The Prince and I

by R. S. Lively

  Chapter Eleven

  Luca

  Something about her eyes. I know her from somewhere. She is so familiar in every way. Her brown eyes, paired with those long lashes framing her chocolate orbs, seduce me. “I’ll see you for dinner, oui?” Reluctantly, I release her hand, and she stares at it before lifting her eyes to me. The space between her brows wrinkles, showing how deep she is thinking.

  She clears her throat, finally dropping her hand. “Yeah, definitely. I might catch a nap even though I slept on the plane ride here.”

  “Jet lag is a real thing, plus the time difference. I’m not surprised that you’re tired. I won’t keep you.”

  She mumbles something under her breath, but I don’t understand it. “What is that?”

  “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  I don’t want to leave. I want to lie down with her and hold her close. I want to wake up with her in my arms, pull her close, and slide my cock inside her and wake her up properly. I turn myself away so she won’t see the tent popping up in my trousers. “Sleep well.” I step out of her room and close the door and take a deep breath to relax myself.

  I need to get away from her, or I’ll slam her against the wall and kiss her within an inch of her life. I’m too wound up. I stride down the hall and go to my room. There are still a few hours until dinner, and I have no idea what to do with time between now and then. I pace, back and forth in front of my four-post bed. Pinching my bottom lip with my fingers, I wonder where I know this woman from.

  Her hands, her lips, the delicate cheekbones, her eyes, I know them from somewhere. I don’t know where though. The thought drives me crazy. I run my hand through my hair next, pulling the long strands, reminding myself that I need a haircut. I cannot believe this. I have a beautiful woman in my home that makes my heart wild in my chest like Rosie from the ball. I hurry toward my dresser and run my fingers along the pearl bracelet sitting on top. “What should I do with you?” I ask it, stroking the beads that hold the memory of the day my life changed.

  I can’t move forward with this woman in the house until I put this behind me, but I don’t know how. I’ve been thinking about her every day for months, planning a trip to find her, carrying this bracelet around like it will magically lead me to her. “You’re a fool, Luca,” I tell myself. Opening the drawer, I set down with precision and care, not wanting to scratch the fine jewelry. It isn’t mine, so it is my responsibility to take care of it.

  Watching it disappear after I close the drawer hurts a bit. It is like imagining a dream and watching it fade away, but it has to be done. I loosen my tie and pull out one of the cigars from the inner corner pocket of my jacket, rolling it between my fingers. Snatching a glass and a bottle of scotch from my bed, I open the sliding glass door to the balcony and sit. The decanter the whiskey is in shines from the last hues of the sun. I pour myself a glass and pick up the box of matches lying on the table.

  The red head of the match strikes the box, a burst a fire appearing along with a bit of smoke. Putting the cigar between my lips, I roll the expensive tobacco on my tongue and wrap my lips around it. I hold my hand to block the breeze as I puff, making sure to light the cigar evenly. I shake the match until the fire extinguishes and place it in the ash tray, taking a long hit on the cigar. I blow the smoke in the air and let the breeze carry it. I wash it down with a quick gulp of amber liquid, leaving a lasting burn in my throat.

  “Yeah, burn the crazy out of me,” I say to myself, swishing a mouthful of liquid in my mouth. Something needs to give. There’s no way it is so normal to be so wrapped up in a woman someone only knows for a day. Maybe I’m crazy to be so infatuated. It was a night I’ll never forget but one I need to let go of. Until then, the bracelet can stay in the dresser, burning a hole through the wood, but I can’t ignore the electrical currents flowing between me and Ms. Caldwell. Something is telling me to follow it.

  It’s a small world that Mr. Caldwell’s daughter is in my home. I wonder if she was at the ball all those months ago—most likely not, considering the situation with her father that night. What a terrible thing to happen on a night that was supposed to be full of joy. The sun sets, painting the sky in a mirage of different colors. Pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows blend above me, the night stars trying to peek through the bright colors, but it just isn’t late enough yet. The water that surrounds the castle glimmers from the ripples created by the breeze. I love my country. It is so beautiful.

