but neither wanted it to end.
Finally getting the nerve, she turned her head toward him.
“Tell me about you, Michael. Where are you from? What do you do?” she asked like she was begging for the secrets to eternal life.
Shit. Michael wanted to avoid those questions though he knew it would be impossible. If he wanted to get closer to her, he would have to allow her to get closer to him. Only he didn’t want to lie. Not to her.
Hope Daniels was special, more special than any of the other women before her. If anything, he needed to find a way to be more honest than he’d ever been. His brother’s words echoed in his head again, taunting him. And for the first time, he felt like he could prove Richard wrong. He was not just a beautiful mess. And a woman could love him for more than being just a prince. But right now, he was putting the cart before the horse.
He scratched his stubbly beard. “I’m…not from around here.”
Hope giggled, like she was letting him in on a little secret. “Oh, I know.”
“You know?” he asked, brow raised.
“Your imitation of a southern accent sucks. Maybe not for someone who isn’t from around here, but for us natives who were born with it, it’s pretty awful to hear you pretend.”
Michael deflated until she laughed.
“I was going to let you go with it until you felt comfortable enough to tell me the truth. Plus, I thought it was cute.”
Michael laughed. She was full of surprises. Smart. Beautiful. Witty. “I thought I pulled off the southern charm quite well,” he said, speaking in his English accent.
Wow! That felt good. He was no actor, but after six weeks of pretending to be something that he was not, he had a new found appreciation for their craft.
Hope picked up on the extreme deviation from his poorly crafted southern drawl and the natural flow of his normal tongue. “So where are you from really?”
“I’m from England,” he answered coyly. “London.”
“All hail the king.” She didn’t know that she had hit the nail directly on the head.
Michael froze. Did she know his other secret as well?
“So, where in London?” she continued, completely missing his quiet hysteria.
The tension immediately eased in his broad shoulders when he knew that his secret was still safe. But it did raise another interesting question, one that had to be quickly answered. How did one explain a residence at Buckingham Palace? “I’d like to think that I’m from the heart of it,” he said with a smug grin. Every man had to have a few secrets, right?
She frowned now, trying to put the pieces together. His story still didn’t make sense. “Why the accent though? Why not just be a guy from London?”
“Oh, that’s a long story. Let’s just say that I’m hiding out.”
“From the police?” Now she was intrigued. Has she met a real international criminal?
“No, from my family, from my friends and my life,” he answered truthfully. “I needed a break from it all. So, I came here.”
Her voice hardened. Was it all lies? “Is your real name Michael?”
His voice softened. “Yes.”
The domino effect created so many questions for her; she didn’t know where to begin. “What do you do?”
A Richard question. “I’m finding myself.” He slipped his free hand in his pocket. “But I am looking for a job.” And a wife, he thought inwardly.
“Okay. What do you like to do then?” A reasonable second question.
“I like to read. I love art. I love traveling. I love teaching. I’ve been all over. And the most calm that I ever was would have to have been when I was in Zimbabwe. I taught a small group of young men there for a few weeks. It was exhilarating. Their thirst for knowledge was addictive. I stayed up every night with them talking and teaching until my eyes were so heavy, I could barely keep them open.” Talking about it brought back nostalgia.
Hope liked
Finally getting the nerve, she turned her head toward him.
“Tell me about you, Michael. Where are you from? What do you do?” she asked like she was begging for the secrets to eternal life.
Shit. Michael wanted to avoid those questions though he knew it would be impossible. If he wanted to get closer to her, he would have to allow her to get closer to him. Only he didn’t want to lie. Not to her.
Hope Daniels was special, more special than any of the other women before her. If anything, he needed to find a way to be more honest than he’d ever been. His brother’s words echoed in his head again, taunting him. And for the first time, he felt like he could prove Richard wrong. He was not just a beautiful mess. And a woman could love him for more than being just a prince. But right now, he was putting the cart before the horse.
He scratched his stubbly beard. “I’m…not from around here.”
Hope giggled, like she was letting him in on a little secret. “Oh, I know.”
“You know?” he asked, brow raised.
“Your imitation of a southern accent sucks. Maybe not for someone who isn’t from around here, but for us natives who were born with it, it’s pretty awful to hear you pretend.”
Michael deflated until she laughed.
“I was going to let you go with it until you felt comfortable enough to tell me the truth. Plus, I thought it was cute.”
Michael laughed. She was full of surprises. Smart. Beautiful. Witty. “I thought I pulled off the southern charm quite well,” he said, speaking in his English accent.
Wow! That felt good. He was no actor, but after six weeks of pretending to be something that he was not, he had a new found appreciation for their craft.
Hope picked up on the extreme deviation from his poorly crafted southern drawl and the natural flow of his normal tongue. “So where are you from really?”
“I’m from England,” he answered coyly. “London.”
“All hail the king.” She didn’t know that she had hit the nail directly on the head.
Michael froze. Did she know his other secret as well?
“So, where in London?” she continued, completely missing his quiet hysteria.
The tension immediately eased in his broad shoulders when he knew that his secret was still safe. But it did raise another interesting question, one that had to be quickly answered. How did one explain a residence at Buckingham Palace? “I’d like to think that I’m from the heart of it,” he said with a smug grin. Every man had to have a few secrets, right?
She frowned now, trying to put the pieces together. His story still didn’t make sense. “Why the accent though? Why not just be a guy from London?”
“Oh, that’s a long story. Let’s just say that I’m hiding out.”
“From the police?” Now she was intrigued. Has she met a real international criminal?
“No, from my family, from my friends and my life,” he answered truthfully. “I needed a break from it all. So, I came here.”
Her voice hardened. Was it all lies? “Is your real name Michael?”
His voice softened. “Yes.”
The domino effect created so many questions for her; she didn’t know where to begin. “What do you do?”
A Richard question. “I’m finding myself.” He slipped his free hand in his pocket. “But I am looking for a job.” And a wife, he thought inwardly.
“Okay. What do you like to do then?” A reasonable second question.
“I like to read. I love art. I love traveling. I love teaching. I’ve been all over. And the most calm that I ever was would have to have been when I was in Zimbabwe. I taught a small group of young men there for a few weeks. It was exhilarating. Their thirst for knowledge was addictive. I stayed up every night with them talking and teaching until my eyes were so heavy, I could barely keep them open.” Talking about it brought back nostalgia.
Hope liked
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