To Wed a Princess

Eloise didn't even try to conceal her laugh when she was brought to her table by the hostess and sitting at it, instead of Charlotte, was Brian Haner.

“Ma'am,” he greeted her softly, eyes scanning over her.

“Let me guess,” she sighed once she was seated “Charlotte was honestly going to come, but suddenly got very ill at the last moment and, being the kind hearted person she is, sent you to keep me company for lunch instead?”

“You must be psychic,” he smirked at her, but it was more amused than his usual mocking one.

“Indeed,” she sighed, shaking her head “So what are you going to order?”

“...You're staying?” he stared at her dumbfounded.

“I'm hungry,” she grumbled, shrugging off her coat and then slowly removing her white leather gloves – some summer they were supposedly having.

“Right,” he continued to stare at her disbelievingly.

“Would you rather I left?” she raised an eyebrow and made to put her gloves back on.

“No!” he seemed to realise how quickly he'd responded, and so leaned back with a forced look of uncaring “I mean, I just thought you'd laugh and turn right back around and leave.”

She had nothing to say, and so said nothing, forcing back a shrug. A few moments of silent went by after they had ordered – salmon for Eloise and some kind of pasta dish for Brian – before she decided to break it.

“I'm having a birthday party in a month – the 26th September. I'd like you to come.”

“Would you?” he raised an eyebrow.

“No,” she sipped at her water “But you'll come whether I invite you or not. Inviting you looks better for both of us.”

“Very true,” he nodded, his expression overwhelmingly smug “A flashy occasion?”

“Black tie,” she confirmed “My twenty first was flashier, though. My family will be there, so it's going to be classy. A ball, basically.”

“Filled with Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Beethoven...some more dead guys?”

“I'm not forcing you to come,” she rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I was just wondering,” he held up his hands as if surrendering.

“There'll be a mix of classical music, played live, and more modern songs played via speakers,” she sighed.

“And will Mr Sorenson be accompanying you or will he be too busy getting his junk photographed?” he asked conversationally, clearly trying to get a reaction.

“Elliot will go with me if I ask him to,” she refrained from rolling her eyes “He'll probably be there, yes. Accompanying me? I haven't decided.”

“Are you sure he would? You pissed him off last time – lavishing your attention on other men.”

“I danced with you once and Mr Cardona once,” she rolled her eyes “Elliot will live.”

“How do you know Mr Cardona?” Brian leaned forward as their meals were place in front of them.

“Not that it's any of your business,” she gave him a bored look “He regularly gives large sums of money to the charities of which I'm a patroness. One must keep him happy and feeling special.”

“So why does Charlotte hate him?” he frowned.

“She believes that he's only giving money to the charity in order to gain my attention...she thinks he's sleazy. She's probably right,” she waved a hand dismissively.

She'd always prided herself on her ability to lie believably, and repressed a smile when he was noticeably satisfied with her answer. The last thing she wanted was Rafael dragged into this more than he already had been in obtaining the file for her.

A silence fell over them and she couldn't help but stare at his hands as she picked at her food, wondering just how many deaths they'd been responsible for. The thought scared and excited her in equal measures, and the fact that it excited her at all frightened her in itself. She ran a hand through her hair, mentally scolding herself. She couldn't be distracted in a situation like this, and certainly not by something as trivial as his hands.

The rest of the lunch was filled with small talk, which both of them did nothing to hide their boredom at.

“Have you got plans for today?” he asked once they were finished eating and she stared at him, surprised.

“Nothing in particular. Why?”

“I wanna have some real fun with you. I've got a recording studio booked about five minutes away. Fully equipped with a violin and piano for you, a guitar for me,” he wriggled his eyebrows in a manner that she couldn't help but laugh at “I say we jam, and maybe end up recording something that sounds half decent.”

She leaned back in her seat, thinking over his request. She had no reason not to. She had security with her and it would be an opportunity to try and find out what he wanted. If she said no she might anger him....However, if she said yes, he could lull her into a false sense of security and she might give something away. She mentally shook her head – she'd never allow that to happen, no matter how hard he tried. She wasn't an idiot.

“C'mon, it'll be fun,” he persuaded, clearly noticing her reluctance.

“I can't play violin in this,” she sighed eventually, gesturing to her rather restrictive figure hugging dress.

“So go home, change – I'll do the same – then meet me there in...say an hour.”

“Very well,” she nodded, annoyed at how pleased he looked.

“Dress light though, it gets hot in the studio...and not just because I'm there,” he gave her an infuriating parting wink before leaving.



An hour later, Eloise stood inside a less than impressive building, with a very bored looking body guard to her right.

“Do you come here often?” she glanced at Brian as he tuned his guitar.

“Only when I think I might want to record something. Otherwise I just play at home. Here,” he put the guitar down and got up to hand her the violin.

He glanced down at her, frowning as he did so.

“Did you get shorter?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I changed,” she muttered, gesturing down to her flats.

“Yeah, yeah, I noticed that, I mean, you're not dressed like an old lady for once,” his small laugh let her know he was teasing “Just didn't know you were, well, short.”

“I'm nearly as tall as you in heels,” she shrugged “I'm not short, you're just tall.”

Her guard took his place in the corrner of the room, and she noticed Brian shoot him a glance. She ignored it and began to tune the violin, knowing he wouldn't comment on the guard either way.

“Why are you friends with Charlotte?” Brian asked her eventually, his tone casual as he went back to tuning the guitar.

“What do you mean?” she frowned, putting down the violin bow before plucking at the strings with her fingertips.

“You don't seem to get along or even really enjoy being around her...at all.”