  I relaxed a little too much, because the next thing I know, a knock sounds at the door and it is Marcel telling me dinner is ready. I pull my sleeve up to look at my watch and curse. Damn, time really got away from me. His footsteps get further from the door as he travels down the hallway to let everyone else know about dinner. I run to the bathroom to see how I look, and when my reflection catches my eye, I cringe. My hair is a mess, my shirt is halfway untucked, and my tie is crooked and loose. I look rough.

  As fast as I can, I tuck the white long-sleeved shirt back inside my pants and fix my tie, tightening it to my neck again. The perfect Windsor knot. I’ve tied so many of them I can do it in my sleep. I put my hand in front of my mouth and huff, wincing from the smoke still lingering on my tongue. I open the cabinet beneath the sink and take out some mouthwash. After taking a swig, I hum an ACDC song for thirty seconds—no one knows this, but classic rock is my vice. I spit the blue wash down the drain and take one last look in the mirror. “Good enough,” I say, pulling on the lapels on my jacket.

  Opening the door, I stare at the one Ms. Caldwell is behind. Is she still in there or is she already down in the dining area? I lift my hand to knock, to see if I can accompany her down to dinner; when I drop my fist. I don’t want to bother her.

  I keep my chin high and take my time going down the stairs. Once my feet hit the floor, I take a right, pass the kitchen, and make a left. The long table seats twenty people, and Marcel and a few of the kitchen staff are standing to the side. Two large bowls full of bright green lettuce are set on each end of the table, along with mashed potatoes, steaming rolls and cooked hens on each plate. It smells divine.

  Ms. Caldwell and her boss, Graham, are already seated. Graham is sitting next to her, and I have my suspicions that he wants more from her than her brains. He wants her. Over my dead body. I take the other chair next to her and give her a big grin. I don’t miss the side-eyed glance Graham gives me, but I don’t give a shit. He is a horrible human being. A man like that isn’t getting a dime of royal money.

  “Did you sleep well?” I ask, unfolding the napkin in my lap.

  A light pink hue ghosts over her cheeks and she looks down, fiddling with her thumbs. “I did, thank you. I feel a lot better.”

  “Good, I’m glad,” I say before staring at my father, who’s sitting at the head of the table, like a king does. I notice Mother isn’t here. “Is the queen coming?” I ask, not wanting to be too informal in calling her Mother.

  “No, she still needs rest,” the king says, taking a big gulp of wine from the crystal glass. There’s a hint of unease in his eyes, something that makes my stomach turn. I have such a strong feeling she didn’t pass out from dehydration. They aren’t telling me something. Again.

  I will find out, no matter the cost.

  “Oh, I hope she is alright. If there is anything I can do, please let me know,” Ms. Caldwell says, moving slightly to the left, closer to Graham, as Marcel loads her plate. I wish she moved closer to me, but the way Marcel is leaning over her, she has no other choice. I place my hand on her knee, making sure not to touch Marcel’s leg. It is very kind of her to tell my father that. It isn’t easy to offer a part of yourself when sitting at a table where a king sits.

  My father dips his head and pats his mouth with a white napkin, wiping the red fluid away, staining the disposable sheet. “Thank you, Ms. Caldwell. That’s very kind of you. She will get better in time.” But even I hear the doubt laden in his tone.

  “So, Graham. What are your plans for the
kingdom?” I ask, shoving a spoonful of mash potatoes in my mouth.

  “Tell them,” he says as he pushes Ms. Caldwell’s side, causing her to spill her drink all over her plate, ruining her food.

  “Oh, dear. Ms. Caldwell, I’ll replace that right away for you.” Marcel ushers the staff into the kitchen, and he comes to her rescue, taking the cup and plate and giving her fresh napkins.

  I push out of my seat and grab Kimmel by the shirt. “You owe her an apology.”

  “I don’t owe her anything. She works for me.” Kimmel tries to wiggle out of my grasp, but I push him down in his seat with more force.

  “You owe her an apology.”

  “It’s fine, Prince Addington. It was a mistake. Right, Graham?” She laughs it off while dabbing the wine off her hands.

