by Katie Knight
He glanced up at her from the security reports he was going over. “Seriously? It’s a bit soon be reading that, don’t you think?”
She flipped the book over to stare at the cover of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. “Just like to know what I’m in for, I suppose.”
Z grunted then went back to his reading.
“Anything interesting in there?” she asked him a short time later, surprisingly grateful for his company. “Anything I should be worried about?”
“Nah.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Just your run-of-the-mill death threats and stalkers.”
Esme reached one leg over and poked him hard with her toe. “Not funny.”
“Wasn’t meant to be. You need to take all of this stuff even more seriously now that you’re going to have a baby. Though, no, I don’t think there’s anything overly concerning here, even if a couple of these whack jobs seem to have quite a bit of intel on you.”
“That’s unsettling.” She shimmied a tad further under the covers, Z’s scent surrounding her. She’d pulled on his T-shirt tonight after sex because one of the websites she’d been researching had suggested that having his pheromones close by was supposed to make her body more receptive and thus increase her chances of conception. And yes, she realized it was all most likely a bunch of malarkey, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Besides, Z had said she looked cute in it, so there was that. The thought that he found her attractive sent shivers of happiness through her despite her determination to keep this all strictly business.
“Right,” Z said, setting his reports aside then stretching, showing off all his muscled limbs and tanned torso to perfection. “So, tell me what’s on this no-no list.”
“No-no list?” Es narrowed her gaze on him, her smile wry. “Well, let’s see. No deli meat. No soft cheese. No motorcycle riding. No sushi. Limited caffeine.”
“Ugh. That’s no fun at all.”
“Agreed. Though surprisingly, there are no restrictions on getting a tattoo.”
“Really?” Z straightened and strolled over to stretch out on the bed beside her and peek at the page. His heat made the entire right side of her body tingle in the best way. “Huh. Who knew? Guess it makes sense though, as long as it’s a reputable shop and they clean and sterilize everything properly. Usually Hep B and HIV are the biggest concerns when needles are involved. Learned that from the guys when we were overseas. Some of those places weren’t careful at all.”
“Yikes.” Es shuddered. “Is that why you don’t have any ink?”
“Nope.” He rolled over onto his back and covered his eyes with one arm. “My philosophy is if you’re going to get something permanent on your body, you’d best make sure you’ll want it around forever. So far, I’ve not found anything or anyone to put my ‘forever’ faith in.”
“Good point.” Esme closed her book and set it aside, then rubbed a hand over her flat stomach. “Maybe I’ll get a tattoo once I get pregnant, to commemorate the struggle.”
“That’s a bad idea, princess.”
Confused, she frowned over at him. “Why? Lots of people do it, and you just said yourself they’re safe, if done right. Why shouldn’t I get one? A baby is an important time in a girl’s life. Might be nice to have a physical memento of that.”
“No. Too many things could go wrong, that’s why.” Z rolled on his side to face her, his blond hair tousled and sparkling golden in the light from the bedside lamp. It was close to midnight now and the world was silent around them, making it all seem very cozy and intimate. “Think about it, princess.”
Gah. When he called her that, it made her insides quiver. Which was silly. It was her official title, thousands of people called her Princess Esme every day. But none of them said it with that hint of sexy growl and fierce alpha-protectiveness that Z did. Heady stuff, that.
Z continued, unaware of the riot of need his deep voice caused inside her. “If you get one, it has to be something you’ll want to wear forever, like I said. Something you have forever faith in. What if something goes wrong with all this?” He waved a hand over her body. “Or what if you don’t end up getting pregnant at all? Worse, what if you do get pregnant, have the baby and end up losing your throne anyway, huh? That’s still a very real possibility, much as I hate to say it, princess. Is that a memory you’d want to wear around with you forever?”
Esme looked away, arms crossed. “There are never any guarantees in life. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith or do things that don’t make sense at the time because they just make you feel good in the moment. Don’t you ever just want to break free, have some fun?”
Z snorted. “Fun’s overrated.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
Her mind wandered back to the conversation she’d had with her father earlier that day about Z’s past. Things between them seemed more relaxed now, more open, and she took a shot. “Tell me about your time in the SEALs. Surely you had enough faith in them to get some kind of tattoo, right?”
“Like I said, a lot of the guys did. I didn’t.” He sat up and turned away, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and putting his back to her. He hunched over and raked his hands through his hair. “Suffice it to say that I don’t really have that kind of faith in anyone these days, okay?”
She wanted to reach out and touch him, to erase that hint of melancholy in his voice, but from his body language, he was shutting her out again. The air around her turned colder, and she snuggled down farther beneath the duvet. “Could you though? Someday? Maybe if we have a baby together and—”
He stood and paced over to pick his jeans up off the floor and tug them on. “I don’t know, princess. Sorry. Families can be ripped apart in an instant and from what I’ve seen, nothing lasts forever.” He zipped up his pants and padded over to the door. “I’m going back to my room now. We both need a good night’s sleep. See you in the morning, princess.”