“I like her when she's not playing matchmaker...which is admittedly rare, lately.”

“And that's why you don't like me?”

“Who says I don't like you?” she played dumb, not looking up at him.

He laughed out loud at that “Nobody has to say it, Princess.”

“You expect me to like you,” she spoke simply.

“I never pegged you as a 'go against people's expecations' kind of girl.”

“I didn't realise you'd put much thought into what kind of girl I might be,” she spoke simply.

“It's not every day that one meets royalty.”

“Oh but for you, Charlotte's trying to make that the case.”

“So you don't like me because of Charlotte? I mean, you hardly gave me much of a chance.”

“You lied about liking ballet.”

“I was nervous. I want you to like me,” he shrugged and she became uncomfortable at how personal the conversation was getting.

“You've hardly seemed nervous,” she responded simply.

“I'm a good actor.”

“What is it you want from me?” she sighed eventually, wondering what his alibi would be.

“I want you to give me a chance,” he shrugged, keeping his eyes on hers unwaveringly.

She was the first to look away, dropping her arm to hold the violin down at her side, pondering his request – as fake as it was. Then she made a risky decision.

“Chris, you can take a break. I'll call you back before I leave,” she sighed to the bodyguard.

He nodded and gave a quiet “ma'am” before leaving.

“Here's your chance,” she said to Brian, who looked comically dumbfounded...but only for a second before he smirked.



“It sounds amazing,” she admitted with a smile as he played back what they'd recorded.

“Play something,” he spoke finally once he was satisfied that the guitar was in tune.

“What?” she asked.

“Anything. Just keep going and I'll join in eventually,” he shrugged, strumming a few random chords.

She nodded before beginning to play. She chose Por Una Cabeza by Carlos Gardel – one of her favourites. The piece was one of the reasons she'd even begun learning violin. She'd heard it an an early age and fell in love with it.

She'd played half of it before he started joining in – a chord here or there, or maybe a few notes that mirrored or complimented the ones she was playing. By the third time she'd played it, he was accompanying her confidently, almost as though it was a song he'd known all his life. From there on they tweaked it, arguing over what would sound better or trying out new things.

“Has it got lyrics?” he raised a brow at her and she knew what he was thinking.

“Yes but they're Spanish.”

“Are you telling me that Britain's princess doesn't know Spanish?”

She thought back to all of Rafael's little petnames for her during their flirtations and held back a laugh. No, she was definitely adequate when it came to Spanish.

“I'm telling you Britain's princess can't sing to save her life,” she retorted with a small laugh.

After that they recorded it – her first with the violin, then whilst he was playing the guitar pieces she joined in with the piano. The overall effect stunned her...and even made her want to learn how to play guitar.

“So, we've established that you like music, ballet, and old boring books,” he teased – something she found he did a lot once he was comfortable “What else do you like?”

“History,” she spoke after thinking “Health and fitness too, but I'm not as passionate about that. It's more of a necessity than a passion.”

“Why history and the ocean then?” he asked as he distractedly messed around with the recording on the computer.

“History because of my family. I can trace my family back to women like Elizabeth Woodville, Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth I...Queen Victoria...and then even back to the vikings. Not everybody can tell you about their ancestors from centuries ago in such precise detail. It fascinates me. I may not be a direct descendent of all of them, but the relations are there.”

“So you're related to Henry VIII and shit?” he raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.

“Yes and no,” she waved a hand “None of his children had children, so it's not a direct lineage. We share an ancestor in Henry VII. Henry VIII's sister, Margaret Tudor who married into the Scottish royal family, producing Mary Queen of Scots, who produced James VI of Scotland who also became James I of England, who is a direct ancestor of my grandmother.”

She rattled it all of in a matter-of-fact manner before adding, as an afterthought “I think Elizabeht I would be gran's 12th cousin...once or twice removed.”

“I can't even fuckin' remember what I ate for dinner yesterday,” he muttered “How do you remember all that?”

“I find it fascinating. Not only my ancestry, though – Marie Antoinette and Caroline Matilda of Great Britain are fascinating too.”

“Marie Antoinette your favourite?”

“No, Anne Boleyn,” she gave a small smile “She was stylish, intelligent and quick-witted.”

“Sounds familiar,” his eyes bore into hers and, much to her horror, she actually blushed.

“There was much more to her, of course, but I won't bore you with the details,” she changed the subject, shifting slightly.

It was only then that she noticed the time. They'd been there for hours – it was 11pm.

“I really need to go,” she murmured, unable to believe that they'd been there for so long and unwilling to admit she'd actually enjoyed herself.

“I have something for you,” he began to dig through the backpack at his feet before producing three CDs and then placing a copy of what they'd just recorded on top of them “Decided to take it upon myself to get you into some real music.”

She accepted the CDs and looked through them – HIM, The 69 Eyes and Nightwish.

“They're not too heavy – well, except Nightwish, but the singer has this real opera voice and they add classical elements and shit. The others are kind of dark, but I think you'd like them. Full of poetic bullshit,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I'll listen to them,” she nodded, before shifting slightly awkwardly “I did have fun today. Thank you.”

“No, no, thank you,” he gave a mocking bow and the awkward atmosphere was gone as quickly as it came.

“I'll see you later,” she laughed softly before turning and leaving.

It was only when she was on her way home that she became angry with herself for actually having fun. She couldn't afford to enjoy his company. That was clearly what he wanted. She shook her head. Maybe it could be a good thing. After all, didn't they always say “keep your friends close and your enemies closer”?

Unbeknownst to her, back in the studio Brian was grinning.

“Fuckin' finally,” he muttered to himself.