by Ember Casey
Victoria climbs in on one side of the bed, and I climb in on the other. Then I flick off the light, plunging us into darkness.
The other nights we slept together, it felt natural, easy. Like there was no other choice. Tonight, I can sense her nerves. The air feels heavy between us.
I reach out in the darkness. She jumps when my fingers find her arm.
“Victoria, it’s no different than before,” I murmur softly. But it is—it is very different tonight.
She shifts toward me. “I know.”
I move closer to her, pulling her into my arms, twisting her so that her back is tucked against my chest and my arm is around her. Only then, when I’m wrapped around her, do I feel the sense of ease come back. This is how we’re supposed to be. This is how we fit together. Things feel natural—right—again.
Victoria seems to sense the same thing, because she relaxes in my arms almost immediately. I tighten my arm around her, and my leg slides over hers, keeping her close against me.
My God, the feeling of her against me is exquisite. The nightshirt is so thin I can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric. I ache to slide my hand up her body, to cup her breast and tease her nipple through the silk, but I resist the urge. I’m sure she can feel my desire for her pressed up against the soft curve of her ass, but if she does, she says nothing.
I will keep my promise to her. I won’t do anything but hold her, even if it kills me.
“Goodnight,” I murmur into her hair.
“Goodnight,” she whispers back.
If I cannot have her fully, then this is enough—just holding her, feeling the soft heat of her in my arms. Giving myself permission to find comfort in her. This is enough.
But no matter how many times I tell myself that, I’m not sure it is.
Victoria
I don’t know if I’ve ever been this uncomfortable in my life. Or if I’ve ever wanted a man as much as I do now.
It would be so easy to turn over—to roll toward him and let him have his way with me. Smelling him on the nightgown he gave me is doing nothing to make me forget he’s pressed against me. And I’m pretty sure I can feel his own desire against my back.
But I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to shift. If he wants to make the first move, I know it’s going to be hard for me to resist him again. God knows I haven’t been able to curb my own desires any time he’s touched me over the past several days.
It’s only because it’s been so long. I haven’t allowed myself time to even consider being in any sort of relationship since I started working for the magazine. Not like this, anyway. I’ve had the occasional one-night stand over the past five years, but I went into those with my eyes open. And those nights were only because I needed to quench my thirst, so to speak. I didn’t want or expect anything more than one night with those guys, and none of them ever disappointed me by asking for anything else. I didn’t need anything more. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself all this time.
Whatever this is with Andrew, it seems like it might be about something more than scratching an itch. And I can’t let myself go there again. Even if I could—even if what we’ve been through together has created some sort of temporary bond—he’s only going to end it with me as soon as something better comes along. And if by some miracle he woke up one day and saw me as more than a detestable leech of a reporter, we could never have a real relationship. I can never give him what he’s looking for—the one most valuable thing in the world to him.
But he doesn’t try anything, just like he promised. He’s still holding me tightly, but his grip softens a little after several minutes and his breathing slows.
I relax and nestle into his arms. I could stay like this with him forever—there’s something about the way he holds me that makes me feel something I don’t think I’ve ever really felt before.
Safe.
I must have been too tired last night to notice the windows that line the side of one wall of my bedroom, but when I open my eyes, sunlight is streaming in through the cracks of the curtains. I can see by the angle of the light that the sun is high—it has to be late morning or maybe even early afternoon.
And Andrew is still wrapped around me.
I must stiffen because I feel him shift behind me. We’re in exactly the same position we were when we fell asleep, his arms encircling me and his leg draped over mine.
We fit together perfectly. My eyes widen and I’m glad he can’t see the panic I’m feeling as I squash that momentary thought back into whatever corner of my mind it escaped from. There will be no fitting together—not between me and Andrew, anyway.
“Did you sleep?” He whispers into my ear and I can hear him draw in a long breath as he nestles his head against mine.
I start to arch my neck, almost wanting to beg him to kiss it, but I stop myself in the nick of time. I’m still for a second, hoping he didn’t notice, but he doesn’t move. He simply seems to be waiting for my answer.
“Yes.” I can barely even manage a whisper. “Did you?”
“Best night of sleep I’ve had in a long time.” He speaks into my hair and wraps his arms a little more snugly around me. “Victoria?”
I’m almost afraid to acknowledge his question. “Yes?”
His voice is low, and if I didn’t know better, I would think it was a little uncertain. “I’m not sure I can make a different choice tonight.”
“I’m not sure I can either.” My eyes widen again—did I really just say that out loud?
Andrew doesn’t really acknowledge my answer in any way, other than by burying his head a little deeper into my hair.
He holds me like that for a long time, until I finally relax into his arms again.
It isn’t until there’s a knock on the door and we both sit straight up in bed that I realize how late it must be. How people will be looking for Andrew—and when they find he’s not in his room, there’s only one place they’re going to come searching. And then the rumor mill will start to churn, and—
My panic attack is momentarily interrupted when I hear the door open.
