by Aven Ellis
I’m touched by his words. I’m about to speak when he continues.
“Clementine, I should shove you away out of love and not bring you into this world. You don’t deserve what your life will be with me.”
I gently take his hand and place it over my heart. “Do you feel that?” I ask softly.
“Yes.”
“You have made it come alive,” I say. “I love you. Your life comes with you, and I’m aware of that. But I know you will help me navigate it. I’m not saying it won’t be hard, and some days I will certainly hate it, but I will never hate the choice I made to be with you.”
I notice his eyes have grown watery. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You do.”
He sits up, keeping his hand over my heart, and places a loving kiss on my lips.
“Now I need the primer on your family. Not the Wiki page version,” I tease. “I need to know the inside stories.”
“Let’s save that for after dinner,” Christian says. “In fact, we should be going.”
“What? You just said you don’t want to be public, so where are we going?”
Christian runs his hand over my hair, sending shivers of delight down my spine.
“I have a suite at the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay,” he says, referring to the luxury resort on the Pacific Ocean. “Let me show you.”
He reaches down for his jeans on the floor, retrieves his phone, and then swipes open the resort’s web page.
“I have this room,” he says, showing me the suite. “Don’t worry, my protection officers have the suite next door, so they won’t be waiting in the car,” he quips.
“Shut up,” I say, leaning in to study the picture on the Ritz-Carlton website. “Oh! It has a fire pit!” I say excitedly.
“My own private fire pit,” Christian says. “I booked for one night, as I was sure you would toss me out the second you could, but I think I need to extend this stay a few days.”
“What about Cambridge?” I ask, concerned.
“I’m feeling rather ill. Might have to miss classes on Monday and Tuesday. How are you feeling, Clementine? Feverish?”
Why yes, I am, I think, wanting nothing more than to hide away in this suite with Christian.
“Yes. Dehydrated, too. And chilled.”
“Hmm. Sounds like wine and a roaring fire are just what you need.”
“I might be able to keep a little food down,” I say, taking his phone from him and tapping on all the luxurious things offered at the hotel.
“Room service. So, we don’t spread our disease to others. We’re being thoughtful in that regard.”
“Yes,” I say. “Oh! They allow dogs! We can bring Bear,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave him alone here. I’ll pay the fee if he can come with us.”
“Um, I think—and I’m going out on a limb here—I can cover the fee for Bear,” Christian teases. “I love that you are a dog person. We’re absolutely bringing Bear.”
As if he has been following along to our conversation, Bear lifts his head and barks from his dog bed on the floor, then comes up and drops his head on Christian’s thigh.
“That’s right; you are spending the weekend at the Ritz. Don’t tell Lucy. She’ll be incredibly upset she didn’t get to come,” he teases, referring to his own dog as he affectionately rubs Bear’s head.
“How will you explain this bill to the palace people?” I ask, not knowing what they are called or if they review his bills.
Now he snorts. “Please, it will still be cheaper than Xander’s nightclub tabs; they have no leg to stand on. Even more so because I’m not stumbling out drunk in Palo Alto.”
“I’m glad you aren’t like Xander.”
“What, you don’t fancy being the queen one day? You realize you are settling with the spare, you know.”
Whoa.
I realize with Christian, whoa moments are going to be frequent, where I’m reminded that while he’s Christian to me, he is His Royal Highness, Prince Christian, son of King Arthur of the United Kingdom, and brother to Prince Alexander of Wales, the future king.
“No, I don’t ‘fancy’ that, as you say, but I also don’t fancy a man who runs around with a lot of women, getting trashed at trendy nightclubs. I do, however, fancy a sexy blond man with gorgeous curls and an affinity for creating anagrams. A man who has a gorgeous, cut body from playing soccer and polo, who is clever and brilliant, and who flew eleven hours, and across an ocean, to see me. Now those things, Christian, are turn-ons. I might have to jump you as soon as we get to our room. I get hot just thinking about you taking a pub quiz.”
He roars with laughter, and I smile, loving that I make him happy and carefree.
“It’s football, not soccer; British lesson number one complete,” he teases.
“Oh, we’ll debate that later,” I say. Then something hits me. “Hey, how did you find me, by the way? Did you have your people do it?”
He snorts. “Um, no, I used Google, not MI5. You need to button up your privacy, by the way. It was very easy to find your address.”
“Well, that’s a little disturbing, but I’m glad Google worked for you,” I quip as I continue to peruse the resort webpage.
I spy something that makes me giddy.
“Christian!” I gasp, turning the phone toward him. “They have s’mores kits for the fire pits! We can have s’mores after dinner!”
Christian furrows his brow. “I’ve never had a s’more.”
“What?” I shriek, which makes Bear bark. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know. Chef never whipped those up at Kensington Palace while I was growing up. I’ll have a word with him the next time I’m home.”
Whoa count: Two.
“I’ll be your s’mores concierge tonight,” I say.
“I think you’ll be my concierge for many things,” he says, dipping his head and kissing me.
