“That’s a horrible question to ask.” Kelsey took slow, halting steps backward. Away from her. “Don’t make me answer it.”
“I think you’d damned well better.”
“You know I love you, Mallory. But I have a duty now, to the House of Villani. You’re the one who drummed that into me, made me understand it. It’s time you came to terms with it as well.”
Then Kelsey turned on her heel and ran. Ran like rabid wolves were right behind her.
She ran like she couldn’t risk sticking around to hear what Mallory’s response might be.
She ran to the palace. To her new role as a royal. Away from the woman who she’d always loved like a sister.
Was this their line in the sand? They’d survived setting aside their dreams of living and working in Manhattan. They’d uprooted and traveled around the world, to live surrounded by strangers. They’d accepted the unimaginable fact that they were not, in fact, sisters. Through all of it, they’d been each other’s touchpoints.
But now…now that Mallory had accidentally found a man who was everything she never knew she wanted, who treated her well, who made her feel good…Kelsey expected her to turn her back on all that?
Did she have to give up Christian to mend her relationship with Kelsey?
Could it ever be the same if Kelsey did, indeed, force this choice on her?
Mallory dropped to the cold ground, put her head on her knees, and wept.
Chapter Thirteen
Christian’s phone beeped a notification. He reached for it on the floor and felt the pull of his jacket at his shoulder.
Why was he still wearing his suit jacket?
“Unacceptable,” he growled.
It was after ten on a Saturday night. He was alone. No press, no politicians, no staff, no bodyguard. When had he morphed into a man who fucking relaxed in a suit jacket?
Since stepping up, covering for his father, he’d had to suit up more often. A daily basis, if not more when he had to change into formal attire for dinner. Sir Kai had pointedly reminded him back in June that showing up to meetings in jeans didn’t fly for the man “representing” the king.
Was it a small thing? A blip of discomfort?
Sure.
But it also pointed to an acceptance of his new station in life. His new life. The one he hadn’t planned on starting for at least another thirty years.
Christian wanted a hoodie so bad his teeth ached.
He wanted to walk over to the glass case on the wall containing the Scepter of King Stephen that every king for the past 699 years had used at their coronations, rip it out, and rub the golden pinecone on top of it.
And then he damn well expected a gray fleece hoodie to magically appear on his shoulders.
Because if that damned golden staff was going to magically change his life, he wanted it to start right this minute.
Christian gave it a solid twenty seconds. In his current burn it all down mood, that counted for…what…about a week’s worth of patience? When no hoodie appeared, he took matters into his own hands.
He grabbed the back of his collar. Tried to rip the coat off in one smooth move, like he did with his Henleys.
But his impatient frustration bit him in the ass, as always. As Christian stepped forward, not looking at anything but the damned jacket, he caught the tip of his polished loafer on the edge of the rug. That tipped him onto the semicircle of ottomans he’d created.
His free hand stopped him from landing on his head. The all-important royal kingmaker had landed on the cushion, but both of his legs were splayed off the sides. And he was still in his damned coat.
This couldn’t be more of a shit show.
“Your Highness?”
Well, he’d sure jinxed himself. Christian didn’t need to be able to see to recognize Mallory’s voice.
Christian gave in to gravity and rolled off the ottoman in a somersault. Kept rolling until he regained his feet. Giving up on removal, he shrugged fully back into his coat. Smoothing his tie—why the fuck was he still wearing a tie, too?—he said, “Lady Mallory. It’s a pleasure to see you this evening.”
She stepped fully into the throne room, and the footman on the other side of the door closed it behind her. “No guard?”
“He’s outside.”
Mallory sauntered down the length of the thick purple carpet, stamped with golden pinecones down the edges. A smirk thinned her lips. “What was that…thing I just witnessed? Are you a secret student of modern dance? Did you have a cramp? Or did your jacket get taken over by a demon, summoned by the King of Lithuania to assassinate you in a way that would leave no trace and thus leave Moncriano open to pillaging?”
The smirk had transformed to full-blown giggles by the time she finished.
“Lithuania doesn’t have a king,” he said shortly. Guess she hadn’t noticed that he was having a moment. That he needed sympathy, not snark.
“Ah. I see. Their lack of a king is the problem. Not the fact that there hasn’t been a successful demon summoning in, oh, ever?”
Fuck it.
Christian knew it was a stupid thing to have a temper tantrum about, but he’d been circling his breaking point for weeks. And accepting his king-to-be uniform—or the realization that he had—tipped him over the edge.
So he’d take a chance on letting Mallory see him at his worst. That was a perk of having a real girlfriend, right?
He gripped her shoulders, rested his forehead on hers, and said with a solemn intensity, “I don’t want to be wearing this coat. I shouldn’t be. Not now.”
There was a beat of silence. An awkward one, what with his face on hers meaning they were literally exchanging breaths. It was probably her catching up on his mood. Or rather the ridiculousness of his mood.
One that shouldn’t be shoved onto anyone else.
It was a mistake.
But then a miracle happened.
After smiling up at him with all the warmth as if he’d just complimented her, Mallory said, “Let me rescue you from it.”
