,” she commanded lightly. “Didn’t I hear you were dating someone in Italy? Or am I thinking about her sister?”

That had been one of the stories Catherine shared earlier in the day. The prince had gotten himself into yet another scandal just the week before by seeing a pair of siblings at the same time without proper permissions granted on either woman’s part. It hadn’t ended well when they found out what he was doing behind their respective backs.

His admittedly beautiful eyes were full of amusement while he straightened his bowtie in a supposed fit of self-consciousness. “I can see you Scots have much better sources than my poor country has. You seem to know my very darkest secrets.”

“Of course we do,” she countered. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with this case, Prince Vatuicci. Your reputation more than precedes you.”

“Let me guess then,” he began, putting a hand on the small of her back to presumably guide her still farther away from Dallas.

That was his mistake though. Because when he did, it ceased to be a game she knew she could win. It stopped being a game at all, for that matter. In that moment, it wasn’t his touch she felt; if it had been, she probably would have been able to shrug it off physically and otherwise.

Sabrina must have tensed a decent bit, since Antonio dropped his hand.

With practiced ease, however, his speech didn’t falter in the slightest. “You heard I’m the modern-day version of Casanova, that I’m a bounder and a cad – as I believe your ancestors would have dubbed me not very long ago – and that good little Scottish princesses stay far, far away from the likes of devilish Italian seducers like me.”

Sabrina took the opportunity to take another step away from him in pretended surprise. “Are you sure your sources aren’t doing their job? Because that’s almost verbatim what my hairdresser told me this afternoon.”

It wasn’t really, but he didn’t need to know that.

He laughed appreciatively. “With all due respect to your hairdresser – who, may I say, does exquisite work when it comes to styling – I think it’s best to discover the truth for oneself rather than rely on second or third-hand accounts.”

Still not feeling as secure as she’d like, Sabrina crossed her arms over her chest to regard him with a skepticism she didn’t bother to hide. “Oh, you’re not wrong. She is a terrible gossip, and I don’t make a habit of taking her at her word about such things. But she’s not the only one who’s told me to be careful around you.”

He started to say something.

She interrupted, her tone light, her feelings not so much. “And even if that wasn’t true, I’d say your behavior right now is proof enough.”

“You hurt me, Princess. Truly.” The prince clapped his offending hand to his heart with an overdone sigh. “And after I went out of my way to set my sister on Dallas. I had to promise she could borrow my jet one of these coming weekends in order to bribe her into my brilliant plan.”

Sabrina understood very well that he wanted her to ask him about his jet. Unfortunately for him, she had completely gotten ahold of herself again, allowing her  to throw the conversation in a different direction than he intended.

“You mean you had to bribe her to talk to him? The way he looks tonight, I’m surprised all the girls aren’t throwing themselves his way.” To emphasize her point, she eyed Dallas with an appreciative gaze of her own.

It would have been a good dig at anyone else. Prince Vatuicci, however, was a pro.

Barely addressing her comment, he rerouted to his own. “Yes, well, she knew she could ask for close to anything when I wanted to talk to you so badly.”

A brown-suited servant chose that moment to walk over with a tray of champagne. Sabrina accepted one and took a very slow sip, knowing full well that her companion was watching her while he reached for one himself. He was smirking again too. He seemed to smirk a lot, even when his lips were set otherwise.

She hadn’t needed the drink for itself. She just wanted it for the brief diversion it offered. In which case it worked as intended, since she knew exactly what she wanted to say when she lowered the flute.

“Do Italian faerie women read romance novels?”

If possible, he looked more amused than ever. “If you mean sensual and provocative fictional stories, then yes, they indulge in them just as much as yours do, I would imagine. Why do you ask?”

She took another slow sip, this time to draw out the suspense. “Because you could have stepped right out of one.”

He laughed, a rich sound that might have been a lot more hearty if they were somewhere else. “I would say ‘thank you,’ but I’m not sure you meant it as a compliment.”

Sabrina wasn’t quite bold enough to agree, but she didn’t correct him either. Instead, once again, she turned to lead him back to the main hub of people.

“Shall we go and see what your sister and Dallas are up to?”

He, once again, had a very different idea. And when he didn’t immediately start moving with her, she faltered in her resolve. Etiquette said that she couldn’t leave a guest all by himself, which he knew very well. That custom ran through all of Faeriedom, not just the Scottish sections.

Taking one last swig of his champagne, he beckoned for another waiter to come collect his now empty glass. In that moment especially, everything about him exuded confidence.

Italian royalty could claim just a few centuries of rule, whereas the Scots had a carefully maintained lineage that stretched back over four thousand years. Yet Vatuicci behaved like nobody had told him that. He looked the very picture of aristocratic perfection, from the tips of his violet wings to his strikingly human attire, which was what she would have once considered to be a standard black tuxedo.

