Part 12 (1/2)

”I didn't know you were a prince,” Brynn said. A twinkle in her eye teased him, and he took a breath inwardly, trying to brush off the encounter.

”Not anymore. They took back all of the regal t.i.tles years and years ago. Before I was born.”

”Good thing they didn't take back the castle.”

”The castle is nice, isn't it?” He leaned back in his chair, smiling tightly. Brynn looked tickled to death with the revelation that he was descended from royalty, but perhaps the champagne was simply having an effect on her.

”Do you get to wear a crown?” Brynn asked. Eliot sighed, a half-smile on his lips.

”Perhaps I haven't made this clear.”

Brynn laughed, her head tossed back, so that he could see her bared throat, the line of skin from her collarbone down to her cleavage. Eliot took a swallow of champagne and tried not to let himself stare.

”The reclusive mathematician is actually Prince Charming in disguise. I like it.”

”Minus the charm. I wonder if you should have any more of that,” he said, as Brynn finished her gla.s.s of champagne.

”It's delicious. Bubbly.” She smiled so becomingly that he did not even mind when the waitress returned to fill her gla.s.s.

”I forget you have your college training behind you.”

”Oh, I didn't drink much at college.”

”Not even at parties?”

”I didn't really go to many. It's just, you know, the guys there...” Brynn puckered her face in a frown. ”Not the best scene.”

”And you'd rather hang out with the reclusive mathematicians.”

”Only the most regal ones.”

”I don't suppose I'll ever get you to forget about the whole prince thing.”

”Not a chance!” Brynn's eyes sparkled.

The waiter came with the first course of the tasting menu, a rich fig and walnut salad, followed by a tomato bisque and a main course of b.u.t.ter-poached salmon. It pleased Eliot to see Brynn appreciate the meal so thoroughly, although he caught her at times picking apart the food, just as she had the bacon at his house. An endearing idiosyncrasy, he thought. Between the delicious food, the champagne, and the music, the evening was turning out to be a success. Laughter rose in the air and Brynn only cracked a few more jokes about Eliot's n.o.ble heritage. Eliot breathed more lightly and clinked his gla.s.s against Brynn's in a number of toasts before realizing that he was enjoying himself in society for the first time in a long time.

After the waiters served dessert-a chocolate pomegranate ganache topped with fresh cream-a few of the guests began to dance on the terrace. Eliot felt a tug at his wrist and looked up to see Brynn, her eyebrow raised in invitation.

”Dance?” she asked. Her enthusiasm was buoyed by the champagne, but Eliot could still hear a note of anxiousness behind the question. Dance? Of course he would dance. There was nothing else he would rather do. He held out his arm and Brynn rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. As they walked out onto the terrace by the band, Eliot thought he could sense people staring.

Let them stare. He was having a good night, after all.

Brynn tiptoed on her heels, and Eliot put his hand on her hip to steady her as she caught her balance. The soft music lilted through the air and around the dancers. Brynn's hand was hot in his, her cheeks fairly flushed with pleasure.

”Thank you,” she said, leaning forward and resting her head on his shoulder. ”For the interns.h.i.+p, for all this. It's wonderful.”

Eliot's hand came up to the small of her back. The dress draped in a deep plunge at the back, and his fingers touched her skin. He did not move them.

”How do you like the frozen tundra of Budapest so far?” he asked.

”It's not terrible,” Brynn said. ”A castle, a kitten, a secret prince...”

”Everything you hoped for?”

”What I hoped for?” Brynn stopped dancing and tilted her head up so that her face was only inches away. ”This is what I hoped for.” Her lips parted, pink and lush, and when she reached up with one hand to pull him down into a kiss he willingly bent forward.

The delicate, desirous pressure of her lips undid him, and he could not help but bend deeper, clasping her close to him in an embrace that yearned to erase years of isolation. He felt her under him, hot and wanting, her hands clutching his back. His hand came up to her cheek, caressing her skin. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair and he smelled the delicate scent of her jasmine perfume as the kiss broke apart and they stood with their foreheads still touching, breathless, silent. Brynn's eyes were pools of soft violet reflecting the waters of the Danube, and he saw in them a hopefulness and innocence that tore at his heart.

