“So,” George said, steering him right into the crowd of bored nobles. “Tell us about that fancy little piece you came in with.”
“She’s my assistant,” Griffin said flatly, a surge of anger building. “Off limits.”
“So you’re sticking your prick into her?” another man said to him, a cheesy smirk on his long face. “Are her tits real? I heard all American girls have fake tits.”
“I am not going to answer that.”
“That means he doesn’t know,” George said with a laugh.
“It means I’m not going to answer it,” Griffin repeated, his voice stiff with fury. God, he hated these spoiled bastards. They thought they were better than everyone, and thus treated the rest of the world like it was shit beneath their feet. “She is my employee.”
“Yes, but George f**ks his little employees all the time.”
“And I see she’s wearing the Verdi emeralds,” George said in a sly voice, and Griffin mentally winced. “So she must be doing something right.”
“That is none of your concern, George,” Griffin said. He wanted to tug at his chokingly tight tie, but decorum insisted that he not touch it for fear of leaving it askew. His appearance had to be perfect at all times. George could spill filth to his friends in private, but his appearance—and smile—was always immaculate for the public.
“I never thought you’d be the kind to fall for an American,” the man next to him said. “Doesn’t she have the most ridiculous drawl?”
A surge of anger made Griffin see red. Not only because it was rude to talk about Americans when their crown princess was marrying one, but because Griffin saw himself saying the same things just a few short days ago. Mocking Maylee’s accent. Condescending to her because of who and what she was.
Hearing it from these asses made him realize just how wrong he’d been. He’d been no better than the spoiled men before him, and that was revolting to realize.
What an unmitigated ass he was.
“Oh, come on,” said George. “Relax. It’s good that I found you. Someone’s been asking for you tonight.”
Distracted, Griffin scanned the room. “Who?”
“I’ll show you,” George said, and steered his brother away from the men. He looped an arm around Griffin’s shoulders—no mean feat, since Griffin was taller than him by two inches—and leaned in. “So where did you send your succulent little assistant off to?”
“She’s with Mother’s equerry,” Griffin said absently. He tried to pick familiar faces out of the crowd, but it was nothing but a sea of tuxedos and jewel-toned dresses. “Why?”
“No reason,” George said smoothly. “Ah. Here we are,” his brother said as they came upon a group of ladies on the edge of the ballroom floor. “Your Highness, I think I’ve found the man you were looking for.”
At the sound of the title, Griffin stifled a groan, though he kept his face impassive.
The woman who turned around was stunningly beautiful. Tall, blonde, and Nordic, Princess Heloise of Saxe-Gallia, a tiny country on the other side of Denmark, turned and gave Griffin a predatory smile. She swept past her ladies and extended her hand toward him.
Griffin was forced to bow over her hand and kiss it. “Your Highness. It is lovely to see you.” Such a lie. He couldn’t stand Heloise. They’d been tossed together at royal functions since they were both children. His mother wanted him to marry Heloise. Heloise, however, wanted to be famous . . . Hollywood famous. So she dressed scandalously and acted even more so. Even tonight, she was wearing a sweeping white gown that was a bit too low cut to be appropriate for someone else’s wedding. “Why, Viscount Montagne Verdi. I was hoping I’d see you here tonight.”
“I’m flattered,” Griffin said in a polite voice. He took the hand she kept extending at him and tucked it into his arm, since George had trapped him here.
“Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone to catch up,” George said with a wink at Griffin. He pulled away, and Griffin saw that George headed to the back of the ballroom, in the direction that he’d left Maylee and his mother’s equerry. Damn his conniving brother. He was going after Maylee, was he? As soon as he extracted himself from the princess’s grasping hands, he’d make sure his brother knew to stay far the f**k away—
“It’s so good to see you again, Griff,” Princess Heloise cooed at him, leaning on his sleeve and pressing her ample br**sts against the sleeve of his tuxedo.
“Likewise, Your Highness.” He was not on a first name basis with the woman, no matter what she thought.
She delicately steered them past the crowd and into the center of the dance floor, making sure that everyone possible saw the two of them together, including the photographers. “I told myself I would be positively bereft if I didn’t see you here tonight. How are things in the States?”
“Fine.”
“I’ve heard you’ve made yourself quite the fortune over there,” she said, toying with his lapels in a far too familiar way. “And rumor has it that you’ve financed the repairs of George’s little house and your mother’s palace. That’s so sweet of you.”
He raised an eyebrow at Heloise. As a rule, royals didn’t talk about money. Whether you had it or not, no one spoke of personal fortunes. It was assumed you’d simply conduct yourself as if you were richer than Croesus. The fact that Heloise was flaunting protocol and talking about his money meant that she was far too interested in it.
“Is that why you’ve been on the lookout for a mere viscount tonight, Your Highness?” His words were sharp, and his eyes watched George’s retreating back. The man disappeared between double doors reserved for the staff.
Damn it all. Griffin’s hand clenched.
The princess of Saxe-Gallia laughed, batting at his arm as if he’d said something hilarious. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and for a moment, he was struck by how she looked. Flawless makeup, flawless pale blonde hair, low-cut dress, and dripping family jewels. Heloise was stunning, of course. But all he could see was the artificiality of her appearance.
And he’d made Maylee fix her appearance so she would be exactly like this.
Hell.
Heloise continued to stroll the room, leading him right past the photographers again. “So when are you going to marry, dearest? My father has been pressing for me to find a good union for myself, but I’m bored with all the nobles in Saxe-Gallia, and all the available European princes are too young or way too old.” She gave him a mock pout.