by Leslie North
“This is a routine I could get used to,” she told him.
“Me too.” There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Of course, this couldn’t last forever. At least they had until the end of Sunday.
“What do you think about brunch?” Rafael asked her as they climbed into the shower the next morning. “Are you hungry?”
Her stomach growled in response. “Yes,” she said with a laugh. “But brunch?”
“It’s Sunday.” He shrugged, the movement full of charm and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “On Sundays, people brunch. We’ll go into town. One of the restaurants there is famous for their Sunday brunch.”
Felicity believed it would be only a simple breakfast out until the moment they pulled up in front of the restaurant.
There they were. The photographers. The velvet rope. The media men and women milled about on the sidewalk, obviously waiting for someone to arrive.
Waiting for Rafael—and by extension, Felicity.
He took her hand, grinning at her even as he straightened his back and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Ready?”
“Of course.” But she couldn’t force more than a flicker of a smile onto her face.
Rafael let go of her hand as the driver opened his door and climbed out. She knew what she was supposed to do—go out after him, take his hand, smile adoringly at him—but she couldn’t make herself do it. For one thing, even if she did take his hand, it would be against protocol. And for another, Felicity was struggling to swallow a thick disappointment.
Even during their weekend away, he’d still found an opportunity for a photo op. Had he hidden photographers out in the hills, too? How many private moments had really been for the benefit of the press? Felicity thought about telling the driver to take her back to the palace, but what then? The press would be there, too.
She took a deep breath. Move. Felicity swung her legs out of the car and stood up, out into the sunshine. Rafael was already out on the sidewalk, waving, and as she straightened she saw him look back for her, a flash of worry in his eyes.
Good. She wanted him to be worried. Felicity didn’t relish that feeling, either—she was used to wanting happiness for everyone in her family—but she hadn’t come to the country with Rafael to put on her royal face, remember protocol, and greet the press in a way that would satisfy all of Stolvenia and especially the king.
Felicity hesitated, blinking in the sun. The car behind her beckoned, but then the driver leaned in and shut the door and it was too late to do anything but walk forward and stand next to Rafael.
He smiled down at her, his expression attentive and utterly unconcerned. “Everything okay?” He pitched his voice low, so the reporters wouldn’t hear, and the two of them walked toward the entrance. It was Rafael who took her hand, after all.
“I hope it will be.” It was all she could bring herself to say.
14
Felicity sat in the chair, the makeup artist hovering close to apply blush, and tried to remember that tonight was an important night, and she was allowed to enjoy it.
If only she didn’t feel so horribly unsettled.
Hope played quietly with Mr. Bear at her feet, talking softly to the bear and making him walk around. Her two-year-old stories were the sweetest thing Felicity had ever heard.
“Can you tilt your chin up for me?” She realized she’d been looking down at Hope, a thin sheen of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. And now, though Felicity lifted her chin, she couldn’t remember the name of the makeup artist, either. She was dark-haired and beautiful, and like all good makeup artists, Felicity felt comfortable being eye to eye at such close proximity.
Back in Des Moines, she would have been giddy at the chance to have someone do her makeup and hair for an event like this. And part of her was still giddy—but mostly, she was torn.
“I don’t mean to pry,” said the makeup artist. “But are you feeling okay?”
She had been frowning. Felicity knew it the moment the makeup artist spoke, and she quickly arranged her face into a smile. “Yes, of course. You’re doing a great job.” She gave the woman a sheepish smile. “I’m a little embarrassed because I can’t remember your name. My head is all over the place today.”
“It’s Zia.” Zia didn’t look completely convinced that that was the only thing bothering Felicity. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you? We can take a break if you’d like. There’s plenty of time before the event begins.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.”
“Fine,” called Hope from the floor.
“Hope? Do you want to have a snack?” Sara had been nearby all along, making sure Hope didn’t get in anyone’s way. Zia had been completely gracious about letting the little girl sit close to Felicity, but now Hope hopped up.
“Crackers!” she shouted, running for Sara. She jumped up at the last moment and Sara caught the little girl in her arms, sweeping her through the doors to the playroom with a laugh.
“She’s very cute,” said Zia, her smile wrinkling her nose. “How about some mascara?”
“Thank you,” Felicity said. “To both things. I’ve got to look my best for this.”
It was the truth—she did need to look her best. Amy had invited her to be part of the meetings in a moment of kindness, she was certain. That didn’t mean her appearance at tonight’s gala held any less weight. Felicity was the future queen of Stolvenia, and no matter how things went with Rafael, that’s how the people would relate to her. She didn’t want to let them down.
But that meant smiling for the cameras, wearing a neutrally happy expression, and reading from a prewritten script so that her remarks would be press-worthy but not controversial. Since Joy’s interview, the PR team had been only too happy to write remarks for Felicity—and after she told Rafael she intended to be involved with this week’s events, they’d sent page after page with update after update.
Zia swiped on mascara, and when she was done Felicity looked past her to the brightly lit mirror.
