Free At Your Service by Jen Malone Page B

time, the manager is setting up a prime table underneath the giant red Pegasus that hangs on the wall. I even take the liberty of ordering us each one of their signature frozen hot chocolates. Mission accomplished. I toss my suit jacket over a chair, then return to the sidewalk.
    â€œAll set.”
    For once, Alex looks awkward. “Oh, not necessary. We can certainly wait our turn like everyone else.”
    I raise both eyebrows. “But our table is ready. It’s no problem.”
    Alex kicks at a stick on the sidewalk. “No, really. We don’t require any special treatment.”
    I just stare at him. What’s the deal? I thought he’d be impressed at how competent I am at my job and how well I’m taking care of him and his sisters. But he just puts both hands in the pockets of his khakis and rocks back on his heels. The self-satisfied smile creeps back as he examines me.
    This time my stomach only feels like it has a stray jumping bean or two in it, instead of a bunch of kangaroos hopping around. It’s amazing how someone can get less cute the more you get to know his personality. Granted, we’re still pretty far from talking “ugly,” but if he keeps it up with the arrogant grins . . .
    I wipe all traces of sarcasm from my voice to say, “Well, I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but the staff has cleared space for us and, besides, if we don’t eat now, we won’t have time for everything on the itinerary.”
    Alex doesn’t say anything; he just ducks through thedoorway. Our group pushes past the waiting crowd and settles into our seats.
    Once we’re sitting down with our frozen hot chocolates in front of us, Sophie spreads her napkin delicately across her lap. I can’t imagine why she’s bothering. It’s not like she could possibly ever spill anything.
    Immediately Pay begins harassing the three kids with all kinds of questions about their castle back home.
    â€œReally, Pay, I don’t think they want to talk about that,” I say. As much as I wanted her here—and even Dad thought adding another kid to the mix could make it more fun for the royals—I’m starting to wonder if inviting her was the best idea. She’s not exactly treating them like the royalty they are.
    â€œWhy ever not?” asks Alex, leaning back in his seat and sticking his long legs off to the side. “Quid pro quo, Pay .”
    â€œQuid pro what?” asks Paisley.
    â€œDo you not have to take Latin in school, then? Shame that. It means I shall tell you something if you tell me something back.”
    â€œOh, cool,” she says. “Okay, first question. What does your bedroom look like?”
    My jaw drops. Alex purses his lips together to keep from laughing, and Pay punches him on the leg for it.
    Actually punches the Crown Prince of Somerstein.
    I am so dead.
    â€œI want to know if you have posters on the walls and dirty clothes all over the floor or if you have one of those, like, canopy-bed things that close off with velvet curtains.”
    I can’t believe she’s talking about dirty clothes to ROYALTY, but Alex just laughs. “You watch far too many movies. I do not have anything on the floor, but only because I have a personal valet who picks up my socks wherever I drop them. It’s a bang-up perk.”
    I think of the housekeeping staff at the St. Michèle. Yeah, I have to agree with him there.
    â€œAnd I have framed football jerseys on my wall. Or soccer, as you insist upon calling it here,” Alex says.
    â€œCool. Any from Manchester United?” asks Pay.
    Alex leans forward and rests his elbows on the table right next to her. “ You know Man U?”
    Okay, so I mean, I’m definitely not jealous because:
    A. Even though he has surfer hair and navy-like-a-night-sky eyes and an accent that could melt butter, he’s also totally arrogant and annoying, so it’s not like I’m