"And you're just going to trust me not to let you run into anything?" It seemed dangerous to let a man guide her backwards.
"I said 'pretend we're in a box.' We won't be moving that much. Let's try it. Your left foot first. One, two, three. One, two—" Oof. She stifled the sound.
He froze.
He'd stepped on her foot.
He winced. "Sorry." He glanced down to see what kind of shoes she was wearing, what kind of damage he might've done to her toes.
"I'm fine." Her hand came off his shoulder, and he thought she might step away, but she chucked him beneath his jaw. "Chin up. Eyes up. Again. One, two, three."
He didn't step on her foot this time, moving slowly to prevent it from happening.
She stopped him with a hand to his chest. "You're a half step behind the count, now. You have to follow the music—"
"What music?"
She thumped him on the chest, a silent reprimand. "Don't worry that you're going to step on me. Trust that I'll follow your lead."
She looked up at him fiercely, and the stubborn tilt of her chin made his stomach flip and his heart pound. I'll follow your lead. Surely, she'd meant the words literally. He was the only one reading into this. He had to be.
This time when she counted the beats off, he squinted his eyes almost closed, not wanting to see her face if he did step on her again. He did as she asked, trusted her count, and this time, they completed the square with no mishaps.
She made him do it again, smiling up at him like he'd accomplished something fantastic, instead of a simple dance step. He'd started to relax infinitesimally when she said, "Good. Now let's add a turn."
He didn't fumble it too badly. She made him do it again.
The moon started to come up, lending a silver glimmer to her skin and a luminescence to her eyes as she gazed up at him.
"At the ball I'll be wearing a gown with a huge skirt," she said. "So it will make it slightly more difficult to maneuver. But you'll also have less chance of stepping on my feet."
She spoke as if he'd already agreed to go. As if she'd actually want to dance with him if he did go. He hadn't been joking about the caliber of the other guests. No way would he fit in there. But if she wanted him there...
She let go of his shoulder and spun out in a turn beneath his upraised arm, laughing. The spirited, free sound went straight to his heart. When she twirled back to him, he went still.
She met him there, resting her free hand on his chest. He still had her other hand clasped in his. He drew it to his chest, just above his heart.
She was bright, like a diamond shining up at him from his arms.
He couldn't breathe.
Her eyes were large, and he thought maybe he should let her go, except then her gaze flicked down to his mouth and held there for a protracted moment.
Did she want him to kiss her?
The outrageous thought twirled through his mind in the same way she'd spun in his arms. It made him just as wobbly.
Then she leaned toward him slightly. Maybe raised up on her tiptoes.
He only had instinct to go on and lowered his head. His pulse pounded in his temples and he was really going to kiss—
Suddenly, she pushed away from his embrace, and he released her instantly.
Cool autumn air rushed into the space between their bodies, and as she turned from him, the flood light illuminated the stricken expression on her face.
Heat and humiliation pounded through him with every beat of his heart. "I'm sorry," he said.
"No, it wasn't—" You.
Wasn't that something people said when it was you? His inexperience hampered him, but it stood to reason he'd misread all of her cues. He'd only imagined her leaning toward him, imagined her glance at his lips.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I need to go."
He cleared his throat. "Yes, all right."
He trailed her around the trailer and through the chain-link gate, mind grasping for what to say. Should he apologize again?
Then she got in the car with her security goon, offering only a subdued goodbye before the door clunked closed.
He was afraid of what she'd think if he stood there watching her drive away, so he gave a lame wave and turned to climb the trailer steps.
Inside, he leaned his shoulder against the closed door, breaths harsh and loud in the stillness.
Had he just ruined the first real friendship he'd had since his dad?
5
"Do you like how this looks?"
Alessandra's question drew Mia's head up from her phone. She'd been trying to decide whether she should text Ethan or not.
She gazed at her sister in the triplicate mirrors of the trendy, upscale Dallas boutique. Alessandra wore a floor-length, pale pink gown with a ruched skirt and an off-the-shoulders design.
They were the only ones in the dressing room this afternoon. At Gideon's insistence, they'd paid well for privacy, and the shop had closed to other customers for a few hours. Several smaller doors led off the mirrored main area, where multiple women could dress at the same time and then come out to admire themselves. Mia sat on one of the two small sofas that bracketed the wood floor and made it more welcoming.
"It's beautiful," Mia told her sister.
"That's a cop-out answer." Alessandra twirled to stare at her hips in the mirror. "It makes me look huge here." She motioned with both hands to her derrière.
"It's the way the skirt fits, it's not you. Anyone can see that." This was the sixth gown Alessandra had rejected.
And maybe Mia was a little distracted. It had been two days since she'd practically run out of Ethan's arms, and she was still spooked.
She'd almost kissed the man. Completely forgotten about her promise until the very last second.
She'd wanted his kiss. Desperately. Ardently.
"What is with you?" Alessandra complained as she slipped out of the dress. The stylist quickly and quietly took it from her, leaving Mia's sister in her slip and underwear as she waited for the next in line.
