Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Cool. And what are the scheduled acts?”
“We have a harp player, a trumpeter, a jester, a couple of acrobatic gymnasts, and…we do short skits for entertainment. We’re doing a scene from Much Ado About Nothing, a racy exchange between bawdy townsfolk, and Queen Elizabeth will have a moment with her royal court.” I gnawed on my lower lip and opened the binder. “Um…as we discussed on the drive here, the Renaissance period spans the fourteenth century to the seventeenth century. We focus primarily on sixteenth-century England with—”
“Poetic license,” he intercepted, resting his thigh against mine.
I shifted sideways just as Ezra crossed his leg, propping his ankle on his knee in a wide stance that made it impossible to avoid contact. “Scoot over a bit, please.”
“Good idea.” He inched toward me instead of away, cupping his hand behind his ear. “The acoustics are wonky.”
“Ezra…”
“Relax. I promise not to jump your bones.”
His reassurance felt like a letdown. I know…I was a contrary idiot.
“Concentrate, please. Let’s review a few colloquialisms.” I pushed the binder onto his knee to give myself some much-needed breathing room, and reached across him to turn the page just as the curtain began to drop. “We have some suggested phraseology here.”
“ ‘My loyal subjects…, enjoy and be merry…hereto…art thou…’ ” he read, furrowing his brow. “ ‘The honor of it does play the act of it.’ What the fuck does that mean?”
I chuckled. “That’s from the play, Henry the Eighth. It means something like, ‘pure intentions are good actions.’ I’ve included a few quotes. Obviously, they’re not compulsory, but they add a nice touch and they give you an idea about the cadence of how he might have spoken. What’s your British accent like?”
“Pip, pip, cheerio, you bloody bell end,” he singsonged, thumbing through the binder.
I threw my head back and laughed. “Please don’t say any of those things.”
He waggled his brows playfully. “I’m king. I get to say whatever I want, dude.”
“Right, but it’s probably best not to say dude.”
“Got it. So what’s the full job description?”
“You’re a celebrity. You’ll get a grand introduction and be given a chance to make a small speech before you make your way through the park with your entourage in tow to the first photo stop, where your fans will take pics and ask for autographs and—”
“Or throw eggs at me.”
I tilted my chin. “Why would they do that?”
Ezra gave a half chuckle. “Holden, I hate to break this to you, but Henry the Eighth wasn’t a good guy. He had his wives killed, for fuck’s sake. You shouldn’t glorify him.”
“Glorify? What? No, we’re not…I wouldn’t—” I raked my hand over my chin. “Geez, you have a point. We do this bit every year, but Jerry doesn’t last long in costume and Elizabeth is really the star of the show. That might not be the case this time around.”
Ezra fixed me with an inscrutable look as he pushed the book to me and stood. “I have a solution. What if I take some pics, chow on fair grub with the peasants, and at the end of my cock walk, I’ll run a pie-throwing contest or supervise a dunk tank. I could be the last one up, and you’d charge more to throw a pie my way or dunk me. Maybe mix it up. Do the dunk tank day one and the pie contest day two,” he suggested.
“Huh. That’s actually a great idea.”
“Well, I’m smarter than I look,” he quipped, striking a kingly pose with his hands on his hips.
I tapped my chin thoughtfully, then paced the abbreviated length of stage behind the curtain, madly working out logistics and costs. We were already running a tight ship. I’d have to find the money myself for any add-ons. I pulled my phone out and reclaimed my seat to type a few notes.
“I hate to ask my friends for funding, but I bet Topher and Simon would help or Chet and Sam or—”
Ezra plucked my cell from my fingers and sat down. “Let the idea percolate. You probably have to discuss this with the rest of your crew, anyway.”
“You’re right. I’ll rethink your role.” I smiled awkwardly when he handed over my phone. “Thank you.”
“No problem. You know, I had my doubts about joining the geek squad, but this is fun.” He fiddled with the tie on the robe as he glanced around the semi-dark space. “I haven’t learned this much history since high school and—hey, can you undo this knot?”
“Oh, sure.”
I shoved my phone into my pocket and fiddled with the tangled strings. It was trickier than it seemed at first. I pushed my glasses to the bridge of my nose, squinting as if the effort might help.
I think it made it worse.
Or maybe I was hopelessly distracted. I couldn’t help it. Ezra’s breath ghosted over my cheek as our knees slid together. I focused on that knot, too afraid to meet his gaze and find…what? That he knew exactly where my dirty mind had gone.