Ever so slowly, Mallory flattened her palms onto his stomach. She pushed them up, framing his tie, then out to slip the coat from his shoulders. She kept the pace slow as she tugged it down to his elbows.
Then she took one more step in. It brought them touching; thigh to thigh, chest to chest. And going up on tiptoe, she also brought them lip to lip. A whisper-soft brush, back and forth.
Christian tried to embrace her, but she’d imprisoned him in the jacket. So he stood and just let her minister to him. Tiny kisses up to his cheekbone. Back down around to the other side. While she kissed, her fingertips made soothing circles on his scalp.
Stepping back again, she tugged the tie loose of its knot. Still moving in slo-mo, Mallory kept pulling, uncurling it from around his neck. Once it dropped to the floor, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt. Peeled open the collar and pressed a kiss just below the hollow of his throat.
Only then did she push the coat down, past his wrists. Hooking it from one finger, she asked, “Is that better?”
“Immeasurably.”
Better than three shots of scotch. Better than a four-handed massage. Better than the combination of both of those. She’d soothed him, distracted him, and melted away the rough edges of frustration and temper.
She dropped the coat next to his tie. “Rough day?”
“Long day. Rough five minutes right before you came in.”
Mallory turned in a semicircle. Her gaze deliberately flicked over the purple velvet-topped ottomans holding a plate of plump persimmon cookies coated in a thick white glaze, the iPad, and the phone blaring rockabilly jazz. “What were you doing?”
“Officially? Planning Elias’s thirtieth birthday blowout.”
One arched eyebrow inched up. “In the throne room?”
&
nbsp; Why not? Everyone kept telling him it was where he belonged. On the throne.
He’d spent his whole life avoiding it. To Christian, it represented sadness. It symbolized the eventual death of his father. The unremitting march toward taking his place.
Christian cracked his neck, side to side. Shook out his arms. Successfully resisted shuddering. “I don’t come in here. I hate it. It’s the one place I know he’d never look for me.”
“If Elias is looking for you, wouldn’t he just ask the security detail for your location, like I did?” She broke off half of a cookie, nibbling at the edge.
“Nope. He’d see that as an abuse of his position. A breach of my personal privacy and palace protocol. Eli may be my best friend, but he bends over backward to ensure that no one could accuse him of special treatment.”
Mallory’s eyes flared wide. “Did I break the rules by asking Sofia to find you?”
“No.” He was about to say she was family but remembered at the last second that wasn’t the relationship he needed to strengthen. “We’re dating. That gives you all access. This place isn’t a four-bedroom condo. It’d take too long for you to hunt me down. I’m thrilled you sought me out.”
Christian felt like he’d been using a tractor to pull Mallory out of the friend zone. It was a huge step that she’d taken the initiative to look for him. He sat on an ottoman and gestured for her to come sit on his lap.
She perched on his knee, twining one ankle around the back of his calf. “I missed you. Since we’re sort of living together, I took advantage of an unannounced pop-in. Totally unorthodox for a couple who’s only been on one date. But our whole situation is light years outside the normal box.”
“To say the least.” Christian dialed down the volume on the music. Took what felt like his first deep breath of the day. Screw the big-ass throne behind him, looming over his future. He had his woman on his lap, good tunes, and the whole night ahead of them that suddenly felt full of possibility.
Mallory traced along the edge of his lower lip. “I doubt that planning a party tipped you over the edge just now. What’s the unofficial thing you were doing when I found you?”
“Wearing a suit late on a Saturday night.” It was a huge relief when she didn’t immediately laugh, or roll her eyes. Mallory listened with her heart, soul, and body when he opened up to her. She made what he was saying feel as important to her as it was to him. “That led to a whole dark moment of the soul thing. I don’t want to be king yet, but it looks like part of me has accepted it as inevitable. I freaked out.”
She angled to look around him at the throne. Did a long, slow scan of the length of the ornate room, with its ten-foot-tall gold-framed mirrors alternating with french doors. Then she angled back a little bit to stare at him. “You know that’s just a title, just a job.”
Her American was showing. “It’s more than that. It’s a duty, an honor, a massive responsibility to be the father to my people. It’s centuries of history on my shoulders that I can’t let down.”
“Yes. All of that. Horribly serious and weighty. My point is, at the end of the day, suit or no suit, you’re still you. You’re still Christian. The same man who didn’t lounge around in suits six months ago.” Mallory brushed the cookie crumbs from her fingers and then tapped his sternum. “What’s inside you hasn’t changed.”
He enveloped her hand with his, loving the way it felt on his heart. “Sitting here, with you, I almost believe it.”
“If nothing else, whenever you’re with me, you know it’s true.”
How did Mallory know precisely what he needed to hear? “That’s a helpful perspective. Thank you.”
“I’ll take my payment in another cookie.” She tried to lunge for the plate, but he held her fast.
“I’m not normally big on sharing cookies this spectacular—”
Mallory hooted. “Please. It isn’t just the cookies. I hear you’re horrible at sharing your food. People won’t say one bad word about you, for the most part, but the stories of you defending your plate are many and varied. While also stealing off everyone else’s.”
