by Noelle Adams
“I would really like to come in.”
“I thought you believe in no pressure.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “No pressure at all. I’m just telling you the truth. I really want to come in. And if you let me, I’ll have you in bed and halfway to coming harder than you believe possible before you can blink. But that’s just me saying what I mean, being honest. I’ll leave it to you to decide what you want. You can close the door on me if you want.”
We stared at each other for a long moment.
Then he added, “It’s entirely your own decision, if you want to miss out on the world’s best orgasm.”
I laughed.
And I didn’t close the door.
***
Ten days later, I was lying in bed, watching Jack pull on his trousers.
He’d spent the night with me last night. After our second time together, we’d had sex nearly every day. The way it felt natural now to watch him roll out of my bed and pull his clothes on was almost shocking.
It was also dangerous. There had been a reason why I’d hesitated about hooking up with Jack, and that reason was the definite end point on my time here in the States. Nothing had changed concerning that, other than the extra two weeks from staying for my seminar.
If it was already hard for me to get through a day without seeing Jack, talking to Jack, feeling Jack’s body against mine, then I couldn’t even imagine how it would feel when I had to leave him for good.
Mostly, I tried not to think about it.
We’d agreed to keep it casual, just for fun, no pressure or expectations, and that was what I was going to do.
Jack looked rumpled and bristly and adorable when he turned around to smile down at me. “What are you brooding about?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about how sexy you look.”
He glanced down at himself, as if surprised by the comment. “Oh yeah?”
That was one of the sexiest things about Jack. He was so completely unselfconscious about his own desirability.
“Yes.”
“You look pretty sexy yourself, lying in bed all tousled and sleepy.”
“Don’t get any ideas. I have an early appointment with my advisor this morning.”
“What about? Graduation is two days from now.”
“I think he wants to try to talk me into applying for graduate school.”
Jack’s eyebrows arched. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“I know what you think about it, and I’ve already told you dozens of times that I can’t.”
“You choose not to,” he corrected, meeting my eyes evenly. “That’s not the same thing, you know.”
“My choices are limited.” I felt depressed at the thought—and about how impossible it was to explain it to Jack. So I changed the subject quickly. “What are you doing this evening?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I want to go to a new art exhibit on campus. You can come with me if you want.”
Jack gave an exaggerated groan. “Does it have to be an art exhibit?”
I tried not to giggle. “Yes. It does. Why is that so difficult?”
“I don’t have to dress up, do I?”
“No.”
He made a face. He was half-teasing, but I knew at least part of him was serious. This definitely wasn’t something he would choose on his own. “Is everyone else going to be dressed up? You know I’m not big on pretension.”
I knew that was true. It was one of the reasons why I still hadn’t told him who I was. He would hate all the royal pomp and circumstance. It would most likely drive him away. “Art isn’t about pretension,” I said, sitting up so I could think more clearly. “At least, it’s not supposed to be.”
“Then what is it about?”
I thought about the answer for a minute before I replied, “It’s about trying to reflect what is true about the world, and what is good and beautiful—and maybe also what should be, but isn’t.”
Jack’s expression changed, and I could tell he was genuinely thinking through what I’d said. Then he pulled me to my feet and kept holding onto my hands. “I’ll go tonight. For you.”
I was probably smiling like a sap, but I couldn’t help it. “Thank you.”
He turned me around and walked me back until I was pressed up against the edge of my dresser. “I like that you believe in that.”
“Believe in what?”
“What you just said.” His eyes were very deep and tender.
“Oh. I know it’s old fashioned, but I do believe in things like the good, the true, and the beautiful—that they’re ideals we should strive for, even though we can never truly reach them. It’s why I studied art in the first place.” I felt strangely vulnerable saying the words. I never would have admitted something so earnest and open in an academic class, but it felt like I could say the words now, standing in my bedroom with Jack at almost seven in the morning.
“And I believe,” he murmured, cupping my face in his hands, “I’m looking at all three of those things right now.”
My breath hitched as the words made their way into my mind, and then my breath hitched again as he leaned down to kiss me.
He thought I was good and true and beautiful. The knowledge made my heart soar. But at the same time it reminded me how not true I was being with him.
I still hadn’t told him who I was, and the secret was starting to feel like a lie. I could argue to myself that after dating him for less than a month, in a relationship we both had agreed was only casual, I didn’t really owe him my entire family history, but I’d just be lying to myself.
It was wrong. So wrong I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Jack?”
He lifted his head, his eyes searching my face. “Yes?”
I opened my mouth to tell him. I wanted to tell him. I needed to tell him. Nothing would be right about my world until I did.
On his face was an almost urgent question, as if he deeply wanted to know what I was going to say.
But my throat closed up around the words. I couldn’t say anything.
