Page 94 of Royally Matched
“I don’t eat dessert,” I tell him.
“The heck you don’t. Come.” He offers me his hand once more, and this time, I slip my hand easily into his, enjoying our closeness as we wander past the many stalls offering sweet treats, from panna cotta to gelato to cakes and everything that lies between. It feels the most natural thing in the world. We’re just two people, out for an evening, enjoying one another’s company.
“Do you think we ought to eat goat ice cream, considering where we are?” he asks, and I scrunch up my nose.
“That would be a hard pass then,” he says, which makes me giggle. “I think we should do a chocolate fondue. I saw a food truck selling some earlier.”
I open my mouth to tell him I’ll stick with a simple piece of fruit, my usual dessert when I have one. I need to be able to fit into my clothes, and all I have to do is say the word “dessert,” and I add a pound to my thighs.
“You go ahead,” I say.
“Don’t you like chocolate fondue?”
“Of course I do, but?—”
“Then let’s have some.” His eyes sweep over me. “Have I told you how gorgeous you look in that dress?”
I shift my weight, uncomfortable. I’ve never been one of those women who can wear whatever she likes and know she’ll look good. I’ve got curves. I’ve got thighs, abutt, and a rounded belly, all of which I keep hidden from the public eye in my princess uniform.
“You do know your figure is incredibly sexy don’t you?” Marco says.
“I—”
“Men don’t like stick figures,Principessa. They like curves. Trust me. You’re hot,” he tells me, and oh, do I swoon. “So? How about that chocolate fondue?”
Buoyed by his words, I throw my usual caution to the wind. “That sounds delicious.”
“I hoped you’d say that.” He takes me to a food truck offering a variety of desserts including chocolate fondue, which we buy and with Marco holding the tub, we dip marshmallows into the delicious dark gooeyness, savoring each bite as a sweetness explosion.
“This is incredible,” I mumble as I dip another marshmallow into the chocolate. As the sweet morsel makes my taste buds zing, I can’t believe I’ve spent my entire adult life forgoing such wonderful tasting food, all to ensure I project just the right look to the world. Not skinny, but definitely not overweight.
Right now, here with Marco, savoring the chocolatey deliciousness, I make the decision to enjoy myself more. Get more out of life. And if that involves eating chocolate fondue at village festivals with an incredibly thoughtful and completely hot man, then I’ll happily step up.
Marco grins at me. “Your mustache suits you.”
“Mustache?” My hand flies to my mouth and I give my lips a quick wipe. “Better?”
“That depends on whether you like the crossdresser look or not. Personally, I’m impartial to a man with a mustache in a dress.”
I snort laugh, only this time I don’t care about the snort because I know I can be myself around this man. I canhave fun and not worry about how I look to everybody, not care about what I should and shouldn’t be doing as Princess Sofia. I’m free to make my own choices, and right now, I choose to be with Marco, enjoying this magical night, far away from my regular world.
The band begins to play a familiar tune and my eyes light up. “The Macarena?”
“We’re dancing to this. No discussion.” Marco throws the empty tub of chocolate fondue into one of the bins, and together we join the throngs of people lining up to perform the dance.
“But I’m a horrible dancer,” I protest.
“It’sThe Macarena,Principessa. Just follow along with everyone else. Okay?”
“Okay,” I reply, feeling giddy and light.
As the infectious beat fills the air, we begin to move through the familiar motions, arms out, then up, then across. My hips sway, my feet tap, and laughter bubbles up as I turn with everyone, completing the steps of the dance. I’m totally lost in the rhythm, every beat pulsing through me with pure, unadulterated joy. Any thoughts of awkwardness or embarrassment have disappeared into the night, and I laugh as Marco messes up the moves, jumping in the wrong direction and crashing into me.
“You’re killing it!” the hotel receptionist yells over the hubbub.
“Thank you!” I call back as I make the next move.
“Isn’t my boyfriend amazing? He’s the drummer,” she says, and I agree wholeheartedly that he is amazing because he’s providing this music that’s taking me out of myself, transporting me to a very different place from the one I usually inhabit.