kitchen.
“Maybe,” I say hesitantly, unsure if I ought to be voicing such things, “if we both have nightmares at the same time again, we can hunt down that chocolate and I’ll make us some cocoa.”
He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes inscrutable for once in the shadows of darkness and poor lighting. “Not a hot cocoa virgin then?”
My staged whisper is mocking. “I am twenty-eight years old!”
An easy grin reappears. “I’ve never had a princess make me hot cocoa before.”
“I’ve never drank it with a prince before, either.”
He chuckles quietly. It is a wonderful sound, one that raises goose bumps along my arms, underneath the cashmere of my sleeves. “Then that will be another series of firsts for us.”
I take another sip of milk. “That sounds like a club. The Royal First Club, or the RFC.”
The weight of his eyes settle upon me once more, and I feel foolish for uttering such a silly, presumptuous thing. But then he releases that perfect exhale of amusement again. “Let us be the founding members of this RFC. And as such, I issue you a challenge: outside of tonight’s milk and éclairs, we each must determine three more firsts to experience during three a.m. over the course of the week before we leave.”
If I did not know better, I might admit the muscle in my chest skips a beat at such a thought. “If we are running amuck at three a.m. each night, you and I shall be terribly tired during all of our meetings.”
“I’ve got a confession for you, Els. I’m fairly confident I’ll be tired during them anyway. Have you had a look at the itinerary for heirs yet? It’s boring as all sod. We’ll be keen to nap during those hours anyway.”
He called me Els again. Prince Charming has officially charmed me—at least tonight, at least in this kitchen. “I accept your challenge.”
Skipped beats transitions to sprinting when the corners of his lips tick upward. “You have until cocktails after dinner tonight to suggest another first. I’ll suggest one, too. And then we’ll decide, together, which of our firsts to cross off our lists. Or perhaps even do both.”
Together.
I have been drinking milk, but there is peanut butter in my throat. What am I doing? I ought to turn around and walk away, but when he sticks out his hand, mine goes out, too. And like before, his lips meet the back of my knuckles for the smallest of orgasmic moments.
“All the best deals are sealed with a kiss,” he says lightly.
I am a bloody idiot.
chapter 14
Elsa
I am cranky and in possession of dark bags beneath my eyes that no amount of cream and makeup can conceal the next morning. Or rather, later the same morning. Once I returned to my room, Isabelle and my father were snoring louder than ever. The milk helped, but Christian did not. That sexy accent of his haunted what precious few dreams I had.
“You look terrible,” Isabelle helpfully confirms as we make our way to breakfast. Our father ran into a friend in the hallway and sent us ahead. Nothing makes a woman feel more childish than being escorted by a parent. And as such, I am not heartbroken in the least over his absence.
My smile is in no way joyful. “How lucky that I can always count on you for the brutal truth.” Perhaps I ought to point out she is exquisite as always right now. Of course, she did not have to listen to the deafening noises she and my father were making last night, either.
“I saw you talking with Mathieu last night.”
“We spoke,” I confirm.
“And?”
“We snuck out of the party and made rabid, passionate love behind one of the palm trees. I am pregnant, and we decided to name the baby Raffaello, move to Italy, buy a villa, and cultivate an olive grove so we can press our own bottles of oil. Our tagline will have something to do with having the most royal of all olive oils. He and I will rusticate happily in the countryside whilst you assume the throne in
“Maybe,” I say hesitantly, unsure if I ought to be voicing such things, “if we both have nightmares at the same time again, we can hunt down that chocolate and I’ll make us some cocoa.”
He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes inscrutable for once in the shadows of darkness and poor lighting. “Not a hot cocoa virgin then?”
My staged whisper is mocking. “I am twenty-eight years old!”
An easy grin reappears. “I’ve never had a princess make me hot cocoa before.”
“I’ve never drank it with a prince before, either.”
He chuckles quietly. It is a wonderful sound, one that raises goose bumps along my arms, underneath the cashmere of my sleeves. “Then that will be another series of firsts for us.”
I take another sip of milk. “That sounds like a club. The Royal First Club, or the RFC.”
The weight of his eyes settle upon me once more, and I feel foolish for uttering such a silly, presumptuous thing. But then he releases that perfect exhale of amusement again. “Let us be the founding members of this RFC. And as such, I issue you a challenge: outside of tonight’s milk and éclairs, we each must determine three more firsts to experience during three a.m. over the course of the week before we leave.”
If I did not know better, I might admit the muscle in my chest skips a beat at such a thought. “If we are running amuck at three a.m. each night, you and I shall be terribly tired during all of our meetings.”
“I’ve got a confession for you, Els. I’m fairly confident I’ll be tired during them anyway. Have you had a look at the itinerary for heirs yet? It’s boring as all sod. We’ll be keen to nap during those hours anyway.”
He called me Els again. Prince Charming has officially charmed me—at least tonight, at least in this kitchen. “I accept your challenge.”
Skipped beats transitions to sprinting when the corners of his lips tick upward. “You have until cocktails after dinner tonight to suggest another first. I’ll suggest one, too. And then we’ll decide, together, which of our firsts to cross off our lists. Or perhaps even do both.”
Together.
I have been drinking milk, but there is peanut butter in my throat. What am I doing? I ought to turn around and walk away, but when he sticks out his hand, mine goes out, too. And like before, his lips meet the back of my knuckles for the smallest of orgasmic moments.
“All the best deals are sealed with a kiss,” he says lightly.
I am a bloody idiot.
chapter 14
Elsa
I am cranky and in possession of dark bags beneath my eyes that no amount of cream and makeup can conceal the next morning. Or rather, later the same morning. Once I returned to my room, Isabelle and my father were snoring louder than ever. The milk helped, but Christian did not. That sexy accent of his haunted what precious few dreams I had.
“You look terrible,” Isabelle helpfully confirms as we make our way to breakfast. Our father ran into a friend in the hallway and sent us ahead. Nothing makes a woman feel more childish than being escorted by a parent. And as such, I am not heartbroken in the least over his absence.
My smile is in no way joyful. “How lucky that I can always count on you for the brutal truth.” Perhaps I ought to point out she is exquisite as always right now. Of course, she did not have to listen to the deafening noises she and my father were making last night, either.
“I saw you talking with Mathieu last night.”
“We spoke,” I confirm.
“And?”
“We snuck out of the party and made rabid, passionate love behind one of the palm trees. I am pregnant, and we decided to name the baby Raffaello, move to Italy, buy a villa, and cultivate an olive grove so we can press our own bottles of oil. Our tagline will have something to do with having the most royal of all olive oils. He and I will rusticate happily in the countryside whilst you assume the throne in
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