“Rumors. Gossip. Royal-haters. You’ve more than earned as many cookies as you like. I’m done with the party planning for now, so I’ll join you.”
Mallory let out a long sigh. “Party planning.”
“That’s a pretty dismal sigh for such an innocuous activity.”
“That’s all I’m good for anymore. Throwing parties. And I’ll admit to feeling sorry for myself, so I have an excuse to eat three cookies to cheer myself up.”
Her dissatisfaction didn’t make sense. He’d heard they settled on the orphan charity for Kelsey’s first patronage. Raising money for children without parents was about as meaningful as it got.
“You do realize your party planning isn’t about gift bags and the right cheese course being served. Its endgame is raising money for a very worthwhile charity. Isn’t that the same thing you did at your old job, back in America? Raise funds for worthwhile causes?”
“Yes. Technically.”
Christian sucked at introspection. His own problems usually spiraled him into frustration. Where he got stuck far too long.
Helping someone else sort out their issues, however, made him feel useful. Which, as a royal, he really needed boosts of on a regular basis. He hated that Mallory was dissatisfied with her new life in his country. So he’d fix it.
He rubbed slow circles on her back. “My sweet, transitions are rough. You’ve only been at this a month, and most of that was probably getting acclimated to how things work over here. Keep plowing forward. This can be fun and meaningful for you.”
“But I’m only doing it on Kelsey’s behalf. I’m an invisible cog. God, that sounds self-centered. I don’t want a ticker-tape parade, or even my name in the program. I just want to be able to make my own decisions and not carry out someone else’s agenda.”
Oh, Christian was very familiar with that feeling. Dozens of people told him what to do “for the good of the people,” “for the good of your family,” or “for the good of the throne.” His actual opinion was the last thing that counted on that list.
“Look, the money rolls in either way. Because of that, lives are changed. I know how hard it is to be missing one parent, let alone two. This is a good thing you’re doing with this charity.”
Mallory leaned her head sideways against his. “All I want is to make a difference.”
Talk about a problem that needed no solving. “You do. To me. Every conversation, every moment we spend together. You’ve made every day better since we got together.”
“Christian.” She turned another inch to drop a kiss onto his lips. “That’s got to be an exaggeration, but I’ll take it.”
“An exaggeration?” That nipped at his pride. Ego. But it worried him, too. Shouldn’t they be in equivalent places in this relationship? Not that he had any experience to base that on—it was more of a hope. “Are you saying you don’t feel the same way about me?”
…
An insecure prince? That was the last thing Mallory expected to discover in the throne room, of all places.
Of course, she also hadn’t expected him to be so open about his feelings for her.
She’d expected him to be…cautious? No, guarded. Especially after saying that he didn’t have serious relationships. Not to mention the whole possible-engagement-to-someone-else-in-six-months issue looming over them.
Mallory had been prepared to play it equally cool. Partly because she was still smarting from her fight with Kelsey. But also to protect herself. To stay one step behind him in revelations and endearments. Because she didn’t let herself forget that this was a fun-for-now relationship. That they both knew it would and had to end.
Now, though, she realized that it wasn’t fair to Christian to hold back. It was, in fact, a lie. By omission, but still a lie.
“I…no…I wouldn’t say that at all.” No. She wouldn’t let Kelsey’s judgment—or the threat of the entire kingdom’s judgment—hold her back from being honest with him. Shifting back, she cupped a hand to her mouth and whispered into his ear, “I’m not supposed to admit it, though. It’d be dangerous to admit how much I care for you already.”
Ahhh. Relief sluiced over his face. “Not if I admit how close I hold you in my heart.”
Ohhh, her prince had a way with words. Good thing Mallory was already on his muscular thigh, because her knees surely would’ve buckled at his declaration. “That’s utterly charming.”
“It’s true.”
“Prove it.” Mallory flashed a saucy smirk. Then she undid two more buttons on his shirt. Because she wasn’t sure if either of them was ready to divulge any further feelings. It was enough, for now. The safer course of action was to let their actions speak louder than their words. “We were both feeling lousy ten minutes ago. How about we make ourselves feel good?”
“Are you trying to get me into bed? Because I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here right now.”
“Not bed. Here. Right now.”
The echo of his words had a completely different meaning than he’d given them. Maybe it was a dumb suggestion. Disrespectful, even? Would she suggest having sex in the Oval Office?
If she was dating the president? Absolutely. But Moncriano seemed more…hard core in their respect that verged on adulation for the royal family than Americans felt for the occupants of the White House. She hoped that she hadn’t offended him.
Geez, being with a prince was full of unexpected trickiness.
“Don’t tease, woman,” he growled. Sliding his hand up, Christian palmed her breast through the flannel shirt. And the skintight tank. And her bra. “I’m the man who first had you in the office of a bar. You know I’m more than willing to have sex outside the bedroom.”
Okay, he wasn’t mortally offended. Great. “The way I see it, the palace—all of it—is your house. We’re just a conventional couple on a Saturday night, getting busy with it in their home.”
Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals) Page 17