I laughed. “I suppose if you’ve grown up in a palace it would seem that way. I like it, though.”
He walked over to the window. “Not much of a view.”
“But I like the sound of the fountain. And when anyone drives up, I hear the crunch of the gravel. I’m used to a lot of noise.”
He made a face. “What kind of noise?”
“Music being played on loudspeakers. I didn’t realize that didn’t happen in every town until I got here. And engines from trucks or motorbikes. Oh, and dogs. I’m used to barking.”
“Quite the lullaby,” he remarked, walking back to me. “Are you ready?”
I discreetly searched for my slippers, spotted them by my bed, and went to put them on. “Yes.”
He strode over to the door, then looked at me and extended his arm. I bit at my smile as I went to join him.
He didn’t seem to particularly like being touched. I noticed that he almost always walked with his hands behind his back and kept a brisk pace. Even now, as we made our way through the halls, he wasn’t exactly taking his time.
Considering that, I felt a thrill all over again at how he teased me with my letter the other day, and that he allowed me to be near him at all right now.
“Where are we going?”
“There’s an exceptionally nice lounge on the third floor. Excellent view of the gardens.”
“Do you like the gardens?”
“I like to look at them.”
I laughed, but he was completely serious.
We came to a set of open doors, and even from the hallway I could feel the fresh air. The room was lit by nothing but candles, and I thought my heart might explode from pure happiness. I actually had to touch my chest to make sure everything was still intact.
Three huge windows were open, leaving their billowy curtains tiptoeing in the breeze. In front of the middle window sat a small table with a lovely floral centerpiece and two chairs. Beside it was a cart holding at least eight different types of desserts.
“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing to the cart.
I couldn’t stop smiling as I approached. We were alone. He’d done this for me. It was every dream I’d had as a girl coming true.
I tried to focus on what was in front of me. I saw chocolates, but they were all shaped differently, so I couldn’t guess what was inside. Miniature pies with whipped cream that smelled lemony were piled in the back, while right in front of me were puffed pastries that had something drizzled over them.
“I don’t know how to choose,” I confessed.
“Then don’t,” he said, picking up a plate and putting one of everything on it. He set it on the table and pulled out the chair. I walked over, sat down, and let him push the chair in for me, and I waited for him to fix his own plate.
When he did, I found myself laughing again.
“Did you get enough?” I teased.
“I like strawberry tarts,” he defended. He probably had about five piled in front of him. “So, you’re a Four. What do you do?” He carved off a piece of one of his desserts and chewed.
“I farm.” I toyed with a chocolate.
“You mean, you own a farm.”
“Kind of.”
He put down his fork and studied me.
“My grandpa owned a coffee plantation. He left it to my uncle, because he’s the oldest, so my dad and mom and me and my siblings all work on it,” I confessed.
He was silent for a moment.
“So . . . you do what exactly?”
I dropped the chocolate back onto my plate and put my hands in my lap. “I pick the berries, mostly. And I help roast them in our factory.”
He was quiet.
“It used to be buried in the mountains—the plantation, I mean—but there are lots of roads through there now. Which makes it easier to transport things, but it adds to the smog. My family and I live in—”
“Stop.”
I looked at my lap. I couldn’t help what I did for a living.
“You’re a Four, but you do the work of a Seven?” he asked quietly.
I nodded.
“Have you mentioned this to anyone?”
I thought over my conversations with the other girls. I tended to let them talk about themselves. I’d told stories about my siblings and really enjoyed getting into some of the TV shows the others watched, but I didn’t think I’d ever spoken about my work.
“No, I don’t think so.”
He looked to the ceiling and back to me. “You are never to tell anyone what you do. If anyone asks, your family owns a coffee plantation, and you help run it. Be vague and never, ever let on that you do manual labor. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He eyed me a moment longer, as if to reinforce the point. But his command was all I needed. I’d never not do anything he asked me to.
He went back to eating, stabbing his desserts a bit more aggressively than he had before. I was too nervous even to touch my food.
“Have I offended you, Your Highness?”
He sat up a little taller and tilted his head. “Why in the world would you think that?”
“You seem . . . upset.”
“Girls are so silly,” he muttered to himself. “No, you haven’t offended me. I like you. Why do you think we’re here?”
“So you can measure me against the Twos and Threes and validate your choice to send me home.” I didn’t mean to let that all come out. It was as if my biggest worries were battling for space in my head, and one finally escaped. I ducked my head again.
“Amberly,” he murmured. I looked up at him from under my lashes. There was a half smile on his face as he reached across the table. Cautiously, as if the bubble would burst the second he touched my coarse skin, I placed my hand in his. “I’m not sending you home. Not today.”
My eyes watered, but I blinked away the tears.
“I’m in a very unique position,” he explained. “I’m just trying to understand the pros and cons of each of my options.”
“Me doing the work of a Seven is a con, I suppose?”
“Absolutely,” he answered, but with no trace of malice in his tone. “So, for my sake, that stays between us.” I gave a tiny nod. “Any other secrets you want to share?”
He pulled back his hand slowly and started cutting into his food again. I tried to do the same.
“Well, you already know I get sick from time to time.”
He paused. “Yes. What’s that all about, exactly?”