There she was—a woman who looked beautifully made up, ready to have her hair done. A woman who was very nearly camera-ready.
And that would be her life from now on, wouldn’t it? Felicity was staring down the barrel of an endless stream of days punctuated by press events. Even the International Women’s Day gala was a press event, though it was still very meaningful to Felicity. She was honored to be able to attend and speak, even though the words weren’t entirely her own.
After this, what meaning would her appearances have?
Her stomach turned over. For one hot second, she’d been feeling a new kind of freedom in her role as future queen. Now the impending wedding and the official title seemed like a trap. Not only that, they seemed like a trap she couldn’t walk back out of.
Hope burst back into the room, Sara close on her heels. She had a half-eaten cracker in one hand and hoisted it high in the air. “Mama, crackers!” she cried, delighted.
Felicity swallowed back a lump in her throat. This wasn’t only about her. “Is it good?” she forced out.
Hope came running to the side of her chair and hooked her little hands over the edge, stopping just in time to put the rest of the cracker in her mouth. “So good!”
Felicity had brought Hope here to Stolvenia because she’d thought it would be safe. She’d thought this kind of life would have infinite benefits over the one she could offer her daughter back in Iowa. Felicity had always known it would be different, being royal—but she was a regular American girl, and that had always been in the abstract.
Now that it was real, she just wasn’t sure it was…right. Or that it was going to be enough. Without realizing it, she’d been counting on Rafael to give her something real, something grounding, something that was just theirs. But she wasn’t sure anymore if he was even capable of that.
Not after the surprise stunt at brunch.
She just wasn’t sure.
* * *
Rafael wait
ed in the wings at the International Women’s Day gala event, letting the sound of the crowd wash over him. It was a rare moment of peace at an event like this. Usually, Rafael was the one at the forefront, but this evening Felicity had been the star of the show.
Since it was International Women’s Day and not International Kings’ Day, he’d stepped back, letting the women of the royal family lead. He’d known for a while that Artur’s wife, Amy, was at the top of her field when it came to PR and event planning. Today only confirmed it.
“Waiting for the speech?” Amy appeared at his elbow, wearing an elegant dress of navy blue. She was very pregnant but it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. He felt a flare of regret at that—he’d never seen Felicity when she was pregnant with Hope. He’d never had the chance to feel the baby kick in her belly, and some unsettled part of him thought he might never get that chance.
“Yes,” Rafael said. “I’ve heard it’s a very good speech. I told her I’d read it over if she wanted me to, but Felicity thought the PR department had it well in hand.”
Amy cocked her head to the side. “You’re sure you don’t want to read it before she goes on? I have a copy right here.” She made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “I’d remind you that you’re the king and you have final approval over everything, but you already know that.”
He laughed. “I do know that. I’m confident the speech is a good one.” Rafael had a sense that he shouldn’t interfere very much in the event, and especially not in Felicity’s speech. He might be king, but that didn’t mean his interference would be welcomed by his soon-to-be queen. Especially since, on a personal level, something was off between the two of them.
She’d been distant ever since the brunch outing, and when they’d arrived back at the palace Felicity had thrown herself right back into the International Women’s Day activities. He’d hardly seen her the past three days, except for in clips in the news media, where she was praised to the skies for all she was doing. In a way, he was more impressed than anything. She’d bloomed right in front of his eyes.
There was a hush from the ballroom, and footsteps off to his left.
Amy stepped forward first. “Felicity,” she said, leaning in to brush an air kiss close to Felicity’s cheek. “You look gorgeous.”
“Oh, thank you.” Even in the dim light offstage, he could tell that Felicity was blushing. “Most of the credit goes to the makeup artist—Zia’s a genius.”
“You look lovely,” said Rafael. It was the truth—in a pale blue gown with a thin circlet of diamonds in her hair, she looked every inch the queen.
“Thank you,” said Felicity softly, smiling at him.
His gut went cold.
The smile hadn’t quite reached her eyes, and for an instant he’d felt like he was looking at his mother.
For most of his life, Rafael had thought of his mother as a true queen. She’d been fair and kind…in public. But this was the only kind of smile he’d ever seen on her face. It was a smile that lacked any actual joy.
He opened his mouth to ask Felicity what was wrong, but she’d already turned away, to Amy. “Are we good to go?”
“Yes,” said Amy. “I’ll step out and introduce you, and then you can give your remarks.” She reached out and rubbed Felicity’s shoulder. “You’ve done a really great job this week, I should say.”
“We’ve done a great job,” echoed Felicity, and then it was time for Amy to go out onstage.
Rafael didn’t dare disturb her as she waited to make her speech, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her, either. The moment before she stepped into the light, her face transformed into a brighter smile that tugged at his heart.
He still couldn’t tell if it was real.
The words of Felicity’s speech blurred into each other as he watched her there, glowing in the spotlight, his heart pounding and his head swirling with questions. She had made herself into the perfect queen, but at what cost? What cost?
