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“Tough day, Cousin?”
My whole body tensed at the sound of his voice. If Bishop was around, then the sharks had already smelled blood in the water.
Bishop, my cousin of the same age, sat on one of my couches, snacking on what was likely my dinner. Exhaustion stole my need for diplomacy. I stared, dumbfounded by his presence.
“Why?” I finally asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
“The food? Or my presence?” He leaned back and stretched his arms out along the back of the couch, not unlike a conquering invader marking his territory.
“Dealer’s choice.” I slipped my coat from my shoulders and hung it near the door. Finger locked into the knot of my tie, I pulled, hoping removing the proverbial noose from around my neck would lessen the figurative one.
“I heard about the game you’re playing, and I wanted a closer look.”
I read between the lines.
“You’re here to watch me fail, then?”
“I’m here to help.” His arms dropped as he leaned forward and braced them against his legs. “If you can’t rule and my reclusive father refuses, then I will be next in line and no one in this country or on this earth wants that less than me.” He tilted his head to the side. “And that’s saying something.”
We’d been pitted against each other since birth. Not because there was bad blood, but just the nature of our births. Bishop had been born four months before me, but his father was two years younger than mine. Despite his mother’s objections that Bishop should take succession, Parliament had disagreed. Succession would follow the bloodline in the traditional sense. Bishop had always claimed he wanted nothing to do with the throne, but I had my doubts. When faced with riches and power, who would turn it down?
“You’d be in the same boat as me.” I dropped my tie on the couch and started unfastening my shirt buttons. “Forced to marry in order to rule.”
“Yes, an absolute disaster beyond repair. Something to be avoided at all costs. By all men, if you want my opinion.” He popped a couple of chocolate-covered almonds into his mouth. Bishop waved a hand in my direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Course,” I answered dryly. “Too many single maidens in the kingdom to choose a single one, right? Isn’t that the story you’ve sold since our youth?”
His palms opened as if to display his innocence. “I am a lover of beautiful art in all its forms.” He twisted, reclined, and kicked his legs up on the arm of the couch. “Too much to experience to lock it down with one woman, I’m afraid.”
I flopped onto the opposite couch, wishing we had a different relationship. Having someone with a similar perspective had to be beneficial, and yet, I had few male friends outside of those who were paid to serve me. Taking a jab at it, I asked, “Doesn’t it get lonely though? Don’t you look at your parents and ache for something—”
“Arranged and awkward?” Bishop finished for me.
I frowned. “Real and deep.”
His head flopped to the side to face me. “You have met my parents, haven’t you?” He squinted and raised an arm as high as he could. “About yea tall, constantly bickering about how close my father is to the crown and yet he doesn’t pursue it?” Bishop drew in a breath and faced the ceiling. “My mother answers to Ambitious Shrew, and father is called Lazy Lowlife. Can’t imagine why I shy away from the whole institution of marriage.” He waved a hand at me without looking. “But you—you carry on—good luck.”
“Your faith is encouraging, Cousin.” I sat up and took the bread roll from the plate, despite my lack of hunger. Sarcastically, I continued, “Can’t imagine how I can fail with you here to bolster me up.”
“But that’s why I’m here.” With one sweeping motion, Bishop kicked his legs to the floor and popped up to sitting again. “Your mother told me you’ve come into this blind. You don’t even have—” he pursed his lips with thought, “what’s the American word for it? Angel guy? Uh… Winging friend?”
My mind flashed back to that first conversation with Michaela. “Wingman.”
“Yes!” Bishop clapped his hands. “That! I’ll be that for you. Helping you vet these beautiful women one by one.” Humbly, he shrugged. “And if they happen to need comfort and a shoulder to cry on, then Bob’s your uncle, so be it, I’m there.”
“Always the giver, aren’t you?” I stared at my feet as I chuckled softly. Tipping my chin up, I squinted at him. “You’re a scoundrel, you know that?”
It wasn’t meant to be a matter of pride, but he beamed just the same. “Actually,” his tongue ran along the front of his teeth like a fox sizing up a hen house, “that American, Michaela, she’s something, isn’t she?”
My muscles twitched with immediate defensive instinct. “Scouting territory before I even cast it off?”
“Not at all.” Bishop’s hands came up, but he tilted his head as he considered his options. “If, by chance, you wanted to let her go early, I wouldn’t mind a round or two with her.”
“She’s too good for you.” I stood up and peeled my shirt off, leaving me in only my undershirt and slacks. I needed to get ready. This conversation made me uncomfortable in ways I couldn’t explain. The idea of Bishop starting up with Coco… or anyone really for that matter… it made my skin twitch. Michaela was…
Mine.
But she wasn’t. Not really. Our friendship didn’t hold her in reserve, forcing her to avoid relationships because I wasn’t willing to share. One day, she would find her own spouse, but I wasn’t looking to speed up the process.
