An American Cinderella: A Royal Love Story

by Krista Lakes

  Maybe Jaqui could get that phone number after all.

  “You ready?” I asked Henry, seeing that the stairs were finally empty. Henry checked his phone. I’d given him the address for the restaurant.

  “Our car should be here in just a couple of minutes. I need to check in with Andre. It’ll only take a moment.”

  “Sure,” I said with a shrug. I thought it was a little strange that he needed to check in with his friend, but I wasn’t going to pry. Something was going on between the two of them and I didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

  Henry stood and hopped over the back of his seat. He took the empty chair next to Andre and began speaking. His voice was too low to hear, but Andre’s eyes immediately flashed to me. I smiled at him and then turned back around to play with my phone.

  I could feel Andre’s eyes on the back of my neck like hot coals. I risked a glance back out of the corner of my eye and saw Valentina giving me a suspicious look as well. I wondered if they were supposed to have plans with Henry after the game.

  What if Andre was actually trying to set up Henry and Valentina? It certainly made sense then why Andre was frustrated that I was here. And it explained why Andre and Valentina didn’t seem to be closer than work associates. It would also be a good reason why Henry was annoyed that Andre and Valentina were here at the game with him.

  Pleased that I had solved the puzzle, and a little glad that Henry had chosen me over Valentina, I went back to my phone game with a smile. Henry chose me.

  “Okay. The car’s here,” Henry said, jumping back over the seat to join me. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded and put my phone back in my pocket. I looked back to see both Andre and Valentina scowling at me. “They okay?”

  Henry sighed. “They never are.” He took my hand and together we exited the row. Our steps echoed on the now empty stairs, along with Andre and Valentina’s. They were apparently following us out.

  “Are you sure you guys are okay?” I whispered as we came to the bottom of the stairs. Some of the crowd remained, but nearly everyone was filing into the parking lot to get home now that the game was over. “I don’t want to cause problems between you and your friends.”

  Henry nearly tripped over the last step, catching himself and holding onto the railing. “Thank you, Aria,” he said, once his feet were firmly on the floor. “Andre understands. He’s just overprotective of me.”

  “What? Is he afraid I’m going to kidnap you and ransom you off?” I teased as we exited the stadium. The same car that picked me up was waiting to take us to the restaurant.

  “You’re not too far from the truth,” he replied. I looked up, confused, but he just smiled and opened the car door for me. He followed behind me, sitting close to me once again. I loved the way he felt next to me.

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes,” the driver announced. He pulled out into the traffic trying to leave the stadium and was promptly stopped by the multitude of cars trying to leave. “Make that fifteen.”

  “We’re in no hurry,” Henry told him, wrapping his arm around my shoulder like I was his girl. I snuggled into him, feeling his solid warmth.

  “So, what should I get for dinner?” Henry asked me. “You were right about the grilled cheese, so I trust your food decisions.”

  I chuckled. “Just don’t eat anything I cook. That would be a culinary decision you would regret.”

  “Really? I thought you looked like a good cook,” he replied, cocking his head to the side. He reached up and pulled his hat off, revealing his beautiful red-gold hair.

  “I am a terrible cook,” I admitted. “I can make macaroni and cheese and Pop-tarts. I never really learned more than that.”

  “Anyone can make macaroni and cheese and Pop-tarts,” he teased. He ran a hand through his hair in an easy motion. “You really don’t know how to cook?”

  I shook my head. “My dad was always too busy to cook. He used to pay one of his aides to make us a week of pre-made dinners so we would have home-cooked food in the house. When he married my stepmother, she had a personal chef.”

  “A personal chef?” he asked, his eyebrows raising. “Sounds fancy.”

  “My stepmother is... she likes money. She likes the power that money brings. The chef was her way of constantly flaunting it. She always made sure everyone knew it.”

  “Sounds like some people I know,” Henry said. “Always doing things for the attention and power and not because they are the right things to do.”

  “Exactly,” I replied with a nod. “What about you? Do you cook?”

  “A little,” he admitted. “I can make a mean chicken-a-la-king. And my baking is actually pretty good.”

  “You bake?” I tried to imagine tall, muscular Henry in an apron in front of an oven with a batch of cookies and rather liked the idea.

  “I was always getting into trouble as a kid, so I spent a fair amount of time peeling potatoes in the kitchen as punishment,” he explained. His face softened with the memory. “I liked to help, so I ended up learning.”

  “You bake.” Not only was he handsome, charming, had an accent, but he could cook and bake too? “Maybe you can teach me?”

  “I can at least teach you how to make more than macaroni and cheese and Pop-tarts,” he replied with a laugh. “We’re here.”

  The car had been stopped for at least thirty seconds without me realizing it. The driver was already outside the door, ready to open it for me. Henry put his hat back on. I hurried out of the car with Henry right behind me.

  The restaurant was a total hole-in-the-wall with only a single neon sign advertising its presence. My father and I had found it one night when we ran out of dinners and were both hungry. It was one of my favorite places to get takeout now.

  I led Henry through the rough wooden door and into a narrow room. There was just a single man at a counter while several people leaned against the walls waiting for their food. The scent of spices and cooking food filled the room.