The only thing that broke him out of his thoughts was the applause from the crowd.
Felicity stood behind the podium, smiling radiantly, and gave a little wave. She said something that didn’t quite make it to the microphone. She was good. Rafael’s chest filled with pride as he walked out to make his own remarks—a sentence or two, praising Felicity and the rest of the team. She stood tall next to him as he said the words, and then, still so proud, he leaned down to kiss Felicity’s cheek.
And Felicity stepped back, so smoothly it was astounding, and put her hands on his shoulders, smiling up at him.
Rafael had been king long enough to know that freezing in place wasn’t an option, but he very nearly did it anyway.
Felicity had always been the one to take his hand. She had always been the one to ignore the propriety rules. She’d always been the one to forget little pieces of protocol at the most inopportune moments.
And now she was the one stopping him from behaving inappropriately.
His heart in his throat, he stood up tall and waved at the crowd.
“That was a close one,” said Felicity, still wearing that same smile.
He knew he should be happy. He knew he should take pride in the fact that she was learning the ins and outs of the royal court.
But the fact that she’d brushed him off made him incredibly sad.
15
The next day, Rafael woke up early, like he always did. His body was used to the schedule, and the schedule kept him in tip-top shape.
Only today was different.
It was different because he’d arranged a morning off for himself and Felicity. She’d said she was exhausted the night before and gone to her bedroom alone. That, at least, made sense—the meetings and roundtables she’d been attending for International Women’s day had happened one after the other, with a bit of travel in between.
He went down to the palace gym, trying to shake off the unease he’d felt at the gala. It was down to stress, he told himself. Felicity had stepped up—way up. It wasn’t an easy thing to do.
But it was over now. He lifted weights, relishing in the rush of exercise. All that was over, and things could go back to normal…starting with a visit to Felicity this morning. He was determined to reconnect with her, even if it meant scheduling more time off.
He showered and dressed in comfortable clothes, taking his time. Rafael wasn’t going to ruin this by waking her up too early. That would be an amateur mistake.
Felicity was still sleeping when he crept into her room. It wasn’t too early, but it was early enough that Hope was still quiet in her crib and Sara hadn’t yet come by to start the day. He set his coffee on a low table by the door and crawled into the bed with Felicity.
She was gorgeous, even in her sleep. Felicity lay on her back, her golden hair spilling over the pillow and her camisole hiked up to display the curve of her breasts.
Yes. This was his Felicity, and this was the moment they were going to get back on track.
She stirred as he tugged the blankets down to reveal that she was wearing only a pair of panties along with the camisole. “Mmm,” she said, her voice husky with sleep. “Did I miss my alarm?”
“No alarm except this one,” he said in a low voice, pressing a kiss to her ribs, then another to her belly button. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down. Felicity lifted her hips to help him, and the smile that came to her face was one that he recognized. Finally.
She giggled as he pulled them off her ankles and tried to sit up.
“No, no.” He pressed her back down to the pillow. “This is going to be the most enjoyable alarm you’ve ever had. Keep your hands up by the headboard.”
“Okay,” she whispered, and he ran his hands down her waist, to her hips, then between her thighs, spreading her legs wide. He blew a breath over her sensitive flesh, making her shiver…and then he couldn’t wait anymore.
She was simply too slick, too sweet, and he wanted his mouth between
those folds. That’s where he put it, exploring every inch of her with the tip of his tongue until she was wriggling and writhing beneath him. Her hips danced so much that he had to pin them down to the bed, which only made her moan more.
Rafael licked her with long strokes until the very last of her words were gone, lost to her moans and noises, and then he did what she liked best. He moved his lips up to her clit and sucked, pulses of pressure and swirls of his tongue that built and built until she came hard into his mouth in a new burst of sweetness.
“Oh, stop—stop!” she gasped, and he pulled his face away, grinning. She was always so sensitive afterward. He reveled in knowing that fact about her almost as much as he reveled in her pink, satisfied face.
He sat up on the bed as Felicity stretched out, working the feeling back into her feet. “I’ve missed this,” he told her, in the quiet of the room.
“Me too,” said Felicity. “Though…maybe things were a little better when I was busier.”
“What do you mean?”
Felicity pressed her lips together. “It gave me something to do, and it made our time together more precious, in a way. Maybe…maybe we should keep up our schedules like that, so we never have a chance to…” Her voice dropped. “…get tired of each other.”
It almost seemed like a question. “I’m not sure about that. In fact, I think you were right.”
She opened her eyes and pushed herself up onto her elbow. “Right about what?”
“About taking breaks.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m ready for a break. A vacation, even.” It was true. He’d been ignoring it long enough. “A proper one, this time.”
Felicity laughed, shaking her head. “There is no break. You know that. The wedding—”
“The wedding is next week. This evening’s press conference is the last one before the ceremony. And then we can start planning for a break. The referendum results will be in on our wedding day, so…there won’t be anything left to debate, after that.”