Page 93 of Fake Fae-Ancée
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, throwing him another smile. "Just nerves."
The limo made its way through Helsinki traffic, the city rushing by in colorful blurs. I hadn’t paid much attention to it, since I felt like throwing up most of the time.
With stiff fingers I texted back:"Will do. <3"and hit send.
"No need to be nervous."
Suddenly, his hand was closing around mine, so large and gentle and rough at the same time. I froze, not sure if I should withdraw, but I couldn’t lie, the touch alone soothed my frazzled nerves.
"Aren’t you?" I asked. His words of last night were constantly echoing in my head, a never-ending chorus of "Once it's all over, I'll find myself a decent bride." I tried to push it aside. It didn’t matter. I was just his ex-wife, trying to look like a princess. Nothing more.
"I feel like throwing up." He grinned, those dimples appearing again, making my heart ache.
"You almost convinced me," I said, sounding more shaky than I had liked.
Then I looked at my cellphone again and frowned. A red exclamation point informed me that my message had not been sent. I hit the button once more to resend and stared at the rotating circle at my screen.
"Huh." Yuri next to me was also looking down on his phone. "Seems like the cell reception is wonky around here."
I switched off the screen, frowning. That seemed unlikely, given that Finland had a state-of-the-art internet connection everywhere in the country. But maybe even the best system in the world wasn’t perfect. And I had a whole tangle of different problems waiting right in front of me.
I would tell Charly and Lily everything about the evening later… maybe.
Yuri
The Winter Palaceshone bright blue in the flash of the floodlights that were casting white beacons into the pink summer sky when the limo came to a halt in front of the red carpet. Bates had arranged everything. We got out of the car in front of a flock of reporters — all international press and paparazzi — causing quite the commotion. With Kai holding on to my arm, I stared down the wall of flashing lights and microphones, giving the brief statement we had rehearsed:
"Good evening. My fiancée and I are here to attend the annual ball. Thank you very much for the warm welcome."
And with that, we strut down the red carpet, leaving behind an explosion of questions and flashing lights and rattling cameras, all of which we totally ignored. Nicolai and mother, who came up in the car behind us, would handle them and feed them the right information.
"You okay?" I muttered.
"I’d rather jump out of a plane than be here," she gritted through her smile.
"Just breathe," I whispered as we entered through the vast gateway that led inside the palace. "Think of it as just another combat mission."
"That works?"
"Always worked for me." I gave a short wave to the former Cultural Attaché of Greece who widened his eyes and almost spilled his champagne.
Kai
A liveried mancalled out our names, jutting a golden staff down to the ground in two deafening thuds. A stunned silence rolled through the crowd in the banquet hall, followed by a murmur that sent a chill of panic down my spine. Ladies slapped gloved hands over their mouths. Gentlemen dropped their monocles. Even the faint music the orchestra was playing seemed to drown out in the shocked silence that filled the hall.
"Keep steady," Yuri whispered. I straightened, plastering that smile back on my face as we walked through the crowd — a sea of tuxedos, colorful ballgowns and shocked expressions — holding onto his broad arm for dear life. All eyes were on us, hushed whispers rushing through the crowd with a frantic buzz. I didn’t understand most of it since it was a mix of different languages mostly from Eastern Europe, but a few English words reached my twitching ears.
"The prince! It’s him!"
"Sankta Polina be merciful!"
There was even a ripple of applause starting out when we reached the middle of the hall and a large and bulky gentlemen in a velvet uniform jacket, a mountain of a man with large whiskers but not a single hair on top of his head, made an awkward bow in front of Yuri, saying something in his mother tongue that probably meant, "Your Royal Highness…"
Immediately, we were surrounded by more enthusiastic former subjects of the Kalinin reign, showering Yuri with questions and well wishes. How was the family? How was the queen-mother? Would she attend the ball as well? Had he returned from exile? Was he back for good? Someone shoved a glass of champagne in my hand, countless people in fine couture bowed and curtsied in front of us. One elderly lady was dabbing tears from her face with a silken handkerchief as Yuri squeezed her hand and she sank into a curtsy.
There were other glances, too. Irritated ones, gliding mostly over me and feeling like sharp pinpricks. Yeah, that was me, the only Fae for miles around, walking into a party of Bears like a chicken-wing into a shark tank.
"Your Royal Highness," said another elderly gentlemen in a grey suit, gold rimmed glasses on a long nose. "Please tell us, is the lady at your side the lady from your prophecy?"