For a long time after he left, Esme lay there staring at the door, imagining the pain he must carry inside every day and mourning for the lost little boy still grieving inside him. She fell asleep with her hand on her stomach, vowing never to let something like that happen to her baby.
Chapter Thirteen
“Where are we going?” Es asked him the next evening. They’d spent another day going to endless interviews and press junkets, followed by hours at the hospital. While Z was enjoying his time as royal bodyguard and his life had fallen into a comfortable routine as of late, consisting of breakfast, virtual workouts with his buddy in the mornings, then sex and sitcoms at night—Es was growing more and more fond of American humor by the day—he was concerned. Concerned for himself as he began to realize just how isolated he’d become since leaving his SEAL team the year prior. Concerned for Es, too, fearing putting on a public show of being Princess Esme—envoy of Prylea and all things to everyone—and in private shagging like a bunny to try and conceive would be too much for her. Hell, it was too much for him sometimes, and he wasn’t even the one in the spotlight.
Besides, he’d been doing a fair bit of research himself since agreeing to this deal of theirs and stress was not good for conception. So, he’d taken it upon himself to break the comfortable mold of their usual evenings in and planned a fun, surprise night out for his princess. A surprise because he didn’t want her shooting down his idea before they’d even left the house. He looked over at her in the back of the darkened limo and grinned. “Sorry, princess. Can’t tell you that. If I did, I’d have to kill you.”
Es rolled her eyes, looking exceptionally adorable tonight in her faded jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her cheeks were rosy. She looked good enough to eat. Probably best they’d gotten out of the townhouse when they did because Z had a feeling he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off her much longer and getting distracted by falling into bed would have ruined his plans.
Moments later, they p
ulled up to the curb on a quiet side street and Z got out, looking up at the brightly painted sign for the Bottle & Bottega. He reached back into the limo for Es’s hand and helped her out to stand on the rain-soaked sidewalk. The showers had let up at last, leaving the night cool and damp. She shivered and without thinking, he put his arm around her shoulders to pull her in to share his body heat.
Es cuddled against him, her minty warm breath fanning his neck. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure, princess.” He gave the limo driver instructions on when to pick them up then led Es over to the door. He’d rented out the entire place for the evening and invited Es’s stylist friend to join them. The rest of his security team was already in place around the neighborhood, keeping the paparazzi at bay. Tonight was just for them, just to relax and unwind and enjoy before they started the chaos all over again the next day. He’d figured since she loved crafting so much, with all her knitting and stuff, painting might be right up her alley as well.
“What the…” Es’s voice trailed off as they walked inside the shop. Gray cement floors and distressed brick walls complemented the industrial-esque vibe of the renovated warehouse. Long tables were set up, laden with various tapas dishes he’d ordered ahead of time—all mama-to-be friendly, of course—and between them were two easels and a myriad of art supplies at the ready. The air smelled of acrylic paints and possibilities.
“Oh my gosh, Z.” Es turned back to face him, the happiness and gratitude shining in her pretty hazel eyes more than enough thanks for him. “This is fantastic! I’ve always wanted to try one of these places, but never had the chance. Thank you!”
“My pleasure.” He gave her a quick wink before surveying the space. Everything was perfect, except for one thing. Es’s stylist friend was missing.
The owner rushed over as if sensing his confusion. “I’m so sorry, sir. She called right before you arrived and said she couldn’t make it. Some sort of mistake with her schedule at the salon. She said you two should go ahead and enjoy the night without her. I was going to call or text you, but you’d already pulled up outside.”
Es glanced at him over her shoulder and grinned. “Guess you’ll be painting along with me then, huh?”
“Oh, uh…that’s not a good idea. I’m not good at any of this stuff.” He stepped back hands up. “Really, no one needs to see that.”
“C’mon. Please?” Es’s dazzling smile fell and his heart sank. “It’s no fun painting alone.”
“There’s no skill needed, sir,” the owner chimed in. “We specialize in beginner artists. All you have to do is be willing to learn and follow the instructor. Oh, and have fun.”
Much as he wanted to run screaming from the building, Z sighed and gave a resigned nod. This was Es’s night, after all, and maybe his heinous art skills would be good for a few laughs. Especially once he got some wine into him. Just because Es was cutting the booze didn’t mean he had to. Besides, he’d made sure they had some nice sparkling apple juice on hand for her so she wouldn’t feel left out.
He took off his black suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt before loosening his tie. “Fine. Let’s get this party started. Leonardo da Vinci, eat your heart out.”
They soon settled in to a lovely evening of snacking, snarking, and snuggles. Each time Es would come over to peek at his work—a neon-bright monstrosity of tropical beaches and palm trees—she’d find some reason to touch him. A hand on his arm or his shoulder, a brush of her breast against the side of his chest as she leaned in to peer closer at his interpretation of a surfer in the ocean which ended up looking more like the poor guy had been half-eaten by sharks.
It was nice. And surprisingly relaxing, too.