It was simply too terrifying, knowing the words would change everything. He liked me for me. And only for me. And my being a princess would change that, as surely as it always had my relationships before.
I’d always been a princess first, a Rothman second, and Amalie last.
I gave him a little smile. “That was a good kiss.”
His shoulders relaxed into almost a slump. “I thought so too. So maybe I should do it again.”
The second kiss grew deep very quickly, and soon he was caressing me all over, taking off my pajamas, and propping me up on the edge of the dresser. We made love just like that, fast and urgent and unexpectedly deep. It didn’t last long, but both of us were breathless when we collapsed into each other’s arms.
“I really need to get dressed,” Jack groaned. “I have an eight o’clock meeting.”
“And I need to meet my advisor.” He was big and warm and strong against me, and I had a shooting pain in my chest, thinking about walking away from him in a few weeks.
“Then I guess we should get moving.” His arms were still around me, holding me very close.
“Yes. We should.”
Neither of us got moving for several minutes.
For the last two weeks, I’d had more sex and better sex than I’d ever had in my life, but I enjoyed what came before and after it almost as much.
The truth was I would want to be with Jack, even if we could never have sex again in our lives.
***
That evening, Jack was holding my hand as we left the art gallery on campus, and I was laughing at his exaggerated relief at being done with the exhibit.
The art being shown hadn’t been all that good. It was trendy and dark and empty of real meaning—edginess masquerading as depth. I’d been disappointed with everything except Jack’s company.
He’d made dry, clever comments the whole time, making me laugh e
ven when I was trying to be serious.
“There,” I said, smiling up at him. “You made it through without falling asleep. You should be proud of yourself.”
The corners of his mouth were turned up deliciously. “You shouldn’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you.”
“It looks like you are. I’m not an art kind of guy—especially that kind of art.”
“I wasn’t very impressed with it either.”
“Good. Because I really hated that crap. I told you before—I’m a simple and straight-forward kind of guy.”
“And that’s just fine—except when things aren’t simple and straightforward.” I wasn’t sure why I’d even said that. It changed the mood between us. But the knowledge of how true his words were—how he liked and expected life to be one way, when my life was so much the opposite—pushed me into saying it.
His eyes were scrutinizing my face, even though he was still smiling. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” I wished I’d never brought the subject up. “Just that life isn’t always as simple and straight-forward as you might want.”
His expression sobered. “It is most of the time.”
My chest ached from how much he meant it, how deeply he believed it. “Maybe yours has been, but most people’s lives are messy and complicated.”
He shook his head. “People tend to make it more complicated than it really is.”
It hurt so much—the knowledge that Jack would never understand all the ways my life was torn, even if I got up the courage to tell him. He would think there was an easy answer, like he was always trying to tell me. He would never understand.
I turned away from him, feeling like I’d just been struck—by nothing more than a brief conversation.
“Hey,” Jack said, sounding urgent and grabbing my arm to swing me back around to face him. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice broke strangely. “Please don’t lie to me.”
My eyes had blurred over with tears, which was such an inappropriate reaction. I swallowed hard and tried to speak naturally. “I’m glad your life has been laid out in clear lines and easy answers. I am glad, and I love that you think that way. But mine hasn’t. I…it just hasn’t.”
Jack’s features twisted, as if he were feeling something deeply. “Then tell me about it. Amalie, please tell me about it. I’m never going to understand if you keep it to yourself.”
He looked so much like he wanted to know, like he was almost pleading for me to tell him.
There was no way I could resist, even if it did change everything, even if Jack would never look at me the same again.
“My family…” My voice cracked, so I tried again. “I’m actually…”
I was actually going to say it this time. I wasn’t going to get scared and change my mind. But a flash came from beside us that broke into my stilted announcement.
Both of us looked in surprise at the photographer who stood a few feet away, taking our picture. Another photographer was approaching too, also taking photos of me and Jack.
It was the most unexpected thing, and the mingling students and faculty around us, who’d left the art exhibit like us, were all now staring in our direction.
“What the hell?” Jack muttered, scowling at the photographers. He took a step forward, clearly intimidating.
I grabbed for his hand, suddenly terrified. I knew why they were taking my picture, although I had no idea how they’d happened to stumble upon me like this. “Jack, no. Let’s just get out of here.”
Jack’s face was twisted with annoyance, outrage, and questions that hadn’t yet been asked. But he put his arm around me and started to walk.
Before we’d taken two steps, Hans was there, my bodyguard always lurking in the background. He held the photographers back as Jack hurried me down the block to where he’d parked.
The photographers followed, trying to get past Hans.
It wasn’t anything like the swarm of paparazzi that follows real celebrities, but it was definitely out of place on campus, and it made us the center of attention in a way that caused my belly to sink in dread.
