The self-described geek of the group, Levi has built his life around making things go faster. Under the intellectual exterior is a man who has a thing for speed.
Levi pulled at the cravat. At least he was pretty sure that’s what the scratchy, lace lined length of fabric wound around his neck was supposed to be.
Children in wheelchairs chased their friends on foot or on crutches. Balloons created a sort of invisible boundary line for where the kids were allowed to be. Parents hovered nearby, more than a few watching Levi.
No pressure, right?
“Okay, that should do it.” He peered up at the speakers, mentally doing calculations in his head. He might not know a lot about kids or fairy tales, but he knew what it was like to be an easily overwhelmed child.
The DJ powered up his sound system, and Levi stepped back onto the ten by ten dance floor, peering up at the lights. Showing up to the party and supplying bells and whistles was great, but not if those add-ons were going to scare the kids.
Levi had grown up acutely aware of what over stimulus could do to a sensitive mind. His sisters were prodigies, but the tradeoff was steep. Lulu, his oldest sister, was on her way to some groundbreaking research in how spinal injuries were treated, but she got migraines easily. Music too loud or lights flashing in her eyes would set her back a whole week. Linda, the middle sister, was a brilliant architectural historian, but she’d fought with debilitating epilepsy her whole life. Considering the concentration of special needs children at Ian’s niece’s party, Levi calculated a high probability that they would have similar issues here. If all he did was help make one of the kids more comfortable at the party then his job was done.
One by one little girls in puffy dresses edged onto the dance floor, bobbing their heads, swaying or clinging to each other. Soon they’d be on a sugar-high, and he was willing to bet their dancing would get more animated, but for now, they seemed to like the music. Even if it wasn’t the bone vibrating bass that most of the guys seemed to like.
“Prince Adam?”
A little girl in a yellow dress holding a red rose tugged on his hand.
Was that who he was supposed to be? He glanced down at the clothes, but they were just that. Clothes. Still, if she thought he was Prince Adam, he’d be a sport and answer to it.
He bent, going down on one knee. Personally he’d always hated people towering over him as a kid, especially his sister’s snooty professors who lamented over his less than amazing intellect.
“Er, yes, princess?”
“Oh, stay right there!” The photographer snapped a few pictures of Levi holding the little girl’s hand.
He put the photographer out of his mind and focused on the little girl, taking in the clues one by one.
Yellow dress. Rose. He knew this one.
Originally a French fairy tale, though there were variations throughout Europe.
Circa 1700s.
It was a narrative about the changing social classes.
Beauty and the Beast.
Was that what the Beast’s name was? Adam?
Just went to show, even the least among them could teach the smartest.
The little girl tucked her chin in, blushing and smiling.
“You have beautiful eyes. What’s your name?” The way these kids looked up at him—at the other guys—it was humbling. All he’d done was show up, put on a costume, tweak the speakers, and that was it. It was hardly something to gain this kind of reaction.
“Would you pick her up?” the photographer asked.
Levi frowned at the woman. She was pushy and eager. Still, this party wasn’t about photo ops, and so far half of the children he’d observed were running away from her. Delilah’s circle included those kids who were often mocked or the butt of a joke, not the center of a photo spread.
Maybe it wasn’t his place to block out the photographer, but the party was about the kids. Period. As someone who’d been picked on and passed over at their age, he wasn’t about to let some camera-wielding woman pester the princesses to do something they weren’t comfortable with. Besides, the little girl might not even want to be picked up by a strange man, even if he was dressed as her fictional prince.
He ducked his head and smiled at the little girl.
“What’s your name?” he asked again. God, this felt silly, but the way she was smiling at him was worth it. “I’m Prince Adam.”
“Belle.” She grabbed her skirt and swished it.
“That’s a very pretty dress you have there, Belle. You know what? I like to read. Do you?”
The little girl nodded vigorously.
Thank the stars this was at least one thing he could latch onto. Growing up in a family of academics made him uniquely equipped for this roll. He could talk books all day.
The photographer sighed and checked her phone.
“I like to read fairy tales. Do you?”
Again she nodded, her little hand twining around his finger. She really was adorable.
“What’s your favorite one?”
“Beauty and the Beast.”
“I like that one, too.” He leaned toward her. “The princess is very smart. I like how she outwits Gaston in the movie.”
The little girl grinned, her eyes lighting up.
Damn, he’d forgotten what it was like to be that happy. The last time—no, he didn’t want to think about her. About his mistakes. Moving to Seattle was about a fresh start with new people.
“Prince Adam?”
“Hm?”
“Would you...dance with me?”
“Of course I would.”
He pushed to his feet and held out his other hand. She took them both in her little ones, clinging to his index fingers. By his estimation, she was one of the younger ones. The scar on her neck and arm betrayed her seemingly normal appearance, but it was hard to see those when she looked at him like a hero come to life.
Was this what Owen and Ian felt like? Their jobs put them in the role of protectors. Saviors. He’d never really understood the appeal, but when the littlest Belle looked at him like this, he wanted to move mountains and hang stars. If nothing more than to give a little girl something to smile about.
It was good, being a prince.