Christmas with a Prince

by Noelle Adams

  “So you lied to me? That’s how you decided to find the real thing?”

  “No! I tried not to lie. I tried very hard not to lie. I know I kept the truth from you, but I made sure never to directly lie. Maybe it doesn’t matter.” He looked away briefly with a little toss of his head. “I know it doesn’t matter, but I did try. I wanted you to see me as just a regular guy, to see if maybe you could... you could see something you wanted in just me.”

  I was breathing heavily, again wanting so much to believe him, feeling like he was telling me the truth. “But why me?” I asked in a broken rasp. “Why me, if not because my dad is rich?”

  He met my eyes for a long moment before he glanced away. “My parents met up with your dad a couple of months ago when he was in Europe. My dad really liked yours, and my mother... Well, she’s always trying to match her kids up with rich families. That much is true. My mom thought of you because your dad is rich. She told me about you and I...” He was staring at the table now, as if he were embarrassed to admit this. “I liked what I saw. I wanted to meet you. But I didn’t want you to just want me because I’m a prince.”

  There was absolutely no way I could not believe him. The words seemed to be torn out of him. They weren’t planned or rehearsed or strategized. They couldn’t possibly have been.

  He meant it.

  He’d liked what he saw in me.

  He’d wanted to meet me.

  And he’d wanted me to like him for him.

  I had.

  I’d more than liked him.

  I’d fallen hard for him—and I was still falling even now.

  A couple of tears slipped out of my eyes and plopped onto my sweater.

  “Do you believe me?” Henry asked, leaning forward now, like he was trying to reach me across the table.

  “I... I think so.”

  He made a sound in his throat and got out of his chair so quickly it wobbled. He took three strides around the table and knelt on his knees beside my chair, reaching for my hands. “April, schatzi, please believe me.”

  More tears were streaming down my face.

  Henry went on. “These past three weeks have been the best weeks of my life. Because of you. Because I was with you. I know I was wrong for not telling you sooner. I know I was wrong and I hurt you. But please believe me. Please forgive me. Both of us are so much better when we’re together.”

  I was crying helplessly now, my shoulders shaking, my hands still caught in his warm grip. “But why didn’t you... why didn’t you tell me sooner. You knew I was... really liking you. You had to know. Why did you keep lying to me?”

  “I was scared,” he said roughly. “I was nothing but scared. I was afraid when you found out the truth, I would lose you, and I couldn’t stand for that to happen.”

  I pulled my hands away and stood up, carrying my bowl and spoon over to the sink for something to do. “You did lose me.”

  Henry stood up too, following me over to the sink. “Please don’t say that. I was going to tell you. This morning, when I said I wanted to talk, that was what I was going to tell you.”

  “This morning?” I gasped, blindly rinsing my bowl out. “This morning? If it wasn’t all a strategy, then why did you wait until you’d fucked me before you told me the truth?”

  “No! I didn’t fuck—”

  “You did.”

  He turned me toward him, cupping my face so I would meet his eyes. “I didn’t fuck you, April. You know that’s not what happened. We were with each other for real last night, and you know it as well as I do.”

  I did. I did know it.

  “But that just makes it worse! Why did you wait until I’d given myself to you... completely before you told me the truth? Why didn’t you let me decide for myself before I... before I...”

  I was sobbing again, standing in front of the sink, the water still running.

  Henry mumbled something I couldn’t understand and pulled me into his arms.

  I sobbed into his chest, feeling comforted despite myself. He was big and warm and strong and urgent.

  And I wanted him so much.

  “I was scared,” he murmured against my hair. “I was wrong. I was wrong. I was scared.”

  I cried for a long time until the emotion finally dwindled into bleak exhaustion. Then I pulled out of his arms.

  “April,” he said hoarsely, reaching for me again.

  I took a step away from him. “I don’t know, Henry. I just don’t know.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out. Then he nodded. “Okay.”

  I just looked at him, handsome and lean and tired and worried and so full of feeling. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was damp from my tears.

  “Do you want me to go to my room?” he asked after a long minute.

  I took a shaky breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What were you going to do?”

  “I was going to take a shower because I feel kind of gross. Then I might watch a movie.” I paused, too tired to try to work all these nuances out anymore. So I just said, “You can watch it with me if you want.”

  Seven

  WE CLEANED UP THE DISHES, put away the leftover stew, and then made a fire in the fireplace.

  My dad had texted a few times in the past hour, wanting to know if Henry had gotten there and if I was mad at him for sending him after me.

  While I was in my room, taking a shower and changing into my blue-and-pink soft fleece pajamas, I finally texted him back.

  I am kind of mad at you.

  I’m sorry. I deserve it.

  Why did you do it?

  Because I want you to be happy. And he makes you happy. He’s the only guy who ever has.

  I stared down at the words for a long time, a familiar ache in my chest. I was too tired to cry anymore though. I texted back, I love you.

  Love you too.

