A Royal Indiscretion, chapter three (Patreon)

I'm interested in seeing your reaction to Doug--the second main character.

  

Doug Wasso sipped at this champagne and tried to move as little as possible. He felt like a great dane trying to pick his way around a pack of those fancy little white dogs that rich people trimmed to look like sheep. Not poodles, but their smaller, fluffier cousins. He spent most of his life in a locker room surrounded by men who were larger and louder, so this was a relatively new experience.

Unlike the rest of those idiots, Doug knew his career was limited. Quarterbacks lasted longer than a lot of players, but the game was too rough and one bad fall could end his career. Doug planned to find a respectable exit strategy before that happened.

Since no one seemed to take his business and accounting degrees seriously, assuming that his grades had been gifts bestowed on him to keep his team in the college bowls, he was trying for a little alternative funding stream. A waiter offered a tray of hors d'oeuvres, tiny pot pie looking things and ceramic spoons filled with cat food.

“What are these?” Doug asked.

“Wild mushroom chausson and asiago panna cotta with figs, sir.”

Doug took a pastry on a tiny dish. “Thank you.” The waiter moved away, a second waiter trailing behind with an empty tray to reclaim any spoons before a rich person had to hold it for more than three seconds. Doug didn’t understand this world, but they had money, and Doug needed it. He would even invest it and return good profits. 

“Mr. Wasso,” a man said. Doug turned and smiled. 

“I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”  He offered his hand.

The man didn’t shake it but he did move to Doug’s side. “I’m Lord Alba. I watched you play this season. You are an impressive athlete.”

Alba. No doubt a relative of Elodie Alba, the young woman who had joined him and several others for dinner. Doug had been a perfect gentleman, but the Lord Alba had an ice-cold undercurrent anyway. “Thank you,” Doug said. “It’s a difficult game, but I enjoy the challenge.” And then he decided to stick a pin right in the middle of the problem. “Are you related to Elodie Alba?”

The man raised an eyebrow. Shit, Doug thought that was something only actors did when they played villains. Then again, this whole crowd was a little on the cartoonish side. “The Lady Alba is my daughter.”

“She’s a charming young woman.” In truth, she was on the vapid side, but if Doug was going to marry for money, he could handle vapid as long as it didn’t cross over into stupidity. It wasn’t like he was looking for a love match. He had the looks, the intelligence, and the media’s affection. Every time he painted a house for charity, dozens of reporters showed up to catch a picture of him in a tight shirt, a streak of paint across his forehead as he smiled for them. 

He just needed someone with the money and the social connections to help him break through the class barrier. The other players didn’t see it. They thought getting an invitation to a rich person’s house for a party equaled respect and opportunity. It didn’t. But a respectable wife from a high-class family would open doors.  They’d both benefit. In the case of Elodie, she would definitely be getting the better deal because she lacked the intellectual or even physical charms that might net her a better husband. Doug would respect her, grow her fortunes, and protect her from any scandal. 

After all, Doug had no intention of cheating, and if he did develop an itch he couldn’t ignore, he would hide any indiscretions since he preferred men. Hell, he’d be in fucking heaven if he could find some frigid woman who wanted a trophy husband to get her family off her back. He’d move her lesbian lover into his house and happily grow their fortunes while his wife went about her business. However, that was a trait he couldn’t advertise. And he liked women enough that he would be able to give her children and share a bed. Hell, his lovers had always spoken highly of him because of the amount of foreplay he required to really get in the mood with a woman.

Lord Alba didn’t answer, and Doug ate his mushroom pie thing. Despite his fears, he enjoyed it. Seconds later, a waiter appeared to claim his empty dish. These people were wasting insane amounts of money on staff. It was ridiculous. If these were paying guests, Doug would have to charge ridiculous fees to turn a profit. Doug never would have spent so much on a wedding reception, and he didn’t care how close the couple was to the throne. Royalty was one thing, but common fiscal sense was another.

“I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing,” Lord Alba said in a direct attack. Ass. Doug would have bet money that he had some flunky look Doug up so he would have some dirt to fling. Well, Doug had been playing dirty on and off the football field for years. He knew how to take a tackle and bring a knee up into the defensive lineman’s stomach, all while making it look like an accident.

“I wasn’t,” he said airily. “Given the man’s past, I was relieved to hear he wouldn’t be getting out of prison.” Doug turned toward Lord Alba. “Surely you’re not one of those people who thinks everyone should get a second chance.”

Lord Alba’s expression turned to stone and he finally looked Doug in the eye. “I am not. I was expressing condolences that any son had to see his father pass in such a way. I imagine that would be painful.”

Doug was grateful that football had taught him how to take a hit. He even had experience at having to walk away without getting his own hits in. If he wanted to impress these people, more specifically if he wanted to impress their daughters, he could run around calling them assholes, even when they were. “He was never a father to me, so I don’t know how a son might feel at having his father die behind bars.” Doug sipped his Champaign and waited for the next play. Lord Alba abruptly walked away.