Jack eyed me silently when he turned the car on, but he didn’t waste time in conversation. He pulled away from the curb, and I was so upset and disoriented that I pulled out my phone and dialed Victoria. When she didn’t answer, I called Henry instead.
There had to be a reason those photographers had known who I was and cared enough to take pictures. My brother or sisters would know.
“Do you know what’s going on?” I asked, when Henry picked up on the third ring.
My brother wasn’t a big talker, and he didn’t ask for further information. “What do you think? Mother’s been plotting again.”
I almost choked on the knowledge, although in the back of my mind I’d known it couldn’t be anything else. Of course, my mother had done this. “But she was always so careful about our privacy. She wouldn’t want this.”
“Not unless it helps to get you back home.”
“I can’t believe she wants me chased by the paparazzi.”
“She doesn’t. She just doesn’t want you anonymous there any longer.”
I felt sick and hurt and angry and terrified by what Jack was going to say, when we finally had a chance to talk.
“Was it bad?” Henry asked, in a different tone.
“It wasn’t good. I guess it could have been worse.”
“You’re still visiting next week, aren’t you?”
“I think so. I’ll see you then.”
When we’d hung up, I sat in silence, trying to find words to explain this to Jack. He obviously wasn’t going to press the issue until we were out of the car, and he didn’t speak as he drove back to our building, which was just a mile or so away. When we turned onto our street, I saw a couple more photographers, waiting at the front of our building.
“Damn it,” he muttered darkly.
“Hopefully they can’t get inside.” My voice wobbled, but it felt like my whole world was falling apart. Jack hadn’t demanded answers yet, but he would. I knew he would.
And then he’d feel betrayed because I hadn’t told him before.
Everything was ruined—even the final weeks I would have had with him.
“Do you want to go to a hotel for the night?” Jack asked, before he turned the car into the parking deck. “That way, they won’t be hovering around.”
“Yes. Yes, please.” The anonymity of a hotel sounded like a dream at the moment. It would be safe, cut off from everything else.
Jack drove a few blocks to a discreet, expensive hotel, and in a few minutes we were checked in and heading up to a room. We didn’t have any luggage, but the staff hadn’t mentioned it or acted like it was strange. I noticed Hans had followed us, and he positioned himself in the lobby. He had his instructions. Unless I was in genuine danger, that was as close as he got.
I was relieved when the door shut, and Jack and I were truly alone at last.
I went over to sit on the bed, breathing deeply and trying to pull myself together.
Jack sat down beside me. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were expectant.
“My mother sent the photographers after me,” I began.
He nodded. “I figured that from your conversation with your brother.”
I sighed. My secret was over now, as surely as if I’d already spoken it. I might as well say it out loud. “My father is the king of Villemont, which is a tiny country in the Alps. I’m…I’m a princess.”
Jack’s expression registered no surprise, no anger, no outrage or shock. If anything, he looked relieved as he gave me a little smile. “It’s about time you told me.”
Five
It took me a minute to process what he’d said. When I figured it out, the truth hit me like a blow. “You knew?”
His lips twisted in a dry, apologetic smile. “Yeah.”
“For h
ow long?”
“Since that day we were shopping and those people recognized you. You blew it off as nothing, but I found it very strange. So I looked you up online. It didn’t take too long to figure out who you were.”
“Oh.” My heart was racing wildly, and my skin felt chilled and flushed at the same time. “You didn’t tell me.”
“No.” He reached out, like he would touch my face, but then his hand dropped onto the bed between us. “I figured you were keeping it a secret for a reason, and I was hoping you’d eventually trust me enough to be honest with me.”
There was the slightest reproach in his voice, and it caused a stab of guilt in my chest. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you, Jack—” I broke off my words when he arched his eyebrows. “Well, it wasn’t that you couldn’t be trusted with the truth. I just didn’t want…I just didn’t want…”
“What didn’t you want, Amalie?” His voice was very soft and thick.
“I didn’t want things to change between us, and I knew they would.”
“Why would they?”
“Because…because I’m a princess.”
“You were always a princess to me.”
That might have been the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me. It made my throat ache and my eyes burn with tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Jack. But this was the first time in my life that anyone knew me, liked me, for who I truly am, and I didn’t want it to go away.”
“It’s not going to go away.”
Part of me believed him, even though the rest of me had a lifetime of experience to contradict his claim. “So…so you’re not mad at me for hiding it?”
His expression changed back into its normal dry good-humor. “Maybe a little. Every once in a while. And kind of hurt when you had the opportunity lately and still didn’t tell me. But we agreed that we were just hanging out, no strings attached, so I’d be pretty shitty if I held it against you for not baring your soul to me.”
I let out a breath of relief.
He added, “And you’re not mad at me for not telling you that I knew?”
I shook my head. “I’m not mad. And…and I’m glad you know. I didn’t like keeping that kind of secret from you.”