Page 60 of Stolen Princess

“This way.”

She leads me back through the restaurant to a table in the corner with a good vantage point of the bar.

The waiter comes over and blocks my view of her as he greets me and starts to go over specials I don’t give two shits about.

“I’ll have a glass of pinot noir and the arancini,” I cut him off as I work to look around him. Thankfully he gets the hint and fucks off to get my order, and I can see her once more. She’s all smiles as she orders food and prosecco and talks with the bartender. He makes her laugh, and I see red. I don’t want him talking to her, but there’s nothing I can do about it short of storming over there.

The bartender moves on to another customer, and my princess’s food is delivered. Just as I start to relax and take a bite of mine, a man with blazing orange-red hair sits beside her, and my grip on my fork tightens to the point of indenting my palm.

Does he know I’m here? Did he see me? I’m in the corner in a bit of a shadow, but if he knows what he’s doing, he would have seen me. Then again, he likely saw her alone and went straight for her. I have no doubt he knows who she is.

He chats her up, and she responds in kind with a timid smile and reserved body language. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. He’s here to take her. Or kill her.

I pay my bill and leave through the back without being seen. He doesn’t turn his head. He doesn’t so much as twitch.

Why wouldn’t he be looking for me? That doesn’t make sense. He knew I was in town. We had plans to meet right here, though he’s early. His back was to the room, to me, and not once did he check for anyone else.

I step out onto a different street and take the alley back to the main road, where the entrance to the restaurant is. I glance up and down, marking each person, every alcove and alley, scanning for cameras. Once I’m satisfied with my plan, I move to the corner of the restaurant window so I can peer in and watch them.

Motherfucker throws his arm around the back of her chair. He makes her laugh and engages her in conversation. And when he touches her hair and shoulder—the shoulder I kissed earlier today—I decide I no longer care about answers. I’m going to collect his soul tonight.

He picks up his phone, and a text comes through to me.

Lars: Change of plans. Meet me by Café Nola at eight thirty.

I check my watch: 7:42.

Me: Change of plans. I’m not meeting you. I got what I wanted and am long gone. The rest is yours to deal with. Or not. I don’t give a shit.

He reads my message, and I can see the amusement on his face. He knew I wasn’t going to meet him. He doesn’t seem surprised. And he didn’t look for me. He thinks I’m already gone, but why, unless she spoke to her mother. That’s the only thing I can come up with. They’re working closely together on this.

I need his phone. I need to know what’s happening between him and Sven, and I need to know what he’s texting the woman.

But more than that, I need him to get the fuck away from Genevieve.

He leans in and whispers something in her ear, and I watch her draw back and shake her head. She doesn’t like his advances.

Good girl.

He says something else, and she gives him another head shake and stands. She puts some cash on the bar and hastily heads toward the exit. Lars scurries out of his chair, drops cash down, and does the same, quickly coming in behind her.

I duck back into the narrow alley I came through and angle so I can peek around the building while staying in the shadow.

“Let me walk you back to your hotel,” he demands, not asking it as a question. “It’s late, and a beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be walking alone.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Then she pauses. “Wait. I didn’t tell you I was staying in a hotel.”

He chuckles as if she just nailed him, which she did. Fucking idiot. “I can tell you’re not from around here. It’s not a big deal. I’m going in that direction anyway.”

“You don’t know where I’m staying.”

“There’s only one hotel in town. Really, I wouldn’t feel right about you walking alone.”

She starts off, and he stays directly beside her, despite her protests.

I slip out of the alley, keeping tight and low to the buildings, my steps silent. The hotel is up three blocks, but there’s another alley before it, and I know that’s where he’s going to make his move. If she reaches the hotel, he’ll never be able to take her.

There are people across the street, and the coffee shop he said he wanted to meet at is on the next corner. It’s relatively busy here, likely leading up to the festival on Friday, so for now, he has to push himself along beside her despite her protests.