I blink at him. “Dinner? As in a date?”
His eyes gleam. “Just a small token of my appreciation for a job well done.”
I take a step back. “I’m not sure…”
He cocks his head. “I thought you believed a man and a woman could be just friends. Or has Waldo already burst that bubble for you?”
I put my hands on my hips. “We can be friends.”
“Then there should be no problem if we have dinner,” he says smoothly. “Now, tell me, do you want me to wear the mermaid getup at the restaurant?”
I give in. “Not if I’m going to be seen with you.”
He nods and heads into an adjoining room, probably the bedroom.
The temptation to sneak after him and watch him change is strong, but that would be downright creepy, all things considered.
Grrr. Why didn’t I just let him keep wearing the clothes he had on? If he’s all dapper, it’ll make it more like a date.
Also, why am I so relieved that I’m dressed to the nines?
Before I can take that logic further, he comes back wearing a bespoke suit.
I inwardly sigh. If I wanted to soothe my lust, asking him to change was definitely a miscalculation. “How did you get dressed so quickly?”
He shrugs. “I attended a few years of military school in Ruskovia. Back then, I could’ve dressed and made my bed in the time it took me to put on this suit.”
“A military school?”
He nods curtly. “My parents consigned me to it. Today’s equivalent would probably be putting me on Ritalin.”
I shift from foot to foot. Seeing him upset is strangely uncomfortable. “I wish I could change my clothes that fast,” I say to distract him. “One of the stage illusions I want to do for my future show will involve a dress that changes style and color in an eyeblink.”
His frown smooths out. Score for my feminine wiles. “Your show? Tell me about it.”
“Not much to tell.” I smile ruefully. “It’s just something I’d like to do one day.”
“I’d love to see that.”
I wish I could kiss him for saying that, but I settle for batting my eyelashes. “If my dream ever becomes reality, I’ll invite you.”
He looks thoughtful. “You should meet my brother.”
I arch an eyebrow. “The great and mighty destroyer of peace?”
He snorts. “Yep. It’s His Majesty’s hotel, so it would only be polite.”
As he unlocks his phone, I verify that I got his pin correctly before. Yep, sure did. He sends a text, then walks over to a mini fridge and rummages inside.
“What’s that?” I point at the clear plastic box in his hand.
He comes over and shows it to me.
“What is it?” I examine the strange white thing in the box with distaste.
“Cheese.” Tigger brings the box closer to my face, and I step back.
He pulls the box away. “My brother is a cheese fanatic.”
“Ah,” I say noncommittally.
Some people like golden showers, and some eat cheese. Who am I to judge?
“My brother has been very accommodating when it comes to the room with a pool,” he says. “I figured I’d give him a little gift.”
I can’t help myself. “Let’s hope the cheese is pasteurized to kill salmonella, or else this gift might turn into a trip to the hospital.”
He shrugs. “Considering how much it cost, I imagine it should be safe.”
“Let’s also hope the cheese hasn’t developed any molds with mycotoxins. That can be deadly.”
His phone vibrates with a text, and he glances at it. “If anyone knows how to safely consume cheese, it’s Kaz.”
Since I’m used to people’s lax views on food safety, I mentally agree to disagree.
He walks over to the door and holds it open for me. “He’s in the suite I’m moving to.”
We cross the hallway and enter the suite in question.
Wow.
This penthouse is even fancier than the one we left, but that’s not what I find most interesting.
A man is waiting for us inside, and he looks even more like the product of a Brokeback Mountain romance than Tigger does, perhaps due to his broody expression.
I wonder if that’s because it’s been far too long since his last cheese fix. Cheese contains casomorphins, morphine-like compounds that attach to the brain’s opiate receptors. After I read the news article that made me quit the stuff cold turkey, I had cravings for a year. Incidentally, when I quit turkey itself—cold or otherwise—I only got cravings for one day that year, on Thanksgiving.
Oh, and did I mention there’s a grizzly bear next to Mr. Dark and Broody?
Yep. A surprisingly well-behaved bear that might just be a dog.
So now I’ve seen a panda dog, a koala dog, and a maybe-grizzly dog. Where is the polar bear dog to complete the set?
“Brother,” Kaz says, his voice emotionless.
“Brother,” Tigger replies, matching Kaz’s tone. “Is the room clean and orderly enough for you?”
The expression on Kaz’s face seems to say, “We are not amused,” with a royal “we.” “No,” he says out loud. “But it might be by tomorrow.”
I look around. Even my twin, who could give Marie Kondo a run for her money, would consider this room tidy.
“This is for you.” Tigger hands the box to his bro.
Kaz opens the box, and a strangely familiar—and quite unpleasant—smell permeates the room.
As Kaz sniffs the air, a warm emotion flits across his taciturn face, though maybe I’m imagining it.
“Pule?” he asks, closing the box.
Are we playing Word of the Day? I think that’s how I first learned that “pule” means to cry querulously, or weakly.
“Indeed,” Tigger says proudly. “I had it flown in from Serbia for you.”
“Thank you so much,” Kaz says, closing the box.
I clear my throat. “A cheese from Serbia?”
