Royally Crushed (48 page)

“Yep.”

How could I have been such an idiot?

I glance back toward the formal part of his family’s apartments. “And your parents are—”

“In Italy. At an opera. They asked me to go last week, right after we got back from the ski trip. When I told them about the dance and how disappointed you were when I said I couldn’t come—and that it was your Oscar night—they agreed to let me skip the opera and take over the TV room. Of course, I didn’t know you’d have to be there so late, but when Ulrike’s father was at the palace last week, I asked your dad if he’d volunteer to chaperone so he could make sure you got home before the Oscars. And so he could make sure you came over here to see me instead of just going to sleep.”

Okay—having my boyfriend enlist my own father’s help in surprising me is strange. But I’m not going to gripe. Especially when he’s wearing that tux.

“Come on,” he says, leaning over to grab a glass. “Have some fake champagne and some popcorn.”

“But of course!”

We sit on the floor and I watch him pour, even though I feel dorky being so casual when he’s so dressed up. Who am I kidding? It
all
feels dorky. But I love it.

He takes the remote and clicks up the sound so I can hear the commentary as actresses walk up the red carpet, stopping to strike poses for cameras or to sign autographs for fans.

We toast the Oscars, then settle back against the pillows. Georg sits so that I can snuggle into his shoulder. We watch the screen for a few minutes as I try to savor the moment.

When the first commercial hits, I ask, “So did Dad tell you how late I could stay?”

“I think as long as the show’s on,” Georg says.

“I think that’s, like, five a.m.” A long time to keep my head happily cradled against Georg’s shoulder, breathing in the wonderful way he smells, feeling his arm pulling me close to him. “Dad’s being awfully trusting.”

“I think he’s going to be checking in. He told me he’d see Anna home first, but he made it pretty clear that we
weren’t supposed to be doing anything to corrupt each other up here, or, I believe his exact words were, ‘I’ll find out when I come to check in on you two, and you won’t see my daughter again because this time I’ll send her back to the States for good.’”

I pop a piece of popcorn—which is downright heavenly—and grin. Leave it to Dad to stand up for my honor.

I twist my neck so I can look up at Georg. I’m surprised to see a serious look on his face. “What?”

“You wouldn’t rather be there, would you? Back in the States?”

I know he’s thinking back to our conversation in the hallway at the guesthouse. I shake my head. “I miss my friends, but this is where I belong. Dad, too. I don’t know how serious he is about Anna, but it seems to be going okay. So I guess that’s even more incentive to stay.”

And since I can’t help but tease him, I tickle his stomach and say, “Plus, you provide me with popcorn. My friend Jules only has Ho Hos, and even then, she doesn’t share.”

He grabs my hand to stop the tickling, then pulls my fingers up to his mouth for a kiss.

Omigosh. Somebody cue the music, because I’m about to get emotional and girly. To keep myself from getting too sappy, I say, “You don’t mind that I’m not dressed for the occasion, do you?” He did spring it on me.

“Nah. The tux was actually your dad’s idea. I would’ve had to wear it to the opera, so I figured why not wear it for the Oscars? And I had no idea how you and your friends dressed for your Oscar parties.”

“Not in formal wear.” I pull at his lapel. “But this is still cool, even if it’s my dad’s idea of what a girl wants. Guess it worked.”

“Guess so.” He grabs a handful of popcorn, then glances sideways at me. “You know, I’m glad things with your dad and Anna are going okay. I think it’s good that he’s getting out and seeing someone.”

I nod. “Yeah, that’s what I’m telling myself. He told me tonight that they’re not exclusive—that was his phrase—so I think he’s trying to take it slow.”

“Probably smart.” He plays with my hair as he speaks, which makes me go gooey on the inside. “Even for adults, I think it’s all about finding what you want.”

Finding what you want.
Exactly the phrase my mother used with me when I told her how guilty I felt for seeing David. She said I needed to know what I didn’t want so I’d be better at finding what I did want.

“So,” I say, grabbing my own handful of popcorn while he starts to munch on his. “You think it’d be cool if he ends up deciding to date around?”