Come to think of it, she wondered if he had done that to appeal to her in particular. If so, it meant he would have had to not only get it custom tailored but also custom made. No faerie designer, self-respecting or otherwise, would make a suit in that color without some major cash incentive.

Not that cash was an issue for an Italian prince. That country boasted the second-largest faerie economy, after Scotland. It used to have the largest back under his grandparent’s rule, or so she’d been told. Rumor was that the present monarchs were slowly running the country into the ground, financially speaking, though that didn’t appear to concern Antonio. Like any other carefree dandy, he was much more focused on the immediate.

“I promise to let you go just as soon as you dance one dance with me. You can’t deny me that single pleasure, Princess. Not when I’ve asked so nicely.”

Sabrina wanted to deny him. Quite a bit, actually. But try as she did, she couldn’t think of a single excuse he wouldn’t have an immediate comeback for. He wasn’t the type to not have a comeback in general. So she let him lead her out into the center of the dance floor and pull her closer.

It wasn’t inappropriate how he put his hand on her back this time, not far up enough to indicate mere friendship but not low enough to indicate anything even borderline untoward. And he didn’t crush her to him like she half expected. There was his dance space and her dance space, and a whole lot of sexual tension in between.

Sabrina didn’t need to want him like that to recognize that it existed all the same.

It flowed from his hands and eyes with a gentle intensity that looked a lot more genuine than the snarky persona he’d exuded before. Then again, looks could be deceiving, as the two sisters he dated now knew all too well.

Sabrina made sure not to look directly at him for any noticeable amount of time. Instead, she caught glimpses of other faeries moving around them, or concentrated on following his steps, which didn’t feel nearly as natural as her dance with Dallas had been.

“You seem distracted,” he noted with some concern, compelling her to really look at him.

He was very nearly Dallas’ height, she realized. “I’m sorry. It’s just been such a busy day, and I’m already thinking about what tomorrow involves.”

“Ah.” He nodded in understanding. “I was the same way at my coming-out ball.”

That startled her, since she didn’t know faerie men were introduced to society the same way women were. “You had a coming-out ball?”

He grinned. “No.”

Realizing what a blond she’d just been, Sabrina had to laugh.

“I just wanted to make you smile,” he went on. “You looked far too serious.”

His spot of fun had put her more at ease, so she obliged him with the conversation he wanted. “So when did you arrive in Scotland exactly?”

He spun her out and pulled her back in again before answering.

“Just this morning. The original plan was for us to leave yesterday morning, but you know how affairs of state can get.” He rolled his eyes in self-mocking amusement, though she thought she might have caught a stronger hint of annoyance there then he meant to show. “Fortunately, that’s all taken care of, and my schedule is clear for the next few days. My parents are leaving after tomorrow night, but I’ll be staying for the rest of the festivities.”

“That’s nice.” She stepped right, right and then back three times in time to his leading. “Then you’ll be at the breakfast tomorrow? It was on the itinerary you should have gotten. All of the young people are meeting in the gardens at ten-thirty for a buffet.”

The turn they next took meant that Sabrina got a glimpse of Dallas, who was standing at the edge of the dance floor. Despite his exquisite companion, who was still all but attached to his hip, he looked decidedly less than happy.

If he was jealous, he didn’t need to be. She wasn’t about to fall for the Italian prince’s charms, regardless of whether he played the flirtatious gigolo or the much more likeable suitor he was behaving at the moment. One pleasant dance couldn’t erase the scores of negative reviews she’d heard about him.

“Can I be your special guest, in that case?” The musical piece ended, as did their dance, and he bowed gallantly to her.

“Sure,” Sabrina said for lack of anything better to say. “Why not.”

It wasn’t the proper phrasing, and his expression showed how he knew that very well. “Can I escort you around at all? Introduce you to anyone in particular?”

Recognizing that he was back to behaving impishly, despite his guileless tone, Sabrina didn’t take the bait. She knew it would be rude to her actual escort. She had been coached in all the proper protocol for too many months now to make such an impolite gaffe, even if she was inclined to do so. Which she wasn’t.

So she politely thanked him for the offer and the dance, then told him she’d be sure to find him at the outing tomorrow. Sabrina also let him escort her back over to Dallas, where the Italian princess was instantly excusing herself, calling her brother away with her.

Dallas scowled after them, or to be more precise, after Antonio. It was almost a little embarrassing how blatant he was being about his antipathy toward the other male. And it became more so when a small party attempted to approach Sabrina a mere moment later, and Dallas practically dragged her onto the dance floor and into his arms.

“That was rude!” She hissed, despite how her hands fell into their proper positions and her feet followed his. “They’re going to think I did that on purpose!”

“No,” he snapped. “They’re going to think I did that on purpose. Which I did.”

“Well aren’t you in a snit about something.” Sabrina would have wrapped her fingers around her waist in a show of temper if either set was free.

As it was, she was left contemplating nothing worse than stepping on his foot. Anything else would make a scene.