Andrew and I turn to look at each other. His eyes are wide with panic, the same as mine probably are. He scrambles to his feet, running into the bathroom and carefully closing the door behind him.
A pretty young maid walks into my bedroom and smiles. She gives me a tiny curtsey. “Good morning, Ms. Simpson. My name is Colette. Her Majesty thought you might require a lady’s maid and I’m here to help you in any way you might require for the length of your stay.”
I manage a weak smile, trying not to glance at the bathroom door and give away the secret of who is hiding in there. “Thank you, but I don’t think I need anything.”
“Very well, Ms. Simpson.” She smiles again. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering you brunch, and should you need anything at all, you only need pick up the phone and I’ll be here in a few moments.”
“Thank you.” It occurs to me then that I’m wearing Prince Andrew’s nightgown—that fact can’t have escaped her. I can’t imagine there are many people in the palace who own anything like this except for the royal brothers, and I have my doubts that either Leo or William would be caught dead wearing such a thing.
She pauses for a moment, almost like she’s read my thoughts. “Her Majesty suggested you might need some clothing, Ms. Simpson. I’ve requested several shops send over items you might want for your stay. I expect they’ll be here shortly after your meal.”
“Great.” I force a smile again, unsure of how to get her to leave without being rude. It’s not like they teach lessons on how to dismiss servants where I come from.
She nods a few times and glances around the room. Her smile falls a little and she turns her gaze back to mine. “Pardon me, Ms. Simpson, but you wouldn’t have happened to have seen Prince Andrew this morning?”
“No,” I lie. The word comes out sounding more like I’m choking on phlegm than an actual word. “Why?”
H
er smile never leaves her face, but I can see it’s forced. “He seems to have gone missing. His father is quite concerned, particularly given his recent behavior.” She lowers her voice, almost as though she knows he might be listening from the other room. “He isn’t usually like that.”
I nod and force myself not to glance over at the bathroom and give his location away. I lower my voice to match hers. “What is he like?”
She grins. “He’s usually quite charming. I mean, he’s not Prince Leopold—”
She’s interrupted by a crash in the bathroom.
I scramble to my feet and hurry her through the bedroom door. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything from Andrew. His Highness.” I force another smile as I open the door to the suite for her and usher her out. “Thanks for getting the clothes ordered. I’m looking forward to having something else to wear—”
And then I realize what I’ve said—how I’ve called attention to what it is I’m wearing in the first place.
Her eyes widen as she scans me up and down.
I shake my head. “Please, Colette. It’s not what you think.”
She nods her head slowly and a wide grin takes over her expression. “I see. If you would be so kind as to have His Highness let his parents know that he is all right, I am sure they would appreciate it.” She bites her lip for a second, obviously covering a giggle. “If you see him, that is.”
I press my lips into a tight grin. “Yes. If I see him, I’ll give him the message.”
I close the door behind her and walk back into the bedroom. “She’s gone,” I call over in the direction of the bathroom.
Andrew walks out staring at the ground almost sheepishly.
“You’re supposed to let your parents know you’re all right—”
“I heard.” He looks over at me and frowns. “I wish my mother had sent a different lady’s maid. Colette is one of the worst when it comes to gossiping in the halls…” His eyes widen and he runs a hand through his hair. “Dear God, the halls.” He looks over at me. “How am I to get back to my room? Like this?”
“Well, Your Highness, I was not the one who called you here last night. I also was not the one who chose which garments you would wear when you did come here. Though I must admit, I’m beginning to understand why you wear this.” I glance down at the nightshirt. “It’s very comfortable.”
He’s fighting a smile and he shakes his head. “This is not the time for jokes, Victoria. This is a serious situation.” He pulls his hands behind his back and starts to pace.
I watch him for a moment—I haven’t really let myself look at him like this. Shirtless, I mean. I didn’t want to look last night for fear I might jump him, but his physique is pretty impressive. His shoulders are broad and his muscles are well-defined. For a split-second, I let myself think about what it would be like to run my tongue over his chest. What his skin might taste like—
But he snaps me out of my fantasy, glaring at me like he can read my mind. “I think I have a reasonable explanation. I’ll simply tell anyone who might see me in the halls that we worked through the night. As that is the reason you are here, everyone should accept that. They all know me—they know that is something I would likely do.” He nods, his expression softening. “Yes, that is the perfect plan.”
I shake my head. “Your Highness, while I admire all your planning, you don’t tend to think through consequences very well. How are you planning to explain working with me while you’re shirtless?”
He shrugs. “You were not given clothing the way I had asked. I had to give you something to wear. It was me being chivalrous.”
I can’t help but grin. “I’m pretty sure that there was not a chivalrous thought in your head when you walked in here last night.”
He doesn’t smile, but I can see the glint of one in his eyes. “Perhaps not, Ms. Simpson. However, I’ll remind you that I was completely chivalrous in the bed we shared last night. Regardless of what other thoughts I might have had.”
