Read To Dance with a Prince for Free Online Page B

bicycles. Am I missing something extraordinary?”
    â€œNot extraordinary, but so normal . The wind in yourhair, the exhilaration of sweeping down a big hill, racing through puddles. I just can’t imagine anyone not having those lovely garden variety experiences.”
    He was taken aback by the genuine sympathy in her tone. “You feel sorry for me because I’ve rarely ridden a bike down a country lane? And never with a picnic lunch in the basket?”
    â€œI didn’t say I felt sorry for you!”
    â€œI can hear it in your voice.”
    â€œOkay,” she admitted, “I feel sorry for you.”
    â€œWell, don’t,” he snapped. “Nobody ever has before, and I don’t see that it should start now. I occupy a place of unusual privilege and power. I am not a man who inspires sympathy, nor one who wants it, either.”
    â€œThere’s no need to be so touchy. It just struck me as sad. And it occurred to me that if you’ve never done that, you’ve probably never played in a mud puddle and felt the exquisite pleasure of mud squishing between your toes. You’ve probably never had a few drinks and thrown some darts. You’ve probably never known the absolute anticipation of having to save your money for a Triple Widgie Hot Fudge Sundae from Lawrence’s.”
    â€œI fail to see your point.”
    â€œIt’s no wonder you can’t dance! You’ve missed almost everything that’s important. But what’s to feel sorry about?”
    He was silent. Finally, he said, “I didn’t know my life had been so bereft.”
    She shrugged. “Somebody had to tell you.”
    And then he chuckled. And so did she. He realized she had succeeded in making just a little of the tension leave him. But at the same time, they had just shared something that took a little brick out of the wall of both their defenses.
    â€œWell,” he said dryly. “Imagine doing a bike ride with an entourage of security people, and members of the press jumping out in front of you to get that perfect picture. Kind of takes the country lane serenity out of the picture, doesn’t it?”
    â€œThe peaceful feeling is leaving me,” she admitted. “Is it a hard way to live?”
    â€œI don’t have a hard life,” he said. “The opposite is probably true. Everyone envies me. And this lifestyle.”
    â€œThat’s not what I asked,” she said quietly. “I wondered about the price, of not knowing if people like you for you or your title, of having to be on guard against the wrong photo being taken, the wrong word being uttered.”
    For an astounding moment it felt as if she had invaded very private territory. It annoyed him that the one brick coming out of the wall seemed to be paving the way for its total collapse.
    For a moment he glimpsed something about himself being reflected back in her eyes.
    He was alone. And she knew it. She saw what others had not seen.
    He reminded himself that he liked being alone.
    He allowed the moment to pass and instead of telling her anything remotely personal, he said, “How about fly-fishing a quiet stream? For my relaxing thing that I think about?”
    Ah, he was shoving bricks back in the wall. Thank goodness!
    â€œPerfect,” she said. The perfect picture. Impersonal. “That kind of fishing even has a rhythm, doesn’t it? See? Hold that picture in your head, because the way you are moving right now is much better.”
    Of course the minute she said that, it wasn’t!
    â€œI’ve fished on occasion,” she said. “Nothing as fancy as fly-fishing. A pole and a bobber on a placid pond on a hot day.”
    â€œReally? I’ve always found women make scenes when they catch fish.”
    She rapped him with sharp playfulness on his shoulder. He was so startled by the familiarity of the move he stumbled.
    â€œWhat a terrible stereotype,” she