As I kiss him back, I know we are beginning a crazy adventure together. He’s a prince who lives in England. I’m a girl about to graduate from Stanford. Logistics alone says there will be a long road ahead. Where will I work? What will Christian do when he graduates? Will he go into the military like a lot of royals do? Where will we live? And how many years will we be apart?
I break the kiss and look into his beautiful eyes. I realize it will be hard, but I have faith we both want the same thing: to be together.
Somehow, we’ll figure it out.
Starting with wine, s’mores, and a roaring fire on a private patio tonight.
Chapter 9
Checking the Diaries
“Christian?”
“Hmmm?” Christian asks, affectionately nuzzling me.
For a moment, I’m distracted by the feel of his breath against my neck. I’m sitting on his lap in an Adirondack chair in front of the fire pit. Christian has wrapped me in a thick, cozy blanket, and we’re sipping wine and watching the waves roll in from the Pacific Ocean on our private terrace at the resort.
“Is this real?” I ask quietly. “Because it feels like a dream. If it is a dream, I’m afraid I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone.”
Christian slides his hand up underneath my hair, to the back of my head, cradling it lovingly in his palm. He draws my head toward his, easing my lips open in a gentle kiss. I taste lush cabernet wine on his tongue and inhale his crisp, clean cologne that is mingling with the salty ocean breezes and smoke from the roaring fire.
The moment is wonderfully, breathtakingly magical.
And absolutely perfect.
“It’s real,” he whispers against my mouth.
I lose myself in his kiss, in this romantic moment I know I’ll never forget. Then I break the kiss and stare deeply into his eyes.
“How is this going to work?”
“I thought we’d finish off this bottle of wine first before joining Bear inside,” Christian says, nodding his head in the direction of the suite door behind us. “I thought he might want to enjoy his room
service delicacy alone, much like I’m enjoying my time alone with my own delicacy right here,” he teases.
I reach over and flick him on the forehead, and that rich laugh escapes his throat.
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Christian links his free hand with mine, dragging his thumb back and forth across the top of my hand.
“We’ll consult our diaries and block out time to see each other. I refuse to let the continental United States and an ocean keep us apart. It’s a miracle I found you, and now that I’ve been with you, I’m not settling for long separations.”
“Wait, diaries?” I ask quizzically.
“Well, yes. Schedules.”
“Oh! You mean a planner,” I say.
“We also call them diaries.”
“Here, that would be a personal account of your day. Like today mine would say, ‘Dear Diary. Today was a great day. I found out that CP is real. His name is Christian, and not only did I kiss him passionately upon meeting him, but I told him I love him and had the hottest, most emotionally intense sex I’ve ever had.’”
Even in the darkness, I can see he’s blushing.
“You realize, Ace, we’re going to have to re-write our history for how we met for everyone else.”
I decide to tease him. “You mean our real story wouldn’t play well with our parents?”
He begins to laugh. A happy shiver shoots down my spine from that rich, deep sound.
“I can’t imagine telling Her Majesty this one. Mum, I met a gorgeous American on Instagram. I fell in love with her without meeting her first. Then we had this huge misunderstanding, a horrible row, and I had to fly off to America to prove I was real. As soon as I saw her, as soon as I looked into her green-gray eyes, I told her I loved her. Then I took her to bed, made mad, passionate love to her multiple times, and now she’s my girlfriend.”
Now I’m dying. “When you say it like that, Christian, you make it sound freakishly crazy.”
“It is crazy,” Christian says, smiling at me. “Mum would lose her head if she ever knew this story.”
“I can’t imagine what my overprotective parents would say.” I imagine them freaking out about, oh, sleeping with a man most would consider a stranger within minutes of meeting him. “Or even my friends. This isn’t a normal way to start a relationship.”
“I know. Yet I have no doubts. Absolutely none.”
Warmth surges through me. “Neither do I. It’s insane how we connected in our messages and email conversations.”
“I always felt guilty because I could at least see your pictures,” Christian says. “I knew how beautiful you were before we started talking. I could picture your face when we chatted on messenger, and I fell a bit more with each conversation. But you—you fell for me without seeing me.”
“I did. I fell in love with your mind and this,” I say, putting my hand over his chest. “I fell in love with your heart.”
Christian kisses me again, a kiss telling me how much he loves me.
“Okay. Our story. Let’s write it, love.”
Love. I think my heart just did a cartwheel with that one.
“Okay. We met in an online art community,” I say.
“Not far from the truth.”
“We communicated every day,” I continue, “to the sleep detriment of both of us.”
“Also true.”
“We had deep intellectual conversations and connected over our concerns for the world and finding our place in it.”
“Nice. I see you edited out our life-changing discussion on sugar cookies: overrated or not.”
“I still haven’t forgiven you for saying they are overrated,” I say, giving him the evil eye. “They are the greatest cookies ever. Not only are they delicious, but they can be amazing works of art. Decadent, delectable, sugared, glorious art.”
“If that’s true, then why do you keep talking about Chips Ahoy?”