“Where are my manners?” Tigger says. “Kazimir, please meet Gia. Gia, this is my brother Kaz.”
“A pleasure,” Kaz says with so much haughtiness that I’m tempted to do a sarcastic curtsy. “Have you never heard of Pule cheese?”
Great. A cheese that makes you cry querulously, or weakly.
What’s next—hysterics cheese?
“It’s sixty percent Balkan donkey’s milk and forty percent goat’s,” Kaz continues.
Okay, that explains the smell. My parents have donkeys and goats on their farm, and now that I have the context, the cheese does smell like what it is.
Yum. Sign me up. Maybe toss some skunk’s milk in there too? And a few dung beetles.
Whose idea was it to milk a donkey, a creature also known as an ass? Or a goat? For that matter, who came up with the idea of milking a cow, a bovine creature with horns? What do the cows think when that happens? No doubt the same thing I would think if I were lactating and an elephant waltzed up to me and used his trunk to milk me. Also, did the person who came up with the milking idea also think, “Yay, now that I’ve finished that weird act, how about I drink this white bodily fluid.” What was the inspiration there? Bukkake? Speaking of, do any cultures consume semen from a bull or any other animal? I know some eat the testicles—which is in the same ballpark, no pun intended.
Note to self: conduct some anthropological research.
“Gia is not just a breath trainer,” Tigger says. “She’s an illusionist.”
“Oh?” Kaz looks at me with fresh interest. “Where do you perform?”
“She’s looking for a venue,” Tigger says. “She’s amazing. You should see what she does with a spoon.”
Kaz raises an eyebrow. “There are utensils in the kitchen.”
“Get one,” Tigger tells him. “You won’t regret it.”
Kaz heads into the suite’s kitchen, and his dog keeps sitting there like a statue.
I give Tigger a narrow-eyed stare. “You think you’re so sneaky? I know you just want to see me repeat a trick.”
He winks. “Are you going to be able to resist showing off in front of a new spectator?”
Damn. How does he already know me so well?
Kaz returns holding a fork and looking broodier than before. “They didn’t prepare any spoons in the kitchen.” This is said with the same tone I’d expect someone to utter something like, “The surgeon left his scalpel inside you before he stitched you up.”
“A fork will work even better,” I say.
With a dubious look, Kaz hands me the fork, and I hold it dramatically before I begin. Then I watch their expressions as they witness the middle tine bend in front of their eyes.
As before, an awed expression is on Tigger’s face. In contrast, Kaz is completely unreadable.
“Wow,” Tigger mutters as the next tine bends.
Kaz is still keeping a poker face.
When the fork stem bends in half, however, Kaz’s eyes widen and Tigger gasps.
I hand them the twisted fork. “They used CGI to do something like this in The Matrix.”
Tigger examines it carefully, and then Kaz does the same.
“Thank you,” Kaz says, pocketing the fork. “Between the cheese and the entertainment, I can almost forgive my brother for switching rooms yet again.”
“This is only my third time,” Tigger says.
“Exactly,” Kaz retorts.
“Can I see the pool?” I ask to diffuse any potential hostilities. If these two are anything like my sisters, this could escalate to hair-pulling in a heartbeat.
“This way,” Kaz says and leads us to a balcony with another breathtaking view. The pool is there, with the water dribbling into it slowly.
“I’m having it filtered via reverse osmosis,” Kaz says at my questioning look. “Tigger said it needs to be clean enough to drink.”
I look at the water with envy. I’m too chicken to go into most pools, but this is a rare case when I would swim—and I haven’t done that since I was a kid.
“Would you like to take a dip before my training tomorrow?” Tigger asks.
Are Ruskovian royals telepathic? I desperately want to say yes, but I can’t. After my swim, the water will be contaminated for him.
“In fact, I insist that you do,” he says. “Whatever techniques you want me to perform, I want to see you do them first.”
I bite my lip. “Well, if you insist…”
“I do.” Tigger crosses his arms over his chest, his stern expression making him look like Kaz’s twin.
I take a deep breath. “I’ll shower extremely thoroughly tomorrow. And I have a clean bill of health.”
Kaz throws his brother a questioning glance, and Tigger makes a “don’t ask” gesture.
I guess he already understands a lot about my attitude toward germs.
Tigger’s phone vibrates once more, and he glances down at it. “Ah. Our dinner reservations came through. We’d better head out.”
My stomach rumbles treacherously.
I suppose I could eat.
“It was nice to meet you, Kazimir.” I wave at him. “Your hotel is impeccable.”
Is that a hint of a smile touching Kaz’s eyes?
“It was a pleasure to meet you as well. You have real talent.” He pats the pocket with the bent fork.
Glowing from the praise, I let Tigger lead me out.
The bear is still sitting where Kaz left it. It must have an honorary PhD from Harvard in “who’s a good dog?”
When we get into the elevator, however, the glow fades and worry creeps in. Despite what Tigger said about dining in friendship, this outing is going to feel like a date. Any meal with a prince as gorgeous as this one would, even a fast-food drive-through.
Am I strong enough not to catch a feelings infection tonight?
Maybe.
Hopefully.
When it comes to Tigger, my flesh isn’t the only part of me that’s treacherously weak.