Royal Bachelor (5 page)

“No. What if I meet her again by chance? I won’t have you knowing more about her than I do, because I certainly won’t look at what you dig up. I don’t want to know her that way.”

“Sure,” Alfred mumbled with a smirk. “I know how you want to know her.”

Luke smacked the back of Alfred’s head.

“I’m going to bed.”

It wasn’t good for Luke—and everyone else—if he didn’t get enough sleep. What with the tension over Alice and being in this district where people came awake at night instead of the morning, Luke had to take sleeping aids. Alfred seemed used to the noise of the nightlife around him but Luke missed the quiet of his home.

Alice had been the one good thing in this loud, eccentric city. He certainly didn’t feel like he was on vacation, and he didn’t feel American either. Luke missed home, even though returning meant suffocating, facing roles and responsibilities he should always have been ready for.

He found himself making the sign of the cross and murmuring to God to please let him see Alice again. It was the first time he’d prayed in a long while. He knew it was a selfish, silly prayer. The prayer of a desperate boy with a lovesick heart. But he bowed his head and asked anyway.

*

Saturday was slow. He spent his time wandering the city, alternately walking and taxiing the busy streets. Alfred had been invited to a barbecue. They were keeping it quiet that Luke was here with Alfred, so there was no choice but to let Luke look after himself for the day. If Jules, the rather stiff head of security who secretly wore Sponge Bob boxers, found out, then he would have Alfred’s head. Cousin Alfred was a close family friend of nearly no blood relation who had been brought in as a jovial bodyguard for the young hereditary prince. What could happen to Luke anyway? Luke could hold his own against anyone, even someone twice his size.

Unknown to him, Alfred had hired a local to tail Luke. He may be a womanizer and a party-whore, but Alfred knew to keep an eye on his friend as he should. Besides, if Luke died, Alfred would be out of a job.

“Sponge Bob” Jules had stayed in the country at Lucilla’s request, ostensibly to watch over the rest of the Lorignac family. Luke even began to miss the stodgy old man. New York was almost
too free;
he felt untethered in the big city. Random women at bars could steal his heart, and every time he turned a corner he ran into a new cuisine or culture. As he strolled through neighborhoods he wondered what Jules would have thought up in order to find Alice sooner.

It was getting dark when he realized there were no more food trucks or street vendors nearby. He’d passed row after row of mouth-watering delicacies without a care, but now that he was in a residential part of the city his stomach grumbled.
Damn,
he thought to himself, looking around for a place to eat. He wanted to sit down and have a proper meal, not stand awkwardly over a carton of food or shovel a greasy hotdog in his face. Those were all novel and nice, but he wanted to sit down now and scrape silverware over china.

He hailed a cab back to the apartment only to find a fridge stocked with juice and beer. He didn’t want to go out again but the idea of take-away—
take out
here—made him scowl. The cold weather, his hunger, and his increasing lack of sleep made him irritable, and he didn’t like being alone with himself when he was irritable. To top it all off somewhere in this city of over eight million people was a grey-eyed girl named Alice. And she had the upper hand as well as his squirming heart.

With a resigned sigh and an increasingly sharp temper, Luke once again left the apartment. He told himself that he wanted to see other people moving and eating, to remind himself that the world went on even when girls who completely mesmerized you gave you a fake name and dashed expectations.

“What would be a good place to get dinner?” he asked the first person he met in the stairwell. Persons. Three men and two women, probably neighbors of Alfred’s he’d never noticed.

One of the men snorted. “This is New York.
This
is Lower East Side. There are a million places you can get a good dinner.”

“What do you want to eat?” One of the women asked helpfully.

Luke was at a loss. “I don’t know. Can’t you just name me a place, any place?”

They lost their smiles. Luke realized he was tired, hungry, and as polite as a colicky baby. He took a deep breath. Before he could apologize, the older gentleman said, “Try
Otto
on Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue. You’ll find it. Ask around. My sister works there. Tell her you’re Andres’s friend.” The man pronounced the restaurant like the Italian number rather than the German name. Luke’s heart soared, a taste of home! He began thinking of red wines, fine cheeses, and small plates of cured meat. He could easily spend three hours in a good restaurant and completely forget about this Alice figure. Woman. Devil.

“Thank you,” he said with real gratitude. It was a blanket statement and the New Yorkers all nodded back, forgiving his previous outburst. As the door closed on Luke, he heard Andres say, “That wasn’t Alfred, was it?”

“Maybe his grouchy twin,” the woman replied. He wasn’t used to hearing people disparage him in such close proximity. Luke also wasn’t used to fending for himself; he was rarely hungry at home since they had regular meals together. If he ever did feel peckish after a long run or a tiring day, there was always a bountiful kitchen teeming with chefs ready and eager with menus.

Luke took another taxi and told the driver to take him to Otto on Fifth and Eighth. He felt like a spoiled brat, angry that he didn’t have the toy he wanted. Alice wasn’t a toy, he reminded himself, she was a woman. He had given her the power to find him but he hadn’t expected her to be silent for so long. He gazed out the window to take his mind off his stomach and his heart.

Traffic was thick and Luke didn’t even try to keep track of every corner they turned in the driver’s efforts to avoid jams. An out of breath bicycle messenger kept steady pace a few meters behind the swerving taxi, vowing to demand a raise.

They passed Strand Bookstore and Luke cried out, “
Para
!”

“What?” said the driver, dangerously turning his head toward Luke without braking.

“Stop, please. I’ll get off here.” The taxi slammed to a halt and a bicycle shot past with choice oaths and an angry fist knocking on the window. He pulled over a few car lengths ahead, grateful for the break despite the close call. The cyclist watched a tall young man exit the cab and rush into a bookstore.