Mentally, Doug crossed Elodie off his list. If he married her, that ass would cut off the money. Now if Elodie found herself suddenly orphaned, he might reconsider.

“You are a god!” Rudy whisper shouted as he slapped Doug’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you outpissed Alba himself.” Rudy’s red cheeks suggested he’d already had quite a bit to drink, and he clung to Doug’s shoulder. “Damn knob thinks he’s better than everyone.” Rudy slapped Doug’s back again. “You’d better believe I’m telling everyone about this.”

Doug sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t want to get in pissing contests.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Oh, there’s Christina Zweibrucken. Have you met her yet?” Rudy nodded toward a stunning redhead in a tight black dress that stood out in this crowd. She worked the room, twitching her body as she threaded her way through a chatting group. The men fell silent, and Doug saw more than one woman frown.

“I don’t need that sort of trouble,” Doug said. He might be able to keep a woman with low expectations happy, but that one would shred him, and he knew it.

“The whole point of this is finding trouble. That’s the only thing that makes these family affairs worth it.” Rudy did a quick pivot that most halfbacks would have envied and weaved his way through the crowd toward the looker. 

Doug moved toward a woman who looked to be well into her thirties. She had a particularly unhappy expression as she watched Christina, and Doug figured she might like a little attention. He made a quick detour to grab a couple of little finger foods before he moved in on her. As he got closer, he subtly checked her finger. No ring. 

“Excuse me.”

She turned to him, her body angled in an awkward fashion. She had beautiful blue eyes—almost gray. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but is there any change you could tell me what I’m eating before I eat it?” Doug used his American accent and smile to get him in the door. Sure enough, her expression softened and she looked down at his hands.

“I believe that is pressed duck terrine.”

It looked like sausage. “Not to sound like an idiot, but what’s terrine?” Doug had found women were always impressed by a man who was willing to ask questions. 

“Duck meat cooked with shallots, nuts, and orange. It’s a favorite for most people, and I suspect you’ll like it.” She had a kind smile, even if there was some amusement in her voice. This was looking hopeful. She watched while he tried it.

“I think I’m in lust with a finger food,” Doug said.

She laughed. “Good for you. It’s always good to find a new passion in life.”

“I’ve done that,” Doug said. He liked how she laughed. “I’m Doug Wasso.”

She turned and gave him her full attention. “Anne.”

“Just Anne? No grand titles?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Lady Anne of Stenbock.”

“Stenbock? Like the bride?” Doug had definitely aimed too high with this one.

“She’s my niece,” Anne said. “The middle child of my brother Gerard. Are you an acquaintance of either Lady Mary or Jonathan?” 

Doug wondered if was supposed to do one of those little head nod bows. It was probably too late now, but he was starting to feel a little bad about his lack of etiquette. Rudy had never shown much interest in explaining these small rules to Doug, in part because he liked stirring the pot. And Doug couldn’t afford to push too hard since Rudy provided invitations to places Doug would never get into on his own.

“I came with Rudolf Sava. I’m a football player from America.”

“Little Sir Sava,” Anne said. Her expression was a little less amused at the mention of Rudy’s name. She struck him as someone who would appreciate truth more than a line of bullshit, so Doug altered his strategy. He would never want to marry someone this close to the throne, but if Lady Anne liked him, she could open more doors than Rudy. 

“I think he invited me so he could follow me around and see how much trouble I could get into with my bad American manners.”

A quick frown crossed her face, but in an instant it vanished. “Your manners are fine.”

“My ability to recognize this food is not,” Doug said with a wry laugh.

She looked down at his plate. “You may wish to skip the canapes with the small black caviar on top.”

“The one that looked like—” Doug stopped and cleared his throat. “You know, I’m not going to finish that sentence.”

She smiled. “I find Americans are not great fans of poached brains.”

Doug looked at her in horror and then down at his plate. Sure it looked like catfood, but most of this stuff did. However, his stomach churned in warning. He looked around, and when he spotted a waiter picking up plates, he made a beeline for him and dropped his uneaten hors d’oeuvres off before heading back to the Lady Anne. “You saved me from a death by offal.”

She shook her head, but amusement shone in her face. “I doubt you would have died. I was far more concerned that you might have embarrassed yourself once you tasted it. I don’t know what Americans have against soft foods, but as a whole, your countrymen do live up to the stereotype.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. I’ll stick to the duck. Thank you, Lady.”

“Of course. Enjoy the celebration.” And with that, she excused herself. Doug might have dismissed the whole conversation, but he took a few seconds to watch Lady Anne go. He liked the woman; she was closer to him in age than many of the star-struck women whose attention he would catch. He watched her move through the crowd, picking up speed like a receiver trying to get under a ball. Doug looked ahead of her, and he caught Rudy heading through a door into one of the corridors. Doug had no idea what was going on, but given the Lady Anne had reacted badly to Rudy’s name, her pursuit made Doug more than a little uncomfortable. If Rudy had done something to get himself into hot water with these people, it wouldn’t do Doug any good to be seen as one of his friends.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave a woman like that to deal with Rudy alone. Doug followed.