I saw him from halfway down the pier. Black hair cut short, wide shoulders, and arms that looked like they could pull a tree out by the roots. He wasn’t all that attractive, but if you were a prince you didn’t have to be. The tiny scar on his cheek could have been from battling a dragon, or a skiing accident, or any of those other acts of derring-do princes were known for. I waited at my seat, making sure my wineglass was just so and my fork just right.
Grimm didn’t deal in essence or evocation, usually. That wasn’t his style, though I wouldn’t say he couldn’t do it. He dealt with direction, and he was truly talented. The prince and I were two random people among thousands. I knew his steps, and the directions, and every little glance that would lead him right by my table. He meandered over to look at the Sunglass Hut, then, drawn by a force he couldn’t possibly see, wandered toward me. I focused on my plate, on the half-eaten steak, and looked up at the right time.
Our eyes met, and he smiled at me. The sunlight served to highlight the shine on him. I let myself play along and smiled back.
“Afternoon,” he said, his voice not exactly melodic but plenty deep.
“And to you.” I took a sip of my wine.
On cue the waiter appeared. “Is the gentleman joining you for lunch?” he asked, unhooking the rope.
The prince looked a little surprised. They always did.
“Please?” I said, and he was hooked.
He sat down and I ordered for him in Italian. I only knew three phrases in Italian, and the other two were “pepperoni” and “mama mia.” It didn’t matter.
“I’m Liam,” he said, and I thought that was a fine name for a prince.
“Marissa.” I could use my real name. I wasn’t the one they’d remember. “What do you do for a living, Liam? No, wait, Let me guess. CEO?”
He shook his head.
“Lawyer,” I said and from the look on his face I knew that wasn’t it. Those sorts of arms didn’t come from crunching numbers, so he wasn’t a stock trader. “Entrepreneur?”
He shrugged. “Got me. I own my own business.”
“Coal?” I gave him a playful wink, the kind that normally had them so certain of themselves.
“In a way. Iron.”
I’d met a lot of oil princes, quite a few stock market princes, but Liam was my first rust prince. We finished our meal with the barest of conversation, and I confess I was a little worried. Normally these guys couldn’t wait to talk about their second favorite subject (their work) and their favorite subject (themselves). Liam was more the listening type. Given his face and his demeanor, he was definitely not a first son. First sons got all the good stuff—dashing good looks, a voice like a minstrel. Second sons got the okay stuff—they’d turn heads in the hall or on the field. By the time you got to a third son, the magic was sort of worn out.
I looked at him over my wine. “So what brings someone like you down to the waterfront on a day like this?”
He gave me a wide grin that looked kind of goofy. “I work hard. Sometimes it gets to me. So I decided to come down here, take a stroll. Then here you were,” he said, getting up.
The waiter came over with the check. Liam reached for it and I “accidentally” took it from his hand, running my fingers across his palm. “My treat,” I said, with a smile.
“That’s not how a gentleman treats a lady.”
I was at least two steps ahead of him. “Make it up to me. I’m done here, but I’m in the mood for a stroll.”
He took my arm and we made our way down the waterfront. At the commercial pier, they had modern sculptures. We stood where the cold sea wind came in and listened to the chimes. I shivered in the wind and he leaned toward me.
“I’d offer you a jacket, but I don’t usually wear one. I’m warm-blooded.”
So I leaned back into him and enjoyed the warmth. That moment, right there, is where it hit me like a wave coming in from the harbor. I was twenty-four, turning twenty-five in a few months. Home was a stale apartment with an answering machine that never blinked, and I hadn’t seen or heard from my family in six years. In a few minutes, I’d walk a path I knew by heart. I’d waltzed on piers, walked through galleries, held a dozen hands, and broken a dozen hearts. None of those hands were mine to keep holding, and there was never a second dance. I was tired, and though the word never passed my lips, lonely.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I blinked my eyes. “Nothing.” One more lie in a pile of them. As I moved away I heard my bracelet clink at the bottom of my purse, and something woke up inside me. It was sad, and empty, and I was sick of being the wrong girl for every Mr. Right.
“Let’s go,” I said, and took his hand. That was a complete violation of the usual setup script.
I didn’t care. In a few days he’d be Ari’s prince, but right now he was mine. We had pictures done in caricature, and he laughed at how my eyes were twice the size of my nose. We walked close together through the artists’ booths.
“I don’t know your last name,” he said, as we admired paintings that weren’t actually good. That’s sort of a sticking point with me, and it didn’t usually come up with princes. See, when my parents made the deal with Grimm, we had an agreement. The day I turned eighteen, Grimm hid my memories of them. He said it would make it easier, and in a way it did. Last names, phone numbers, addresses; I didn’t remember any of them. We didn’t often use last names in my business.
“Locks,” I said. Goldy Locks was how I usually signed into hotels when I was on a business trip.
“Well, Marissa Locks, I have to say this is the best day off I’ve ever had.”
I’d heard that a lot, but I didn’t usually allow myself to enjoy this part. That would lead to tears. We passed the carousel, each horse hand-carved and over a hundred years old.
I let go of his hand and caught the fence. It was one of the things I did remember. Grimm couldn’t hide the important memories. My dad brought me into the city for my birthday. I remembered riding it at night with him, when the world was a swirl of light.
Liam tugged at my hand. “Let’s go.”
I allowed him to pull me away from the fence and prepared to continue our walk toward the marina. He ran down into the line for the carousel. He looked over his shoulder at me. “Coming?”
Definitely a third-string prince at best, but I liked him. The part of me that made good decisions was screaming at me, but I’d spent eight years listening to it every minute of every day, so I think it was a little hoarse. I joined him and we rode around and around, a bunch of kindergarteners and two adults riding high. I closed my eyes and listened to the music and the pull and the whirl, and drank in the memories.
In the late afternoon there were theater groups (which I loved) and mimes (whom I abhorred). They set up in the pavilion and we sat and listened to one fumbled line of Shakespeare after another.
“How many brothers do you have?” I asked, knowing full well this wasn’t part of the script.
“Six, but one died before I was born.” That certainly explained where the magic went. “What do you do for a living, Marissa Locks?”
That question, at least, I had a good answer for. “I work part-time in loss recovery for clients, and sometimes as an errand runner, and sometimes I do whatever the boss says.” It was nice to give an answer that wasn’t a lie. “Girl’s gotta make a living.”
Liam laughed that soft laugh of his, the only true prince quality he had. In the evening sun the shine drifted lazily from him, and I wondered if he even saw it anymore. “I know how that goes. I once had a boss who was a real tyrant. It was his way or his way, and only his way. These days, I’m doing the things I want to, the way I want to.”