He leaves the question unanswered as we both stare at
the screen—last year’s Best Actress winner is on the red carpet, and she’s wearing a dress that’s totally cut to
there
. The kind you know will be flashed on the news during the recaps of who was wearing what.

“Wow,” Georg says. “That’s a ten.”

“No kidding.” “Wow” is an understatement. “I wonder how she’s keeping her boobs in that thing. Gotta be tape.”

Georg thinks I’m kidding, but I’m not. And it takes him a sec to figure that out. Once he does, he makes a very unroyal yakking noise and says, “There are some things guys are never meant to know.”

He takes a long drink of his pseudo-champagne as the actress glides along the carpet, waving to the stands full of fans who showed up at four in the morning so they could stake out prime star-viewing territory. She turns to the side and I absolutely lose it, because I can tell Georg’s staring at the cut of her dress, trying to figure out where she’s got the tape.

“Cut it out,” he says when he catches me watching him. “Because of you, now every time I go to any of my parents’ formal events, I’m going to wonder what these women have holding up their dresses. And I really don’t want to be having those kind of thoughts about them.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be dressed quite like she is.” Though I would if I had a bodacious bod like that
and I regularly got invited to ritzy events like the Oscars, where nobody even blinks if you wear dresses so sexy they require tape.

As it is, it’s going to be hard enough for me to find a dress I can wear to the prom when I’m a senior. Not without a ton of help from Dad
and
a really good push-up bra to hold up whatever creation he finds at the store. Tape alone wouldn’t cut it for me. There’s nothing to tape.

“Probably not,” Georg concedes. “Most of the people who come to my parents’ parties are older. I’m always relieved when they bring their kids. Gives me someone to talk to and hang out with.”

And he never went out with any of them?

“Never met one I wanted to get serious with, though.”

The guy is a freaking mind reader. “So does this mean you’re not the type to, um, date around? See more than one person at once?”

“Depends on the situation.” He plays with my hair again, which is kinda distracting. “If you’re asking about your Dad, if he and Anna aren’t all that serious about each other, then it’s probably a healthy thing if they go out with other people.”

The actress has stopped to talk to one of the entertainment reporters, but neither of us is listening anymore. I feel Georg press a kiss to the top of my head before he says,
“But if you’re asking about us, Val . . . I have no desire to see anyone else right now. I’m happy like this. I meant it when I told you that I love you.”

Hoo-boy. “I meant it too. I hope you know that.”

I feel my fingers flinch in his. Damn. He felt it too, because he sits up so my head is no longer against his shoulder, then turns so his whole body is facing me. “What?”

Now or never. I try to picture Jules lacing up her combat boots, telling me to spit it out.

“Well,” I say, trying to fight back the sick feeling in my stomach, “there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you since I got back from Virginia, but I was never sure how. Or how you’d take it.”

“You went out with someone else while you were home.” He says it as a statement of fact, not even a question. Like he knew this was coming once I started asking him what he thought about Dad and Anna. I just nod.

“Was it serious?”

“No. Not at all.” He doesn’t look the least bit angry, so I take that as a good sign and barrel on, “It was this guy I’ve known since kindergarten. I had a huge crush on him, but he never even looked at me. When I went home for break, Christie set us up on a blind date without my knowledge. It was one of those things where I didn’t feel like I could say no.”

“So why do you seem so upset about it?”

Breathe in. Breathe out.
“To be honest, at the time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to say no.” I can barely get the words out. I hate saying them, but I feel like I’d be hiding something important
not
saying them.

Georg obviously thinks so, too, because he looks troubled. “Was it . . .” He fiddles with a piece of popcorn, then tosses it back in the bowl, something Dad wouldn’t approve of. “Was it because I’d told you I wanted to cool it?”

“That was part of it. And I’ll admit, I
did
have a thing for him for, like, forever. So I was curious.”

He’s just quiet. The actress with the eye-popping gown is off the screen, and they’ve cut to a commercial—something in German for an orange drink that looks positively gross—and the weird music only seems to emphasize the awkward silence between us.

I do
not
want my relationship to go into a tailspin during an orange drink commercial. It just seems wrong.

“Georg, I know you’re probably mad. But you should know it turned out great—”

“Great?”

