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“It’s freaky,” Astrid said.
“Asti, how do I find attractive clothes?”
“Ask Marta. Let’s see what she can do. She’s magical, right?”
“I hope. I am so out of it. What if I’m honestly harming Rick by bringing him down? He’s far more glamorous.”
“Nonsense,” Astrid squeezed my hand. “You make a surprisingly attractive couple. I still am unsure of him. I am suss, but I can admit that much.”
I looked out over the championship match underway. Rick was focused on the game at hand and couldn’t have cared about me. However, every point he got, I had to act like I was jumping out of my skin. And, in a way, I was happy to play along with the handsome prince on a white horse narrative. It was easy given that the final horse he was taking out today was an almost white grey with lots of chrome. Of his entire string, I adored this mount the most.
“He is surprisingly dutiful,” I said.
And handsome.
I didn’t add that part. Not only was it obvious, but Astrid would tease me mercilessly. I couldn’t get girlish. Not now. Not ever. I’d never been around men much and never any so handsome. The closest we came to attractive men was the tutor we’d had as teenagers—Rudy. He was handsome in a bookish way. Rick wasn’t a nerd or an intellectual but was hot. He was a jock, and in a pair of breeches and a fitted polo, I couldn't deny he was swoon-worthy. I wondered why he bothered with me at all. Anytime he placed his hand on my back or took my hand in his, I marvelled at his size . I had uncomfortable thoughts about other things his hands could do.
Rick was riding well. He’d had a great day which made the British-Norwegian camp nervous. They’d been the favourites coming in and had the most star power and money. Rick’s team was a dark horse. Today, they were on fire. I became invested about the halfway point. I wanted to watch the underdog trounce the Brits.
“You are getting interested,” Astrid said. “You want him to win.”
“Of course, I do,” I scoffed.
“No, you really want him to win.”
I shrugged. “What is the harm in that?”
“I am just pointing out that it’s a slippery slope. The lady wears the knight’s colours and ends up in his bed after he triumphs at the joust. I’m just sayin’…”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Where do you get this stuff?”
“Books, darling. Books are brilliant. You should read them. It’s how I’ve learned anything about sex, I swear. Celeste thinks they are chaste. Covers can be deceptive. They aren’t.”
“I don’t want to read your smut, sister.”
Astrid snickered. “It’s not smut. It’s literature. People call it smut because female sexuality makes them uncomfortable. I embraced it. I love a happily ever after when a heroine ends up with a man who meets her every need. I suspect book boyfriends are better than real boyfriends, not that I would know…”
Her voice trailed. We were both starved for any male affection. And at this moment, while I was allowed to parade around with a man I had no business with, Astrid was stuck in the tower still. I broke her out as I could—to keep an air of chastity about—however, she couldn’t even look. Of all my sisters, Astrid was the most interested in boys.
“Your time will come,” I said. “And you will fall in love—properly—with the perfect man. Don’t fret. I am working on it.”
“Just don’t fall for the wrong knight—really fall—for that knight,” Astrid said. “I don’t want to see you get your heart broken. Men like Rick… they’ll break your heart.”
“He means well. And I’m not jumping into bed with the wrong knight, Astrid.”
“What does he expect?”
“We have clear boundaries, okay? You wouldn't get it.”
I was frustrated. On one hand, part of me wondered if we would ever end up in bed. The thought terrified me. I knew nothing of sex other than the basic mechanics and suspected he knew a hell of a lot more. I’d never live up to expectations. On the other hand, he was gorgeous and the mere idea of exciting him made my heart leap.
I knew Rick could be an asshole and suspected he saw me as a charity case—feeling superior by helping us out—but I had the upper hand. Holding all the cards on what happened in our “romantic” lives, I'd let him play the hero, but I was the heroine of my own story saving the day.
He was the pawn, right? He agreed to it because of our mutual benefit, but could we have fun? Maybe in a year, we’d feel differently than we did now.
“I do get it. I know the stakes. Alexandra, when you play with matches?—”
“Asti, I’m done talking about this with you.” I left her to find another drink.