Mia blinked back the hot feeling in her eyes. "Nothing."
Alessandra crossed her arms. "Now you're lying to me. If you don't want to talk about your farmer-boy, fine, but you don't have to lie."
Mia's chin went up. "I don't want to talk about Ethan."
She didn't want to keep remembering the hurt that had pierced his eyes just before he'd shuttered his entire expression. Or how quick he'd been to say, I'm sorry.
The whole thing had been her fault.
She couldn't face the swirling thoughts. She stood up abruptly. "And if you want to talk about lying, why don't you let me in on the big secret that you've been holding onto since Glorvaird?"
Color leached out of Alessandra's face. "What?"
Mia was shaking now, but she couldn't stop the words from spewing forth. "You and Gideon keep having conversations that stop when I walk in the room. You haven't looked me in the eye since we left the palace."
Alessandra's gaze skittered away. The stylist started to come back into the room, her arms full of tulle, but Alessandra waved her off. She ducked away.
Alessandra pressed her hands together in front of her waist, a sign of tension that Mia knew and recognized. She waited her sister out.
After a long exhale, Alessandra looked her in the eye. "Father told Eloise about an—an affair. From when we were small. We have a half-sister somewhere in the states. Eloise asked me to find her. She dropped off the grid years ago."
Mia sat back down, stunned. That was the last thing she'd expected. She'd known there was a secret, but she hadn't given real thought to what it was.
An affair? A missing half-sister?
"When were you going to tell me?" She forced the words out past lips that felt numb.
Alessandra shrugged, her hands pressing together so hard her knuckles were white. "I was trying to figure out the best time."
Mia stood up, unable to keep looking at her sister. Betrayal fired through
her veins and tears threatened. "I'll wait in the car."
"Mia—"
But she didn't wait to hear whatever else Alessandra was going to say.
* * *
Two days after the kiss that wasn't, Ethan was worn slick. The one thing he wanted most was to fall into bed and forget the last three days had happened.
He still couldn't reconcile what had happened those last few minutes he and Mia had been together.
But he also couldn't forget the look on her face when she'd asked him to go to the ball.
Was he crazy to even consider going? He knew he'd stick out like a mutt in a room full of Persian cats, but even so, he'd dug to the very back of his closet, to the box of his dad's things that Carol hadn't thrown away or sold. There wasn't much. A ball glove. A handful of baseball cards that had sentimental value.
And his dad's suit.
Ethan had shrugged into the charcoal-gray suit coat to test the fit and found that he must have the same body shape as Dad, because it fit perfectly.
Now he sat on the end of his bed and looked at the suit that he'd hung up in the doorway to his closet.
It was a timeless style, a simple cut, but even so, it looked dated. But Ethan had paid the electric bill and water bill earlier today and knew there was no money for a frivolous expense like a tuxedo rental, not if he and the boys wanted to eat.
It would do, and hopefully it wouldn't shame Mia too much if he wore it.
It wasn't as if he expected her to stay by his side during the fancy event. No doubt there would be expectations of her, since her sister was the guest of honor, and he knew she was helping manage the event.
Besides, she'd been completely silent on text messages since she'd run off the property Tuesday night. He'd gotten used to receiving one or two texts from her a day, little messages that were more friendly than anything.
That she hadn't texted him in two days was telling.
Maybe she regretted inviting him. Maybe she didn't want him to attend at all.
"Ethan!" Sam's voice rang out from the hallway.
Ethan wanted to ignore him, wanted to throw his arm over his eyes and lie down on the bed, but Sam burst in the door without waiting for an invitation to come in.
"There's nothing to eat."
He took a breath before answering. "Where's Robbie? You guys can borrow the truck and head to the store."
Sam shrugged. "Somewhere off with Hank and his buddies. I'm dying here."
Ethan knew that his brother would keep whining if he didn't get what he wanted. Maybe it was taking the easy way out, but he got in his truck and headed to the grocery store.
An hour later, he'd worked his way through the shopping and was finally on the home stretch. The checkout stand.
Of course, there were only two checkers and three people in both lines, and so he was barely holding on to his patience as he inched up to the conveyor belt.
And his eyes caught on a familiar face on the cover of one of the tabloids in the checkout stand rack.
Mia.
He looked away immediately, forcing his eyes to the bright afternoon sunlight streaming through the front window panes. Someone had painted an ad on the large glass, but it was faded and chipped off.
He didn't want to know why Mia was featured on a tabloid cover. He didn't.
But he couldn't keep his gaze from drifting back to the magazine.
It was a grainy picture, but he could clearly make out her features as she sat across a small table from a man in a suit and tie. They were holding hands. His eyes went to the caption.
The Kissing Princess.
That was her nickname? He felt as if ice trickled down his spine. The kissing princess? Really? When she'd pushed away from him the moment he'd even thought about kissing her?
Heart thumping, he knew he should look away from the magazine, but he couldn't. He edged slightly closer so he could read the print beneath the caption.