Luke had paid the driver in three bills, not looking at which they were.

“My friend!” shouted the taxi driver, bewildered by the flush of cash. But Luke was already in the store.

Strand Bookstore. Of course. Alice had said he’d find her here. She hadn’t said her name was Alice Strand. Luke had only assumed it, and she’d laughed.
18 Miles of Books
, he whistled appreciatively. Of course she would be here. This was
her
kingdom.

Hunger forgotten, he wove through the aisles. The smell was delicious. The vanilla of old paper and ink. And apples. Was there a hint of apples in the air? Or was that just wishful thinking? Where was Alice? Did she spend her weekend evenings here? Even Luke could see himself spending more than half a day here. It was enormous. Stack upon stack of shelves upon shelves.

Someone was running toward him. At first Luke thought it was a paparazzo, but suddenly a tall young man in skinny jeans rounded the opposite corner with an ear-piercing kiai and launched himself at some guy. In a normal situation Luke would have helped, throwing himself on the offender before even knowing what the fight was about.

But this was not a normal situation. Despite the bizarre scene, Luke had lost interest and was no longer looking. His legs carried him past the karate guy and the book thief.

There was Alice.

She was kneeling on the floor, putting to rights a tower of books the running guy must have ruined.

Alice wasn’t facing him, but her hair was unmistakable. His eyes dropped to her pretty derriere, showcased just now while she was bending and reaching and stacking books. She was wearing a red t-shirt and jeans, nothing spectacular. Yet he was enchanted by the sight of her. He wanted to know the curves and swell of her body, to hear the sounds she would make when he kissed her.

She handed him one of the books and he snapped out of his daydream. “This one is cleared for duty!” She laughed before her eyes met his.

Luke watched her draw breath as she recognized him. He wanted to sweep her up and bend her backwards in a deep kiss, murmuring promises and poetry in Elmeran. Instead, he said something along the lines of having been led on a goose chase and then there she was.

She stood up and the half-tower she’d just finished reconstructing slumped over. She closed her eyes at the noise and blushed.

Luke immediately sank to the floor and gathered the books. Kneeling in front of her—that was something.
She
was something. She knelt beside him, still blushing furiously and trying to hide it with her hair.

“You owe me dinner for that stunt,” he blurted.

She swept her hair aside to look at him with a smiling scowl. “Did one of the books nail your foot? Don’t be a baby, it’ll heal just fine.”

He laughed. Just five minutes ago, he could have detonated at the merest touch, and now he felt so light, like he could laugh at anything. “You know what stunt I mean, Alice
Strand
.”

He’d expected this wouldn’t make her blush. He was right. She even smirked.

“I did tell you I won’t have you Googling me.”

“Are you hiding something?”

“Are you?”

The laugh in Luke’s throat turned into a cough. “Ask me anything and I’ll tell you nothing but truth.” As soon as those words left his mouth, he felt dread and relief simultaneously. He couldn’t tell her, he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. But maybe she would find out on her own.

When she stood up, he followed. She barely came up to his chin and yet she looked at him down her nose. He pocketed his hands again. She was making it so tempting and so easy to pull her to him and kiss that delicious mouth. He needed to know she was real.

“You mentioned dinner?”she asked with a playful line to her mouth.

“I was thinking Otto?” Luke heard himself saying, as though they had planned this.

“Let’s go, then.”

And she began dragging him away. Luke bit his lip to stop a grin that could swallow these eighteen miles of books.

Alice saw Clay making an odd and frantic body dance to get her attention but she ignored him. Marsha and Rebecca seemed to be marching over as fast as their impractical high heels could carry them as well. She waved at them nonchalantly and continued to speed-walk with Luke to the front doors, out the doors and into a taxi.

Wait, that was too fast. Where did the taxi come from?

“My friend!” the cabbie sighed in relief. “Still going to Otto?” he asked.

“How do you know that?” asked Luke, seemingly as surprised as Alice.

“I drove you here. You gave me too much. Much too much! You—”

“Never mind,” Luke interrupted, pleading rather than commanding. Alice paid attention to men who treated cab drivers and waiters with dignity. “Yes, please,” Luke said to the cab driver, “To Otto.”

The cabbie nodded with a grin at Alice and started the car.

“Did we just run away from something or someone?” Luke asked.

Alice laughed, still remembering Clay waving his arms and stomping his feet. “You could say that and you should thank me.”

Her mirth slipped away when she noticed how he was looking at her, like he was trying to count her eyelashes or see through her forehead into her mind. She felt the blood rise to her face. Damn her face.

He touched her cheek, like her mother usually did to check her temperature, pressing the backs of his fingers to her skin. It was tender and sweet and dangerous all at once.

“I’m glad I saw you again,” he murmured.

“Me too.” What else could she say but the truth when he was touching her like that?

*

Otto was crowded, full of people just off from work and parents off from parenthood for the night. The hostess squeezed them in with a smile, not asking how they knew her brother though she gave Luke the once-over. Alice decided not to ask either. She’d let Luke keep some of his mysteries. She pocketed her Strand ID and looked around, soaking in the atmosphere. She could smell dozens of herbs. She could hear a hundred conversations. Most of all, she could feel Luke’s gaze on her, a thousand tiny pinpricks of sensation all over.

“Have you found me yet, by the way?” he asked.

Alice chuckled. “Well, we have Alfred’s address and phone number.” She raised a finger, knowing what he’d say next. “I don’t know either of them. But I was getting ready to take the phone number tomorrow.”

She ordered summer corn and fregola for antipasti. Luke ordered roasted peppers and capers.

They both ordered romaine and red onion salad,
linguineallacarrettiera
, and Montepulciano wine.