“Because you have to get the perfect sugar cookie from a great bakery or it’s crap. Didn’t you read that whole conversation we had?”
“Sorry. That might have been the one where I fell asleep and you continued the conversation you were having via WhatsApp so I’d find it when I woke up. Which I found immensely charming, even if you forgot to message me the critical bakery part of the story.”
“I’m going to look for that message to prove you wrong. I absolutely told you that, and you must have skipped over my brilliant descriptions of the glory of sugar cookies.”
“No, I’ve read every word you’ve ever sent to me, so you’re wrong,” Christian says, a smile tugging at the corner of that mouth of his in a playful, sexy way that makes me want to kiss him.
But we have to finish our storyline first.
“Okay, I am not wrong, you are, but that’s for later. You’re losing focus. We’re supposed to be writing our meet-cute.”
“Meet what?” Christian asks, a confused expression on his face.
“You know, in those cheesy TV romance movies. The hero and heroine have to meet in a cute way to set up the love story.”
“Oh. In other words, the impossibly unrealistic way of meeting like in those ghastly royal movies.”
“Hmm. Like the prince who conceals his identity from the unsuspecting American heroine?”
Christian laughs and reaches for his wine glass. “Oh, touché, Ace. Touché.”
“Anyway,” I say, smiling as he takes another sip of wine, “we connected so well we decided to meet, and you came to America to see me. We spent a weekend talking and getting to know each other, and it was the best weekend ever. Then we decided I should come to Cambridge to see you and continue our dialogue to see where it goes.”
“I see we are omitting the made wild, multiple orgasm-inducing, passionate love part and the ‘you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with’ part from our story.”
Now I’m the one who is blushing.
“Stop. But, yes, we talked and talked and were a very good boy and girl. We didn’t even do this,” I say, sliding my hands to his face and opening his lips with mine, giving him a slow, deep kiss and teasing him with my tongue. I break it and stare into his eyes. “It was all very proper and chaste, our time in the Bay Area. You might get to kiss me when I come to Cambridge, if I let you hold my hand, that is.”
I see desire flickering in his blue eyes. “So, I have to court you.”
“Yes,” I say, flashing him a wicked grin.
“Then we should plan when you are coming over.”
Reality hits me. “Christian, I don’t know if I can afford a ticket to London. My internship doesn’t pay that much, and while my parents are paying for school and rent, I don’t have that kind of money in my bank account.”
“I’ll buy your tickets; I already intended to do that.”
“What? The House of Chadwick wouldn’t want British taxpayers footing my airfare!”
“No, from my personal account,” Christian explains. “My maternal grandfather was a very, very wealthy man who left his only grandchildren—me, Xander, and James, my younger brother—very large trust funds. I have an annual allowance from that, and this is money I choose to spend on you. I’ll buy your tickets.”
“I’ll pay you back,” I promise. “As soon as I graduate and find some kind of job, I’ll start paying you back.”
Christian falls silent for a moment.
“What?” I ask.
“I love you for treating me like a normal guy,” he says. “But this is a gift for both of us, one I not only can afford but one I want to give. To make this work, we have to commit to traveling to see each other on a regular basis. I know it will be hard with school, but when can you come to Cambridge?”
“This might be too soon,” I say slowly, “but I have a week off for spring break in two weeks.”
Christian’s face lights up. “Brilliant. You can come spend it with me.”
Excitement sweeps through me. “I’m really going to the UK, to see you,”
I repeat, needing to hear the words aloud to believe this is my life.
“Yes. We’ll still keep it secret, but you can stay with me and my roommates.”
I grin, as I’ve already heard all about them. There’s Stephen from County Wicklow, Ireland—the heir to a brewing empire—and Charlie, his best friend from his days at Eton College.
“You’re sure they won’t mind?” I ask.
“No, they’ll be thrilled I’ve brought a girl round at last,” Christian says, flashing me a mischievous smile. “Then they’ll wonder how the hell a strange bloke like me got a girl like you.”
“I can’t wait to see your world,” I say. “Will you take me to a pub quiz?”
A gust comes in from the ocean, blowing my hair across my face, and Christian gently brushes it back for me.
“Yes. I might even throw in a steak pie. In exchange for a chaste kiss, of course.”
A squeal of excitement escapes me. “I’m so excited!”
“For the kiss or the pie?”
“Duh, for the pie,” I say, teasing him. “Because I want more than chaste kisses from you.”
Christian gazes at me as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Clementine, remember this won’t be a normal visit with a boyfriend,” he says, turning serious for a moment. “I can’t hold your hand in public. My protection officers will follow us wherever we go. They have a room in the house.”
“They live with you,” I say, realizing Christian meant it when he said he’s never alone.
“Yes. So there’s that bit,” he says slowly. “Then there’s the public. People will take pictures and stare at us, wondering if you are the one who got the ‘Golden Prince’ to leave his house. Girls will try to approach me, talk or flirt with me, whether you are next to me or not. They make the most of a rare public opportunity.”