“I am not in a snit,” he retorted. “And what were you talking about with that worthless poser?”

“Who?” She needled with eyebrows raised and mouth set in particularly mocking fashion. “Prince Vatuicci?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

He pushed her backward on the next beat with the same tension that dominated his voice. Somehow, she managed to step the right way in response to the unexpected dance move, her wings billowing out behind her while she executed the next two paces just as flawlessly. Twirling once beneath his raised arm, her feet ended perfectly so she could press him forward next.

Two could play to that tune.

“Nothing much.” Again, her tone couldn’t be called friendly.

“Antonio Vatuicci,” he gritted out, “doesn’t talk about ‘nothing much’ with beautiful women.”

“You’re so prehistoric sometimes.” Sabrina was more annoyed with him than perhaps she should have been, but she didn’t stop to analyze her emotions. “I know he’s a player. I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Good. Don’t you forget that.” He sounded way too superior for her liking, and ultimately for his own good. “You can’t trust him any further than you can throw him.”

“Well I’m so grateful you told me that.” A much happier couple breezed by them, their faces set in mutual admiration and enjoyment. “Because I was getting kinda close to planning our honeymoon. What do you think of a summer wedding?”

He didn’t care for that sarcasm. Then again, he wasn’t supposed to.

They finished the dance out with a much different kind of tension than the one they’d started the night with. Dallas didn’t say much on the subject after that. He stuck right by her side the whole time, surprisingly making semi-pleasant conversation with each new person or group that came over to greet her. It would have been perfectly pleasant if it weren’t for the twinge of annoyance she heard in his voice.

Maybe the guests couldn’t detect it, but she definitely did, just like she caught him shooting nasty glares in Vatuicci’s direction more than once.

 The Italian noticed too, and made it obvious he was trying to annoy Dallas in turn. While Sabrina was sure her escort for the evening was more than intelligent enough to recognize that, it appeared he wasn’t mature enough to act accordingly.

When Antonio made a point to catch her eye and raise his glass in her direction, Dallas glowered. And when he glided by her, grazing one wing against hers, Dallas’ hands clenched into fists. By the time the playboy went out of his way to bring her over a fresh champagne flute, Sabrina’s escort was done.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking the drink from his marked rival, his smile cold. “Thanks, pal.”

Overall unfazed, Vatuicci raised both brows. “I had meant that for our enchanting princess here.”

“She’s had enough to drink,” Dallas replied, then tossed back the contents of the glass with one last swig.

“That’s not the only thing I’ve had enough of.” Sabrina took a deep breath to rein in her temper and keep from saying anything she’d regret. “Forgive me, but I’d better go find my brother now that the party is winding down. I want to make sure to thank him for tonight.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, nor did she bother to have pity on either man when she left them to battle it out, verbally or otherwise. In her particular opinion, they both deserved a bruised eye or two.

The fabric of Sabrina’s beautiful green dress rustled against her skin while she walked away, a sensation that had a calming effect on her nerves. The night really was coming to a close, and soon she would be able to take off her heels, slip into some ridiculously comfy pajamas and go to sleep.

Bed sounded like such a wonderful idea right then.

Bed or maybe some chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter. The food being passed around the room looked so delicious, but she hadn’t gotten a chance to try any of it since she’d been too busy meeting and greeting.

That wasn’t to say she was hungry. Sabrina merely thought that comfort food sounded like a good idea.

She stopped or was stopped several times on the way to her brother’s side to shake hands and wish her guests the best, asking them if they had enjoyed themselves and saying stuff like how they “must come back again. It was so very nice meeting you,” and “Have a safe trip back home tomorrow.”

Throughout it all, she tried her best not to yawn. It was way past the time good little princesses went to bed, which made her particularly grateful whenever another pair or group of faeries would take their leave from the ballroom altogether. Despite the copious amounts of alcohol she knew some of them had consumed, not a one tripped or swayed. From what she could see, each individual traipsed out with the same grace and pose as they’d entered hours ago.

As for her, she made it over to her brother without any mishaps of her own. And that was despite how Antonio still managed to get in one last brief conversation before Dallas could stalk over and reclaim her.

Then it was all over. Kenneth gave her a big, congratulatory hug and told her she’d worn her tiara well; Kyla declared the evening an overwhelming success; and Deanda yawned pointedly, saying that she was going to bed.

The girl only believed in subtlety when she felt like it.

Yet after they’d all said their goodnights, and it was just Deanda and her bodyguards left to escort her down the hallway, Sabrina was less than forthcoming. She was tired. Too tired even to take a walk to get those cookies she’d been thinking about. So she promised to tell all in the morning, and then retired to what she hoped would be a thoroughly restful night sleep.

If she was really lucky, she remembered thinking with her cheek buried into a pillow, she’d even dream up ways to deal with the drama that was Dallas and Vatuicci.