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“Not that she’ll say no. She’s totally into you. What’s your plan?” Hans’s question shakes me out of my reverie.
“The annual Freiberg Gala next weekend—the night before I fly out. I was going to invite her to come with me.”
Hans takes a gulp of his tea and spits it out. “Hot! Hot! HOT!”
“I just poured boiling water into your cup. I don’t know why it would be hot.” I pass a small container to him. “That might help.”
Hans pops the lid and sticks a finger in. “What’s in here?”
“Carrots, cucumber, tomato. Yogurt. Maybe some other stuff. It should cool your mouth.”
He licks his finger. “Not bad if you can get past the vegetables.”
“You are hopeless.” I grab the plastic tub before he can stick his finger in again and scoop some onto my plate. “Here.” I thrust it back at him.
He waves it off. “No, thanks. You want a beer? That’s the way to treat a burned tongue.”
“You think beer is the answer to everything. I’ll pass for now.” I lift my teacup in explanation.
“Beer is the answer to everything.” He rises to pull a bottle from the fridge, then waves it at me. “What’s the story on this holiday deal? We talking stuffy family thing or massive state occasion? Either way, do you really think spending time with Eddie is the way to win her over?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Good point. But I don’t have much choice. She’s busy this weekend, and I’m leaving next Saturday. Besides, I look good beside him.”
My uncharacteristic conceit surprises a laugh out of him. “So true. But you can take her to dinner on Wednesday or Thursday. Adults can go out on weekdays.”
“You are so helpful.” We eat in silence for a while, then I put my fork down. “Nope, I think this is the way to go. It’s a formal occasion, and girls like those, right? You and Lina can come, too. You’re the one who told me to use my royalty to win her over. And this way, I’ll know for sure that she knows who I really am.”
“I can’t believe she doesn’t know.”
“I told you, I’m ninety percent sure she does, but we haven’t talked about it. And sometimes she says something that makes me wonder.”
He swallows some beer. “Dude, just tell her. ‘Eva, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a really big deal here. Number six in line to the throne, but way better than the guy who’s number one.’ Probably better tell her before the royal ball, though. Or she won’t believe you when you invite her.”
“Good point.”
Hans stacks the dishes, then stops, our forks still clutched in his hand. “Wait—is this the Freiberg Gala your auntie told you not to bring Eva to?”
I flush. “Yes.”
“Dude! Look at you, challenging authority.” He raises a hand for a high five. “Nice!”
I slap his palm half-heartedly. Maybe I should rethink this. I kind of suppressed that part of my conversation with the Grand Duchess. My brain grabbed onto “impressive Cinderella-style ball” and ignored the part where the head of state warned me to keep “the American girl” away.
Hans points at me. “Oh, no, you are not having second thoughts. This is an epic move. You cannot skip it to keep your auntie happy. Besides, she’ll never know Eva is there. I mean, it’s a big deal, right? Hundreds of people attending. Lots of royal knobs. She’ll never even see us. Plus, you can make it clear Eva is there with you, not his dorkiness. Lady whosits can have Eddie the Heir.”
Chapter Twenty-One
EVA
Friday is a Freiberg state holiday. The university is closed, and there’s a parade through the Altstadt. Lina and I were supposed to join Andi at her apartment at ten, but the roads between the F-bahn station and her place are blocked. We stop at a barrier guarded by a police officer. I wrap my hands around my coffee cup, grateful for the warmth. The sun is low in the sky at this time of year, and cold winds blow through the Alps. It’s a lot like home in the fall, although it won’t get as warm during the day here.
We watch a troop of colorfully uniformed military members march past, their steps in perfect sync except for a short guy in the second to last row who’s on the wrong foot. His furry hat bounces in opposition to the rest of the group, reminding me of a bobblehead or Hans’s oompah band. They are followed by horses and riders wearing even more fanciful gear. The equestrians keep their horses under tight control, with very little shuffling and backing. I peer at faces, wondering if Lukas is part of the parade, but the deep brims and chin straps make it surprisingly hard to see features.
Then an ornate black carriage pulled by four white horses and surrounded by a dozen black-suited men rolls into view. Two uniformed men sit on the high driver’s seat, and the rear of the carriage is open, with two seats facing each other. Eduard and a beautiful older woman sit in the back, waving occasionally in that weird royal way.
“I’m used to a lot more energy in parades.” I mime the frantic wave of a rodeo queen on a galloping horse. “And more candy throwing.”
“I’m down with hurling bonbons at Eddie.” Lina pats down her pockets as if she’s searching for treats to pelt the royals with.