  I was feeling strange and self-conscious and nervous when I went out to the living room to find Henry sitting on the sofa. He’d taken a shower too while I was in my bedroom. I could see the bottom edge of his hair was slightly damp. He hadn’t brought an overnight bag, but I’d told him he could change into any of my dad’s clothes that fit. He wore a pair of flannel pajama pants that were baggy and a little too short and an old Vikings sweatshirt.

  He looked cute and cozy and rumpled.

  Nothing at all like a prince.

  He straightened up when he saw me, his eyes running up and down my body from my thick pink socks to my messy braid and clean, scrubbed face. His expression softened. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I got a bottle of water from the refrigerator and went to sit on the couch beside him, reaching for the blanket which had fallen onto the floor.

  “Do you want me to sit somewhere else?” Henry asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just stay on your side.”

  “Okay.”

  I started a movie, and we watched it in silence. I was brutally aware of Henry beside me the whole time. I was sure he was sometimes looking at me, but whenever I glanced over, his eyes were focused on the television.

  I cuddled under the blanket even though the fire was already warm, and I tried to focus on the frothy romantic comedy I’d picked out. I only partly succeeded.

  When it was over, as the credits were running, I looked over to find Henry’s eyes on my face.

  He looked so quiet and so familiar—a face and body I was used to seeing, someone I really liked to see—that I felt another stab in my heart, this one slightly milder than this morning.

  “I know,” Henry murmured. “My saying sorry doesn’t make it better.”

  “It really doesn’t.”

  I stared at him for a minute, breathing heavily, not sure what I was feeling or what I should even say. Then I heard myself asking, “How did you even imagine this plan was going to work?”

  He sighed, leaned his head back against the couch slightly, and closed his eyes. “I don’t know. It made sense at the time. My mom told me about you, think
ing we might get together, and I was... I was interested. But I didn’t want it to be the way it’s always been for me before—with my being a prince as the... the primary attraction. So I thought if we could get to know and like each other a little in the week I worked at the community center, then when we met as a formal introduction, it would be... funny. And you’d already like me so we could just... take it from there. I didn’t expect it to be like it was.”

  “And how was it?”

  “Deep.” He shifted his position, moving a little closer to me but not close enough to touch. “It felt deep between us, even that first week. I thought it would just be fun and casual, but it was so much more than that. So I was worried about your reaction and decided to keep it up for a couple more weeks. I wanted to know for sure that you were...”

  “I was what?” My voice broke slightly.

  He met my eyes without wavering. “You were the one. The one for me.” He was shaking his head, but I could see it was disappointment at himself and not at me. “And then I did know, and I knew it so completely that I was terrified to tell you the truth. Because by then, I knew that when you found out who I was, it would no longer be a funny little thing. And I couldn’t stand to lose you.”

  His words made sense. Perfect sense. I believed them without question. And while it still hurt that he’d hid from me something so big, it hurt a little less to know he hadn’t just been trying to trick me to get my father’s money.

  “But why did you think I’d want you because you were a prince in the first place?” I asked, trying to imagine how I would have felt had I met him for the first time after being fixed up by our parents.

  “Because women always have.”

  “All of them?”

  He gave a little shrug. “I’m not saying all women have only wanted me for the crown, but some have. Enough that I know for sure I can’t always tell the difference. I was dating a woman early this year. Not seriously. We just got together in Paris every few weeks. I liked her. I didn’t love her. But I thought we were... real with each other.” He glanced away, staring at the fire. “Then I learned that what she’d wanted was to be a princess all along. That was the main reason she’d been seeing me. She didn’t break my heart. I always knew she wasn’t the one. But still... it hurt. That I was so wrong about her. It just confirmed that I’m a prince first and a man... after that.”

  I swallowed, knowing how he felt, knowing exactly how he felt. I’d never been royalty, but I’d lived for many years with people seeing me as a party girl first and April after that.

  Henry and I were different.

  “You were always a man first to me,” I whispered.

  He made a soft sound in his throat and moved close enough to touch my arm gently. “I know. That’s why I couldn’t... I can’t let you go.”

  We gazed at each other for a long time, and I felt a hard tug in my chest, pulling me toward him, always pulling me toward him.

  The bitterness I’d felt earlier was almost entirely gone, but it had been replaced with an uncertainty that was still holding me back.

  So instead of reaching out for him the way I wanted, I started another movie.

  After about an hour, I was finally starting to relax. I was finally starting to get tired. And Henry’s presence beside me wasn’t feeling quite so disturbing.

  At some point during the second movie, I fell asleep.

  The next thing I was aware of was feeling very warm and very comfortable. I shifted slightly, realizing there was something firm beneath my head.

  I blinked and opened my eyes. I was on my side, stretched out on the couch. The TV was still playing, although it was a different movie now.

  And there was something else. Something even nicer.

  My head was in someone’s lap.

  Henry’s lap.