  “Right,” he replies, curling his lip.

  What a disrespectful little shit. I let go of him and kneel on the other side of her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I swear. It’s just wine.”

  I cut my eyes over to Graham, who’s stuffing his face with our food. I don’t like wasting good food on bad people—I hate doing that. But he is my father’s guest, so I can’t be too rude. Not yet, anyway. “Okay. I trust you.” I do trust her, but I don’t trust him. I’ll have to keep my eyes on him. “You know, we haven’t been probably introduced. I don’t feel right calling you Ms. Caldwell.”

  Marcel brings her a fresh plate and she cuts into the hen; taking a big chunk out of its breast. She hums as she chews, holding up her finger to signal she is going to be a minute.

  “Sorry about that. I guess I’m kind of like a waiter. I’m always interrupting at the worst times,” I try to joke.

  Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she takes a sip of wine and holds out her hand. “My name is Rosie. I guess I should have started with that.”

  “What did you just say?” Everything starts to click into place. Her eyes, her mouth, the blush that takes over her cheeks, her soft voice, the feel of her hand. It’s her. She’s come to me like Mother said she would.

  She tilts her head in confusion. “My name. It’s Rosie.”

  I slide my hand into hers, and that familiar jolt of attraction surges under my skin. “It’s nice to meet you, Rosie. I’m Luca.” I watch the emotions play over her eyes as the shock, happiness and disbelief stops.

  Time stops.

  Her free hand covers her mouth in shock, and she lets out a breath that I can feel from where I sit. It smells of wine, and I bet her tongue taste just like it. I want to find out.

  “Luca?” she asks, roaming her eyes over me like she is trying to verify what just happened.

  “It’s me,” I say, bringing her hand to my mouth and giving the inside of her palm a kiss like I did the night of the ball.

  “It’s you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rosie

  This can’t be real, but as I stare into Luca’s familiar blue eyes, I know that it is him, the man who changed my reality. I can’t believe it. It can’t be. He is the Prince of Belgium? Are you kidding me? No wonder I never saw him again in Billings. It explains the accent, too. His foreign tongue makes me think of all the things he can whisper into my ear. They will be sweet nothings to him, but sweet everythings to me.

  I clutch his hand with all my might, afraid he might he disappear like I did at the ball. “Luca,” I whisper.

  “It’s me.” He brings my hand to his lips, kissing the inside of my palm like he did at the ball.

  “It’s you.” Tears prickle my eyes from the relief taking over my body.

  “Who is he? How do you know him, Rosie?” Graham asks, ruining the moment like he always does.

  “I don’t think it is any of your business,” Luca snaps. His hand trembles in mine, and I know he is holding himself back from throwing his fist into Graham’s face.

  I know that because I am.

  Graham sits his fork down and huffs. “It is my business. She is my employee. If I would have known she knew you, I never would have brought her. This is a huge conflict of interest.”

  “Like the way you feel for her isn’t,” Luca hisses. “I see how you look at her. How you treat her. Like she is some object you need to possess. Well, not while I’m around.”

  This situation was too much. The man of my dreams is here, alive, well, and next in line for the throne, and apparently possessive. Graham is a dirtbag who wants me for some…reason. And everyone’s eyes are on me. My face heats with embarrassment, and the fight-or-flight response kicks in. I push myself away from the table and blink away tears. “I’m sorry. I can’t… I need to go.” I dart away, leaving the situation behind. I need space. I need time to think.

  “Rosie!” Luca shouts after me.

  I sprint down the old castle hallways until I get to the door we came in at. I burst the door open, the night air hitting my face. The crisp ice air invades my throat and freezes my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t know why. I want to be with Luca. It’s something I’ve dreamed about for months, but so much has happened since then. He is a prince, for goodness’ sake. What would he do with a poor secretary? I can’t bring anything to this family.

  And Graham makes me feel so uncomfortable all the time. I feel the need to scrub my skin clean every time I’m near him.

  I just need to breathe.

