Saving the Second Male Lead

Chapter Eleven

I couldn't have told you what happened during the rest of the ball, and even the carriage ride home was nothing more than a blur of Ryia's father drunkenly spewing what I'd dubbed Sawyer Propaganda. Thankfully, he hadn't seemed to care that Ryia spent so much time dancing with Lawrence. That, or he'd had too much wine by that time to remember. It wasn't until I was in Ryia's room, trying to escape the gossamer maze that the women here called dresses, that I was able to pull myself together enough to talk.

"So, are you going to tell me what you and Oliver were doing out there alone, or am I going to have to wait even longer?" Ryia asked, loosening the ties on the back of the dress enough for me to shimmy my way out. She sat on the edge of her bed, her wiggling eyebrows saying I'm waiting.

After a grumbled thank you, I picked my dress up off the floor and began to fold it up. "It really was nothing. He wanted to dance but isn't great at it, so we went outside where no one could see and danced together... as friends."

Ryia rested her chin on her arms, pouting at the lack of scandalous gossip she'd been hoping for.

"And what about you, I saw you dancing with Lawrence for like fifty songs." I smirked, watching as her face flushed bright pink. She plopped back on the bed, covering her face with her hands.

"It's the same as you," she grumbled, "we're just friends."

"Speaking of Lawrence, why don't you invite him over as a thank you?" I asked, sprawling on the bed next to her. As soon as my head hit the soft comforter, exhaustion hit.

"Do you think that would really be an appropriate thank you?" She asked, turning to face me, "don't you think he'd appreciate a new jacket more?"

"Lawrence has enough money to buy fifty new jackets. He'd much prefer spending time with you instead."

"That's a good point." She scrunched her nose.

"We could invite him over for a lunch at the pond. If you really feel that bad, you could try making something special. It's the thought and effort that counts," I yawned, stretching my arms back.

"That sounds like it could be fun," she said, "but if we do that, could you go into town to get some extra ingredients? I don't think asking one of my father's servants to do it would be a good idea."

"Sure, that'll be easy." Knowing nothing about how markets or bartering worked here didn't seem like an issue in my groggy state.

"Perfect! I'll write up a list for you after I send Lawrence the invitation."

"Can I add a letter to that message, too... don't you dare say anything," I added, already sensing the eyebrow rise sure to come from Ryia.

"What? I wasn't going to say anything." She laughed and threw her hands up defensively. I adjusted myself, pushing my back against the headboard. Ryia didn't seem to want me gone, and I wasn't inclined to get up and leave on my own. We'd shared a bed before, and quite honestly, I'd gotten close enough to her that I didn't mind her company in the slightest. It was nice having a friend that I could be this comfortable around. She hadn't been lying when she'd told me that my job was nothing more than a formality to her.

It wasn't long till both of us had passed out, doing the bare minimum to move under the covers before falling asleep.

❧

"Sure, that'll be easy," I mocked myself as I helplessly walked through the crowded streets of the market. The overwhelming smell of spices and livestock mingling together was enough to make me nauseous, and the addition of a hundred screaming merchants and patrons did little to help. I stared down at the list in my hand as I wandered aimlessly through the wooden stalls, hoping something familiar would catch my eye. Cinnamon, cucumbers, eggs... what was she even trying to make?