It’s hard to argue with him, even if no one in this palace is going to believe that we worked last night. And it’s nice to see the dark shadows have mostly disappeared from under his eyes. But I’m sure we’ll both have to deal with other sorts of shadows when we try to sleep again tonight.
He must see my smile fall because crosses the room and pulls me into an embrace.
A hug.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he slides his around my waist. I bury my head against his chest and we stand there like that until we hear the knock at the door a few moments later.
He pulls away from me slightly, looking down into my eyes. “That will be your brunch.” His smile widens into a grin. “There’s no time like the present to try out my plan.”
He almost skips over to where I’ve discarded my robe from last night and he pulls it on, tying it around himself. He offers me his elbow and we walk out into the small sitting area outside the bedroom.
He motions for me to have a seat on the sofa, exactly where I sat last night when we picked at our dinner. Andrew walks over to the door and opens it with a wide grin.
But his smile falls instantly and I hear him almost growl under his breath. “What do you want?”
I stand to see who’s at the door and it only takes a second to see it isn’t our lunch.
It’s Leopold.
Andrew
I can’t believe my brother has the gall to show up at Victoria’s door the very morning after our arrival.
“Good morning,” Leopold says cheerfully, grinning at me.
“Why the hell are you here?” I demand. It comes out as a growl.
“Well, clearly someone didn’t get much sleep last night,” Leopold says, looking far too amused.
“I asked you a question. Why are you here?”
“Why do you think?” he says, leaning against the door frame. “The entire palace is looking for you. And I had a feeling I knew where you might be.”
I straighten, confused. Leopold was looking for me? Not Victoria?
“I know you better than you think, Brother,” he says, glancing past me. “Good morning, Victoria. Elle is excited you’re here.”
I hear Victoria shift behind me. “Good morning.”
“I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” I say.
“What’s there to understand? Everyone’s looking for you. Father is having a fit. And I assumed you’d prefer me to come tell you myself, rather than share with him my suspicions of where you might be.” He’s still got that insipid grin on his face. “Or have I misinterpreted things? Should I inform our family that you two will be sharing a room while Ms. Simpson is here?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly. “Victoria and I merely wished to get started on some work.”
Leopold lets out a laugh. “Is that the story you have prepared for our father? You’re going to have to do a lot better than that. Our father might be willfully ignorant and backwards when it comes to certain things, but even he isn’t an idiot.”
My jaw tightens. “I assure you, I’ll take care of things with him. Was there something else you wanted?”
He stands up straight again, sobering a little. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m doing just fine.”
“Really?” His eyes flick to Victoria, then back to me. “You were in a plane crash. The whole world thought you were dead. Our family—” He stops abruptly.
“I know. I’m sure I’ll get quite the lecture from our father for scaring our mother like that.”
“For scaring all of us,” Leopold says. “Bloody hell, Andrew, you have no idea...”
“I have some idea,” I say. “Tell me—were you more excited or more terrified by the thought that you were suddenly next in line for the throne?”
“How is that even a question? I thought you were dead. We all did.”
“But surely, you had to realize—”
“Certainly it crossed my mind. But trust me, Andrew, I was
n’t excited by the prospect of potentially becoming king. Hell, have you met me? That’s the last thing I want. I can hardly handle the responsibilities I have now.”
He isn’t wrong. Leopold has always been quick to shirk his royal responsibilities—though that has changed somewhat since Elle came into his life. Still, now that I’m standing in front of him, now that I’m looking him in the eyes, I’m beginning to realize I may have jumped to conclusions about his ambitions. If my brother had his way, he’d have probably abandoned the bulk of his duties long ago—assuming he’d still be able to keep the perks of his title, of course.
I force my body to relax, letting my shoulders drop and unclenching my fist. How did I ever get it into my head that Leopold wanted to be king? The entire idea is preposterous. William, maybe, or even Nicholas—but not Leopold. My next eldest brother has many faults, but he doesn’t want to steal my crown. My woman, on the other hand...
I find myself shifting slightly, stepping in front of Victoria. But then I freeze. When did I start thinking of her as my woman? What am I doing?
This entire situation has made me mad—I’m not sure whether to blame it on the plane crash, or Victoria, or the events that led me to seek out a reporter’s help in the first place, but I feel as if my sanity is leaking away.
“Well, I can see this isn’t a good time,” Leopold says, and the look in his eyes belies the lightness of his tone. “You should let our father know where you are, though, before he tears this whole place down around our ears.” He leans around me. “Nice to see you again, Victoria. Elle will probably stop by later this afternoon. She’s been dealing with a bit of morning sickness these last couple of weeks.”
And with that, he turns and goes back down the corridor.
I frown as I close the door behind him, and when I turn to look at Victoria, she’s frowning, too.
“What was that?” she asks.
“What was what?”
“I told you he wasn’t interested in being king. He came here to check on you and you practically bit his head off.”