A sharp crack and flash of light just by his face made Eliot spin to the side. A photographer stood just by them. Eliot raised his hand as the flash went off again, and the world spun under him. He could hear blood rus.h.i.+ng through his ears, and he saw himself turn, felt his fist pull back, unable to stop it. His first blow landed on the camera, shattering the lens and sending it flying to the floor with a loud crash.

”Eliot!” Brynn's voice sounded distant, and Eliot shoved the photographer hard, sending him over the edge and into the river with a loud splash. The music stopped, and someone pulled Eliot back from the river's edge.

Red. Somewhere in the crowd a woman was screaming, and cameras flashed from all sides, dozens of them. Eliot shook off the arms restraining him and covered his eyes, but still the lights flashed through the cracks in his fingers. So much red. A security guard pulled the photographer out of the river and out of Eliot's sight. The roaring in Eliot's ears stopped as soon as he looked up.

Brynn stood speechless, staring at him as though he were a monster. He turned toward the exit and ran.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Eliot shoved well-dressed businessmen aside on his way out the door of the restaurant. A plate clattered to the floor as he b.u.mped a waiter hard, but he did not even turn to see what had happened. He knew what had happened. It was the reason he didn't want to be in Hungary.

Clare.

His feet took him down the street, away from watchful eyes, until he turned onto the bridge and stopped there, the icy floes of the Danube some thirty meters under his feet. He pressed his palms to his eyes, willing away the memory, but still it came over him as it always had, a furious, immutable wave of emotion that rolled him into its current and back into the past, a decade back, when Clare was still his wife and he thought fate was on his side.

They had been driving back from one of Otto's parties, and the roads glistened with the treacherous dark patches of ice. Clare looked beautiful, dressed in an ivory sheath with pearls wreathing her neck, her hair done up by the stylist Marta had recommended. Eliot couldn't help but look over every once in a while to take glimpses of his angel, as he called her. A soft fall of snow was swept away quietly by the winds.h.i.+eld wipers. Eliot had maneuvered his way around the dark curves of the mountain well enough until the paparazzi showed up. Two photographers on motorcycles shot up until they were just behind the car.

”Get away from them, can you?” Clare said.

”I'm trying,” Eliot said. One of the photographers rode his motorcycle up alongside their car, then in front, and began to shoot pictures from through the winds.h.i.+eld. The light from the camera was blinding, and Eliot didn't know how he could be taking any usable pictures anyway.

”I don't understand it,” Eliot said. ”You would think they would be satisfied with the photos of us outside of the party. Wasn't that enough?”

”I can't stand it. I can't.” Clare's voice strained.

”Aren't there usually more?” Eliot thought the paparazzi normally traveled in packs.

”I hate these d.a.m.ned men,” Clare said, s.h.i.+elding her face with her hand as the camera flashed bright white. ”Leave us alone!” She began to roll down the window.

”Clare, don't-”

”Leave us alone!” she shouted through the half-opened window, both her hands. Cold wind howled through the car, and snowflakes flurried inside of the car. Eliot reached over to pull her back, and the camera flashed, and then the road slid underneath them sideways although Eliot had kept the wheel straight, or tried.

From then on the world existed only in flashes of light and sound and terror. He heard the tires squeal, and the motorcycle slammed into the hood, the ear-splitting sound of metal on metal and shattering gla.s.s. Eliot slammed on the brakes and tried to pull the steering wheel straight, but the rear end of the car swung back and then they were flying off of the road and there was a tree in front and G.o.d, oh G.o.d. The crash of branches through the windows came only a second before the jarring shock of impact. The world stopped and Eliot saw the blackness rush over him as he hit the airbag, the force knocking him unconscious for a brief second. He felt something sharp tear across his chest and slice his face as he blacked out. Then his eyes opened. Fir branches covered the interior of the car.

Clare. A soft whimper made him turn his head, although his neck hurt terribly. Clare.