“Yes. Great. Because I found out what I want.” I’m as serious as I can be, trying to ignore the goofy cartoon, which is now showing exploding oranges.

I reach over and put my hand on top of his. “Even if you
had
meant that you really wanted to cool it—as in break up with me—I figured out that what I really wanted all along was you.”

He looks down to where my pale hand is resting on top of his. “So why didn’t you think you could tell me?”

“’Cause I know how I would’ve felt if you told me you’d gone out with Steffi while I was gone.” I gesture toward the screen. I can’t help but laugh now, because the commercial is ridiculous. “I’d probably do like those nasty oranges. Kerblooey.”

I should shut up. I mean, sheesh. Sometimes I say things that are just stupid. They leap out of my mouth before my brain can grab them back.

And worse—I laugh while I say them.

“I sincerely hope this guy wasn’t as bad as Steffi.”

I shake my head. “Nah. But he’s not you.”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

“Seriously?” He’s not going to grill me about whether or not I kissed David? Or whether I’m e-mailing him or if I’m dying to go back to Virginia to be with him? Because those are the questions most guys would ask.

Then again, Georg is not most guys.

“Seriously.” His fingers tighten around mine. “So what made you think about Steffi, of all people?”

“Well, you know how she is.”

“She wasn’t at the dance bothering you tonight, was she? Making all her little comments?”

I love that he sees her for what she is. It boggles my mind that no one else catches on to her slick little compliments that really aren’t.

Though, given Maya’s comments at the dance, I’m beginning to wonder if she at least is starting to see the light.

“Nah. Steffi didn’t make it to the dance for whatever reason. You know . . .” I make a face that’s less than polite. “I actually thought she might be trying to find you.”

“Hmmm. She might’ve been.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes me do a double take.

“I did mention that I had an Oscar party, remember?” His smile is positively wicked. “When we were all at the lunch table.”

“Oh, I remember.” Steffi even looked at me and said it wasn’t meant to be with me and Georg.

Ha. She can bite me.

“Well, yesterday I also made certain to mention an event I have to attend at the Freital Hilton. Didn’t say
when
. . .”

I totally lose it. Totally. I can’t believe he would even
think
to do that. “You’re as evil as Steffi!”

“It was for a good cause. And maybe when she spends
an evening hunting me down for nothing, she’ll realize how insane she’s being.”

Another celeb is on the red carpet, and I hear the entertainment reporter gushing about a green dress, but I can’t look at the screen. I don’t want to. I only want to look at Georg and think about how lucky I am.

How could I have stressed out over telling him about David? Especially when the girls were bugging me about it, and they’ve never steered me wrong.

I know—I didn’t want to lose him—but I should have known him well enough to know how he’d take it. A-list opinion or not.

“I never told a girl I loved her before.” Georg’s voice is gentle compared to the gushing reporters on the television.

“Then I’d better not drink, ’cause I never told a girl I loved her before, either.”

I. Must. Stop. Kidding. Around. When. I. Am. Nervous.

Must, must, must.

He just looks confused, so I explain, “Sorry. I Never. It’s a drinking game Jules said she heard about once. Someone says, ‘I never,’ and then follows it up with a crazy statement. Something like, ‘I never walked out of my house naked.’ Everyone who can say truthfully ‘I never’ to the same statement says it, but everyone else has to take a
drink.” I roll my eyes. “It was just a bad joke.”

What is it with me and my mouth?

He seems pretty fixated on the joke, though. “So everyone who actually has walked out of their house naked would end up drinking?”

“Apparently that’s the game.”

“I never played I Never.”

“Me either, and I have no desire to play. Ever.” Good thing, too. I got in enough trouble when people simply
thought
I was smoking. If anyone gets the impression I’m teaching Georg drinking games . . . geez, I am so dead.

He gets a funny look on his face, but before I can ask him what he’s thinking—I know, I know, girls should never ask guys the what-are-you-thinking question, but I’m dying to know—he scoots a few inches closer to me, and either the light from the TV is reflecting in his eyes, or they’re actually shining. “I bet I can change your mind. Say we play for kisses instead?”