Two former beaus fight to win the princess back—who will win her heart at the upcoming engagement ball?
Two who? Men she'd dated? Men she'd been in love with? The tabloid seemed to indicate these men would be at the big engagement ball. One was a...he squinted at the small print...duke. The other one was a popular international soccer player.
Ethan closed his eyes.
Who was he kidding, thinking she could be attracted to him? These guys were... There was no competition. He wasn't even in the same stadium—the same hemisphere as a duke or a pro soccer player.
"Hon, you ready?" The checker's voice cut through his mental fog, and he started loading his groceries onto the conveyor belt. He moved numbly, kept his eyes downcast on the food, on giving his hands something to do.
He'd tried to stay realistic about being Mia's friend, done his best not to read anything other than friendship into her desire to spend time with him.
Where exactly would things go, even if she were interested in him romantically? She was a princess! He was stuck here taking care of his stepbrothers for at least another two years. Even after that, what could he offer her? A piddling living operating a dairy?
What a laugh.
He paid for his groceries and pushed his cart into the parking lot.
And his cell phone dinged the text message chime from his pocket.
Mia: I need to see you.
His hands shook as he stuffed the phone back into his jeans' pocket. He was still raw from the other night, from her withdrawal.
And what he'd read in the tabloid somehow made things worse.
He didn't know whether he could answer her or not. He loaded the groceries in his truck and drove home.
* * *
When Ethan pulled into the drive, his headlights swept across the front of the trailer, and he spotted a small figure huddled on the front step.
Mia.
Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and her hair cascaded down her shoulders in a golden stream.
His stomach flipped, and he scrambled to find some sense of equilibrium. He hadn't answered her text, so hadn't expected to see her.
Where was her security escort? He craned his neck to see a headlight and part of the bumper of what looked like a farm truck hidden near the barn, further down his drive. Had she somehow ditched them?
What was going on?
He stepped out of the vehicle and filled his arms with two bags of groceries from the truck bed. Maybe if he kept things short, she'd leave. He was exhausted. Had already dealt with his stepbrothers enough for one day. He didn't know whether he could face more rejection from her.
But when he reached the step and got a good look at her in the twilight, he saw the silver tear tracks down her cheeks.
And the tension he'd been holding slid away in a wave of worry.
He set the grocery bags on the top step and reached for her. "Mia. What's wrong?"
She came off the steps and into his arms. She shook, still crying. Tucked her face into his chest.
Whatever had happened, it had obviously hurt her badly.
And he was man enough to push aside his own hurts.
He held her, letting her get the emotion out.
After a moment, she moved back slightly, using both hands to wipe moisture from her face.
He let her lead. When she sat on the step again, he sat next to her, leaving the groceries on the ground. His frozen foods would last, for now. He didn't hear Sam moving around inside. Maybe his stepbrother was into a video game or something. If he was that hungry, he could come outside and unload the groceries himself.
Mia inhaled, her breath shaky, still unsteady. "Sorry."
His own throat was thick from emotion. "My dad told me it was okay to cry."
She smiled a watery small smile.
Remembering those last days was still painful, though muted now by the years.
"What's going on?" he asked.
And then words burst from her like another flood. A half-sister she'd never known about, her older sisters keepin
g secrets.
She was hurt. Felt betrayed.
And even if he couldn't identify with her feelings exactly, he could remember the emotions he'd experienced when Dad had died. He put his arm around her shoulders, wanting to comfort.
And that seemed to set her off again. Her sniffle turned into a soft sob. Her face crumpled, and she turned into his shoulder.
"I-I don't even d-deserve for you to be s-so nice to me!" she wailed, her words muffled in his shirt.
This time her sobs abated more quickly, and she sat back again, though still tucked into his arm.
"I'd like to explain," she said after a hiccough.
He shook his head, and his chin brushed her hair. "You don't owe me anything." And he meant it.
"Well, I'm going to anyway." The stubborn tilt of her chin told him she was on her way to recovering from her shock. "You've been a good friend to me. Better than anyone else."
She breathed in deeply, a little steadier now. "About a month ago, I made a promise to myself."
She looked down, her hair falling over her cheek and blocking his view of her eyes.
He waited.
"I promised I wasn't going to kiss anyone again until I was sure it was the man I would marry. You see, I have this habit of falling in love too easily. With the wrong guys."
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. What was she saying? Was she admitting he was a wrong guy?
He forced himself to listen.
"My sisters have always been close to each other. And my father has always been distant. Since I was a teenager and started realizing what love could be, I wanted it. Wanted someone to love me just for me, not for my crown or for what benefits a relationship could bring them. I wanted someone who just wanted me," she finished in a whisper.
The depth of her desire was evident, though she wouldn't look at him, and he couldn't see her eyes.
"And every time I thought I'd fallen for someone who was right, it turned out not to be all wrong. They all just wanted something from me."
What a horrible feeling, to believe the person you loved was using you.
"And every time it happened, I realized I'd given too much of myself to those—to the men I thought I loved. So I promised myself, no more kissing."
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