  I see the small footbridge ahead and run toward it. My hair whips through the breeze, and my eyes water from the harsh coolness hanging in the air. My shoes bounce against the grass, but as soon as my feet hit the bridge, the wood shakes beneath me.

  “Rosie!” Luca calls out to me again, but I can’t stop pumping my arms and running as far away from the situation as possible.

  I know I'm being a coward. I need to be better and face my problems, but all I’ve done is avoid them over the past few months. Life keeps hitting me left and right, leaving me battered and bruised. I can’t handle it anymore. I don’t want anything to do with Graham, and I don’t want to get close to Luca only for him to realize he doesn’t need me.

  Because who would need someone like me?

  I let out a soft sob, still running through the tall grass of the fields. They lash out and hit my arms, leaving a sting from the morning dew. A barn shows up ahead, old and worn out, with a few broken pieces. It looks like it has been abandoned, and I change the direction of my path.

  “Oh, no you don’t.”

  An arm wraps around my waist, and I shout in surprise and a bit of dread. I've been caught. “Put me down!”

  “Not a chance,” he whispers in my ear, picking up until my feet come off the ground.

  I kick and squirm, screaming, “Let me go!” I try to get out of his strong, tight embrace, but it's to no avail.

  “Never. I’ve been waiting for you for months. I’ve been wondering if you were even real, and here you are. You aren’t running from me anymore. Once was enough.”

  I sag against him in defeat, leaning my head on his shoulder, the fight leaving my body.

  “Stop fighting me,” he demands and his breath ghosts over my ear, making my body tremble, and reminding me of that night we shared.

  “I’m not fighting you.”

  He sets me down and spins me around, my eyes meeting his flushed face. His cheeks are red, and his forehead is sweaty. His suit is a wreck. Mud grips onto his pant legs and his shoes are ruined as well. Great, I ruined the prince’s clothing. What’s that going to cost? I don’t have the money to replace them.

  He cups my face and I lean into his touch, closing my eyes, and taking in the feel of his fingertips against my skin. I’ve dreamed of this moment a hundred times, and I never thought it would come true, let alone happen in the middle of a field next to an abandoned barn. “Talk to me.”

  “I get overwhelmed. I don’t like a lot of attention. I haven’t been that great around people in a long time. I’m just… I…”

  “...Need breathing room,” he finishes, st
aring into my eyes like he understands me.

  My shoulders drop when I realize he understands me. I no longer need to explain myself. “Yes, that’s all.”

  “I won’t lie. After being away from you for months, dreaming about you, wishing for you...”—he pushes back the pieces of hair that have fallen in front of my face, his light, simple touch seducing me—“I don’t know if I can ever give you breathing room again,” he says with a chuckle.

  I step closer, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I don’t need it from you. You’ve given me plenty of months,” I say as I try to lighten the mood. My chest still heaves from the exertion of running. He doesn’t seem affected, though. I bet he runs every day, because his body seems immaculate.

  “Not intentionally. You are the one who ran from me,” he teases.

  “Not intentionally.” I steal his words, mocking him.

  He brings his face closer, tilting his head, and another image from the night we met flashes before my eyes. Our first kiss. The images fit perfectly together, the way he moves now, the way he moved then. His hands hold my face, but when our lips meet, it isn’t a kiss of exploration or uncertainty like it was last time. This time, it is well-known, since we have already tasted each other’s need and curiosity.

  Luca takes my mouth like a hungry animal. It’s rough and demanding, and it makes my body melt into his. I moan into his mouth, throwing my arms around his neck and diving my tongue into him again. I can’t believe I’m here. I have to wonder if fate is real, because what are the chances of seeing the man who controls my dreams again? In Belgium, out of all places!

  His fingers dig into my sides and I whimper, moving my hands from his neck to his face. I need more of him. It’s been too long. “I’ve needed you,” I say between kisses.

  “You have no idea,” he growls, moving his hold to the back of my head and pushing me harder against his lips.

  It’s like another person possesses me. I jump, wrapping my legs around him and needing to be closer. He is real. I can’t believe he is real. The one man who makes me feel beautiful. Makes me feel strong. I’m not overlooked with him. He sees me.