  “Is there anything you don’t like?” I asked Henry. He shook his head. “Would it be okay if I ordered for us then?”

  “You know what’s good here,” he replied. “I’ll eat anything.”

  I grinned and hurried to the counter. “I’ll take two number threes, and a order of spring rolls.”

  The man behind the counter typed it into his ancient cash register and called out a number. Before I had a chance to pull out my wallet, Henry handed the man cash.

  “Hey!” I narrowed my eyes at Henry.

  “You've got to be faster than that,” he said with a smile.

  “You win this time,” I said, sliding my hand away from my own wallet. Henry just grinned at me.

  “I win every time,” he replied, looking smug at his payment victory. I just shook my head.

  With our order in, Henry pulled me toward one of the corners to wait. If someone walked in and wasn’t paying attention, they wouldn’t see us at all. We leaned against the wall, our shoulders touching.

  “What else do you like to cook?” I asked, watching the other guests waiting for food. The restaurant was always busy, but I knew we wouldn’t need to wait long.

  “I’m having a hard time thinking of any food but noodles right now,” Henry admitted. He sniffed in. “It smells great in here.”

  He took my hand in his, his thumb rubbing small circles on the spot where my thumb joined my hand. It made it hard not to think about anything but his fingers touching me like that all over my body.

  “Do your siblings cook?” I asked, trying to keep my thoughts from straying too far into Henry naked in my bed territory.

  “Liam, my older brother, knows how to cook. He was usually in trouble right along with me,” Henry explained, his touch still driving me to distraction. “Freddy should have been in there with us, but he’s the baby so he gets away with everything.”

  “What did your mom do with him if she was in the kitchen with you and your brother?” I asked. “Who watched him? Your dad?
”

  “My mum?” Henry stopped his circles for a moment and looked confused. “Oh. She doesn’t cook. Neither of my parents do.”

  “So who taught you how to cook?” I asked.

  “Our order is ready,” Henry noticed, not answering my question. He dropped my hand and went to the counter, leaving me behind to puzzle out who was in the kitchen if it wasn’t his mother or his father. Maybe a babysitter? Did they have babysitters in Paradisa?

  I didn’t know much about the country. I would have to ask him later, or look it up. Was it common not to cook in Paradisa? I had always thought they weren’t that different from the United States, but probably more like England or France given their proximity. Maybe I was wrong.

  I held open the door to the restaurant as Henry carried out our order. I could see steam rising from the Styrofoam boxes and my mouth watered. I was hungry now that I had smelled the food.

  The car was waiting for us. I wondered how much it had cost Henry to keep the car waiting, but he didn’t seem concerned. I would have to find a way to pay for the fare next time. If he was going to try and swoop in and pay for everything, I would rise to the challenge. It was only fair that I paid my way.

  “What did you order us?” Henry asked as we got on the road. My apartment was only a few blocks away. “It smells heavenly.”

  “You’ll just have to see when we get there. But, I will tell you it’s awesome.”

  He grinned at me over the food in his lap.

  The car pulled up to my apartment building. For a moment, I thought I saw someone who looked like Andre go into the building, but it was too quick to tell. It was probably just my imagination.

  I opened the door, and took the food so that Henry could get out. Now that we were here, my stomach started to get nervous. I was going to be alone with him for the first time. We’d been alone in restaurants and the car, but those were all public places.

  In my apartment, we’d be alone for real.

  My heart sped up and my stomach tightened. A hot thread of desire wound in my belly, telling me that being alone with Henry was going to be a very good thing for me. It almost erased the food hunger.

  “Here’s my place,” I announced when we came off the elevator. I unlocked the door and pushed it open. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

  I’d left the curtains open, so the lights of the city filled the dark room. I knew that it wasn’t fancy, but apartments in Washington weren’t cheap. My little studio apartment went for the price of a house other places.

  I turned on the lights, and bit my lip as I watched for Henry’s reaction. I wasn’t sure why it mattered to me what he thought of where I lived. He looked around, taking in the queen size bed with the pale blue comforter that dominated what little space I had. The white love seat with the blue throw blanket, the small table and two chairs in the corner. It was a small, but open space with bits of bright color on the walls. I liked colorful artwork.

  “It’s adorable,” he told me. He smiled at me. “It suits you.”

  I let out a little breath I didn’t know I had been holding in.

  I set our food down on my small table just inside the door as he took off his hat and shoes, placing them neatly on the mat by the door.

  “The bathroom is right there.” I pointed to the only door in my apartment and then kicked off my own shoes and jacket. “I have some drinks in the fridge. What would you like?”

  “Water is fine,” he replied. He went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. “Where are the plates?”

  “I thought we could just eat out of the containers,” I replied with a shrug.

  “Oh. I haven’t done that before,” he admitted. I took his place at the sink, washing my own hands.

  “You always use plates?” I dried my hands and looked up questioningly at him as I got out a glass and filled it with water for him. “That seems like a lot of work.”

  He shrugged. “Not for me.”

  “I guess if you want plates, we can get them out,” I said, already thinking of the dishes. My little apartment did have a dishwasher, but it only held about four plates.