He’d not spent any time in this kind of art studio setting since before his mother had died. Z remembered as a little kid running around amongst his mother’s cast-off canvases while she worked on her next masterpiece. She’d always encouraged him to follow his heart and do whatever came naturally with the paint. His art had sucked back then, too, but his mom had never been anything but supportive.
“Well,” Es said, standing beside him again, her gaze narrowed on his dubious artwork. “You certainly have a unique perspective on the world.”
“Thanks.” He chuckled. “My mom used to say the same thing. She was always kind and encouraging, like you.”
“She was a painter?” Es asked, moving back to her own canvas. Her artwork looked amazing as usual. A delicate beach scene that would’ve made any of the impressionist masters proud. She really was creatively gifted even if those talents weren’t necessary for her royal duties.
He put down his brush and stood behind her, feeling a need to open up about his past for once. Talking about his parents brought back all that old grief and loneliness, even all these years later, but he wanted Es to know about them so maybe he would feel a bit less alone. “Yeah. She was good too, like you. She did mainly abstract stuff, and a few landscapes. We moved around a lot with my dad’s job, so there was no shortage of inspiration.”
“I bet she was a lovely woman.” Es watched him from over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “And what a great mother, keeping you involved in what she was doing while still pursuing her passions.”
“Yeah.” Z shrugged. “Don’t really remember her having any other passions, though, besides painting. She was always just a great wife and mother.”
“She must have had other hopes and dreams too. Everyone does, even if she didn’t talk about them much.” Es concentrated on her painting again and Z walked back over to his own easel, his mind whirling with that information.
He’d never really thought about his mother as anything more than that—a mom. Married to his dad. A housewife, a cook, a caretaker. That was all a six-year-old noticed—and it’s not as if he ever had the chance to know her when he was an adult. But now that Es had mentioned the fact she’d been a person too, with her own wants and needs and foibles, he wondered if his mother had given up her own ambitions to marry his father and raise him.
And if she had, had she been happy to do it?
Z had always thought so, but now as he stared at his ugly beach and remembered those long-ago days of his childhood—traveling the world, never settling in one place long enough to put down any sort of roots—he couldn’t help wondering if maybe she hadn’t been as carefree and untroubled as she’d seemed.
Chapter Fourteen
“Who are you going as? The Grouch?” Esme asked, looking Z up and down. Several weeks had passed since their night at the paint and sip and now Halloween was upon them. Not that they were wearing costumes, per se. Well, if you didn’t count Z’s disapproving scowl.
He didn’t even crack a smile, just shook his head and turned away to check his weapons yet again. “I don’t like this idea. You have that on record.”
“It’s a haunted house, not an executioner’s chamber.” Es cocked her head, considering. “Though I suppose they might have one of those there, too. Besides, it’s a little late for you to object. You’re the one who secured the invite to begin with.”
“That was before,” he grumbled, jamming his gun into the holster at his side then rebuttoning his ever-present black suit jacket. If she gave him a pair of black sunglasses, he could go as one of the Men in Black. “Things are different now.”
And that was the problem. She needed tonight to get her mind off the baby-making. All of the pregnancy tests she’d found stated you had to wait for one missed period before the test could be considered accurate, and she was already experiencing her usual bloat and lower back cramps. Most likely her next period would start any day now, and they’d be looking at another month of trying to conceive. Not that the sex with Z was a chore, but pleasure wasn’t exactly her end goal here.
Nope. She was going to this haunted house, and she was going to have fun even if it killed her. Esme crossed her arms and dug in her heels. “I’ll be just as safe there as I would be here and you know it. Heck, you’ve al
l but ensured it, right? It’ll just be you and me going through it, and you vetted all the staff and actors involved. No worries, right?”
“What about the fear part?”
“What about it?”
“Someone in your condition shouldn’t be frightened like that. All the books say so.”
“My condition?” Her cheeks heated with anger. “My condition is currently stressed out. And stress is just as bad as anything else for conception.” To prove her point, she stalked back to the bedroom and grabbed her favorite manual and flipped to the page of dos and don’ts. She held it up in front of his face. “See? Nowhere on here does it say anything about not going to a haunted house.” She closed the book with a resounding thwap, nearly catching the end of his nose in it, before setting it aside and grabbing her jacket and bag on the way to the door. “Now, I’m going out tonight. I’m going to have fun. Are you going to be there with me or not?”
Z looked as grim as a reaper as he followed her outside the townhouse then into the waiting limo. About twenty minutes later, they pulled up outside another townhouse, this one in much worse condition than the one they’d left. It was in the suburbs of the city, with a huge stone edifice and a spooky goth waiting on the crumbling stoop to greet them. Two huge glass light fixtures attached to the cement railing on either side of the front door cast the area in a dim, yellowish glow.
Z started out of the back of the limo, grimacing as death metal music and the occasional screech of a bat echoed from the sidewalk outside. He stopped and turned back to her. “You sure about this, princess?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. She’d always had a love-hate relationship with scary things, but tonight she just wanted to forget. Forget about the possibility of pregnancy. Forget her father still lying in the hospital, no worse, but no better either. Forget about her cousin back in Prylea working day and night to destroy her country.