  I knew it was him even though I couldn’t see his face.

  There was the flannel of his pants against my cheek. And he was gently stroking my hair.

  I should move.

  I shouldn’t be lying like this, my head in his lap, a genuinely intimate position. I shouldn’t be letting him caress me like that.

  It felt so good. So sweet.

  Like he was protecting me, treasuring me.

  I wanted so much to always feel that way.

  He obviously saw that my eyes were open, and he must have felt a sudden tension in my body. He didn’t pull his hand away, but he murmured, “Are you okay?”

  “You were supposed to stay on your side.”

  “I am on my side. You came to me.”

  I realized that was entirely the truth. “I was asleep,” I mumbled. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “You don’t hear me complaining.”

  I finally rolled over so I could look up at his face. He was gazing down at me with naked affection in his eyes.

  “I’m still kind of mad at you,” I said, feeling like I needed to say something to address what had come between us, even though my blood was pulsing with excitement and my body was feeling very good.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I deserve it.”

  The words struck a chord in me, but I couldn’t immediately figure out why.

  Then I remembered.

  My dad had texted the exact same thing to me after I’d told him I was mad at him earlier.

  I’d believed my dad without question. He was sorry for hurting me, but it did nothing to change his feelings for me. I’d forgiven my dad almost immediately because I knew without doubt that he loved me.

  Henry had hurt me far worse than my dad.

  But his feelings for me still seemed so real.

  Maybe they were.

  And maybe there was something here that was worth holding on to.

  Henry obviously thought so. My dad clearly thought so too.

  Maybe I was just scared—as scared as Henry had been.

  “April?” Henry murmured, his hand moving from my hair to my cheek.

  I was almost shaking with rising emotion. “I... I still don’t know.”

  He nodded, a flicker of disappointment vanishing almost immediately. “Okay. I can wait.”

  I turned back over onto my side. I knew I should sit up, but I didn’t want to. I felt so good just like this. So I kept my head in his lap, and I didn’t object when he started to stroke my hair gently again.

  The truth was, I loved how it felt.

  IT DIDN’T TAKE ME LONG to fall asleep again. This time I slept longer and deeper.

  The next time I woke up it was because my cozy pillow was moving.

  I grumbled, instinctively objecting to this loss. I felt really good. I didn’t want to be moved. I rolled over and hung on to what I gradually discovered was Henry’s abdomen.

  “I’m sorry, schatzi.” The voice was low and husky and strained in a way I couldn’t identify in my groggy state. “I’ve got to get up.”

  “No. I like you here.” I adjusted some more, hugging at him resiliently, even as he was trying to get up. I was still half-asleep, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just knew that I wanted him to stay as he was and that there was something about his body right now that I really liked, wanted more of.

  “I would. I’m sorry. But I—” His words broke off with a strangled exclamation as I nuzzled at him. I was clinging to him, my body still stretched out on the couch.

  I was nuzzling at the only part of his body I could reach. It happened to be his groin over the flannel of his pants. That was when one detail finally clicked in my mind. “Oh,” I mumbled. “You’re hard.”

  “Uh, yeah.” The strain in his voice was finally making sense. “Sorry. You’ve been lying all over me for hours. I fell asleep too, and my body got confused. That’s why I need to— Oh fuck!”

  I liked that he was hard. I liked the way his erection felt beneath the flannel and the way the muscles of his belly and thighs were all tense and firm. I’d reached up to squeeze him because I liked how he felt so much.

  “Don’t get up,” I
mumbled.

  “I have to. You said you weren’t sure about things between us so I can’t... I have to... Oh fuck!”

  I’d slipped my hands beneath his waistband and wrapped my fingers around his erection, feeling a delicious tingling running all through my body and centered between my legs.

  “Oh no, schatzi,” he groaned helplessly, his hips arching up off the couch as I squeezed him. “Oh fuck! Please no.”

  When the words registered in my mind, they snapped into me like a whip, waking me up completely at last. Here I was, sprawled on the couch with my hand in his pants, and he was telling me no.

  I yanked my hand away and sat up in an awkward scramble. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine, April.” His was so tense he was trembling with it, and his skin was flushed in the light of the fire. “It’s okay.”

  I was shaking too—for a different reason. “I’m sorry,” I said again, the words choking in my throat. “I thought... I thought you wanted me.”

  “Oh God, I do want you.” Something urgent, so intense, had come to life in his face, and he reached over to cup my cheek in that way he did when he was speaking from the heart. “I want you more than anything. I want you as much as a man can want a woman and still contain it in his heart. I want you so much, April. But I don’t want us to do this again if you’re still not sure. I don’t want you to do something when you’re half-asleep and then regret it in the morning. I couldn’t stand for you to feel like you made another mistake with me.”

  I was panting and still shaking but in a different way now. My whole body was throbbing with feeling, and I couldn’t possibly hold it back. “I’m not half-asleep anymore, Henry.”