  “No, it’s fine,” Henry replied with a smile. “I’d rather eat out of the containers.”

  Together we headed back to my small table and took the food out of the paper bag. The room filled with the spicy scent of noodles and savory sauces. I set out two Styrofoam containers of pad Thai and opened up the spring rolls.

  “That smells great,” Henry said, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath of the steam.

  “Just wait until you taste it,” I told him, handing him a fork. I pushed one of the containers in his direction.

  I took a big fork-full of the delicious noodle dish myself. I loved the spicy sweetness mixed with the noodles and egg. My mouth watered before I even had the bite in my mouth.

  Beside me, Henry groaned as he tasted his.

  “This is amazing,” he mumbled, stuffing another bite into his mouth. “How is this so good? I’ve had this before, but never like this.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve been told that this is close to the real thing sold on the streets in Thailand,” I replied. “I’ve never been, so I don’t know how accurate that is.”

  “I’ve been to Thailand.” Henry chewed and swallowed. “Granted, I only ate in real restaurants. No market stalls.”

  “You’ve been to Thailand?” I asked, slurping up another bite of noodles.

  “I’ve been all over,” he replied. “I travel a lot.”

  “With your team?” If he was on a professional rugby team, they would travel the world.

  “Yes, and as my job,” he replied. He looked into his container, thinking or remembering hard.

  “You never did tell me what you do,” I told him. “I mean, what your family business is.”

  Henry stared into his noodles, his jaw tight.

  “Don’t tell me, you’re actually an assassin. Your whole family line goes back into the ages as assassins and if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me,” I teased, trying to make him smile.

  “You’re closer than you think,” he replied, but at least he cracked a smile. He looked up from his noodles. “I work for the government.”

  “Like me,” I said with a friendly grin. I picked up one of the crispy spring rolls. “Where else have you been?”

  “It’s more of where I haven’t been,” he replied. He also reached over and picked up a spring roll. It crunched as he bit into it. “I’ve been just about everywhere.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Where?”

  “You want me to list them?” He took a deep breath and squinted one eye. “Botswana, Cameroon, Ghana, Kenya, Lesotho, Malawi, Mozambique, Nigeria, South Africa, Swaziland, Rwanda, Seychelles, Sierra Leone, Uganda, Tanzania, Zambia, India, Malaysia, Pakistan-”

  He rattled them off as almost one string of letters rather than individual countries. The places spilled out of him like water. I had been expecting less than ten countries. I held up my hands as he worked his way through various continents.

  “I think I get the idea,” I said with a laugh. “You’ve been everywhere.”

  He nodded and took another bite of food.

  “What about you?” he asked, looking interested. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been to Mexico. And technically, I’ve been to international waters. So that should count as a country.” I grinned at him. “So, we’re kind of close in number.”

  He laughed, the sound making my heart speed up. God, he had an amazing laugh. It did things to the pit of my stomach that made me want more.

  “What else should I know about you?” I asked, leaning forward on the table. “Other than you’re an assassin who has been everywhere.”

  He glanced up at me and evaluated my face. I grinned and ate the last of my noodles.

  “I was also in the military,” he admitted. He looked up and shrugged. “I don’t think I told you that yet either.”

  “I think you might have said
something, but not much.” I shook my head and wondered what else I didn’t know about him. He looked so normal. How did someone who looked so regular have so many interesting things about him?

  “It’s a family tradition,” he explained, scraping the last noodles from his container. “I served for three years in the Paradisa Army. I was in Afghanistan for two tours.”

  I leaned back in my chair and imagined him in a uniform. The idea was incredibly hot. He would look damn fine in a uniform.

  “Any other secrets?”

  He stilled and then scraped his empty container again. “I can’t give them all away in one night.”

  He looked up at me, his blue eyes hinting at hundreds more secrets and I wanted to know them all. I wanted to know every secret and every inch of him.

  “You want to head to the couch?” I asked. It was an obvious ploy, but I wanted to kiss him again and I couldn’t do it easily at the table. Now that my physical hunger was satiated, a different one had come to replace it. “It’s more comfortable.”

  The slow grin on his face told me that Henry knew exactly what I was doing and was very okay with it.

  “Do you want help with dishes?” he asked.

  I stood up and collected the empty containers. We’d both eaten all our pad Thai as well as the spring rolls. All that was left were crumbs and forks.

  It took me two seconds to throw the forks in the sink and everything else in the trash. “There. Dishes done.”

  “I now see the appeal of no plates,” Henry replied. The slow, easy grin was back. It made my stomach do excited flip flops. I wanted to kiss that grin.

  He sauntered casually to the couch, settling down in a smooth motion. There was plenty of space to his left, so I made sure to sit on his right. That meant I had to snuggle up next to him. He smiled a little wider and put his arm over my shoulder.

  “I’m glad you liked my restaurant,” I said softly. I wanted to kiss him, but I wasn’t sure how to start. I didn’t want to push the moment. I wanted to let us slide into it like last time so that it would be perfect again.

  “I did,” he replied, his face close to mine. He traced my cheek with a fingertip, sending shivers down my spine and goosebumps up my arms. “I’m glad you liked the game.”