by Holly Rayner
“I know,” I laugh. “But it will look bad if we don’t. And breakfast can’t be as bad as dinner, right?”
His hesitation makes my stomach drop.
“Oh, no,” I say. “Are we going to have to stay up all night so you can teach me breakfast etiquette?”
Max chuckles and walks the drinks over to us. “No. Breakfast isn’t that complicated. There are fewer forks and spoons.”
I accept my drink. “But let me guess. The same formalities still exist.”
“As well as the same family dynamics.”
I exhale heavily. “Man, you weren’t kidding. There were times when I thought you were being dramatic about your dad, but…”
Max lifts his glass. “To tonight.”
“To tonight,” I repeat, clinking my glass against his.
It’s not until the drink hits my tongue that I realize what he’s served us.
“Rum and coke,” I say with a laugh.
“How many did we have that night?” he asks with a grin.
I roll my eyes. “God, I don’t know. I think I remember a few rounds at the beach bar.”
“And then we went into town…”
“And who knows what we had there,” I say.
“I’m going to guess we continued with the rum and coke.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Since we only had crazy hangover headaches and weren’t vomiting or anything. You know what they say. Wine after liquor…”
His expression is puzzled.
“Never been sicker,” I finish.
“Do they say that?” he asks.
“It must be an American expression.”
“Must be. Sometimes, I confess, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Hey.” I playfully push his shoulder. “Are you serious?”
“Sometimes,” he says, pausing a sip to respond.
“And you let me keep talking?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You have a beautiful voice, and you’re so animated when you speak. It’s quite a lovely thing to observe.”
“Stop. You’re making me blush.” I hide my face in my drink.
“And that’s another thing that’s beautiful about you.”
I turn away from him, unsure of how to react. He’s flirting with me, but would he stop that if he knew I’m hopelessly in love with him?
Max is an adventurer, always looking forward to moving on to the next place. I know what those kinds of people are like because I’m one of them. They don’t settle down easily.
I never did.
Ironically, Max has me thinking I might like to. With a guy like him in my life, I can’t see myself wanting for much more.
Sipping slowly at my drink, I go to the window. The palace lights twinkle in the distance.
“How many windows are there in the palace?” I ask, only because the silence is killing me. I need to say something.
“One thousand, two hundred and three,” he says.
I turn to gawk at him.
“What?” he asks.
“I didn’t think you’d actually have an answer.”
“It’s one of those facts that gets stuck in your head. You don’t need to know it, but for some reason it stays there.”
“You’d win a trivia round on palace facts, I bet.”
“Maybe, but I believe my position would exclude me from collecting any prize.”
“Yeah, probably.” I sweep my gaze around the room.
“Looking for something?” Max asks.
“No. Only thinking. About you here.”
“What it’s like?”
“Exactly,” I say.
There’s a twinkle in his eye, and he puts his drink on a coaster on the coffee table. I think he’s about to come over here, or maybe leave the room, but he does nothing.
He only puts his hands in his pockets and watches me.
“What?” I ask, my voice husky. His attention always does unexpected things to my body, and this time it’s my vocal cords that take the impact.
“You truly are amazing, Poppy. Do you know that?”
“Get out of here,” I say on a laugh.
He doesn’t so much as smile. “No. You are. The way you conducted yourself tonight took my breath away. I knew what to expect—they are my family—but I was falling apart anyway. And you? No, not you.”
“Just doing my job.”
It’s another attempt at a laugh, but I can’t even smile. Each second that Max spends looking at me, I become a bit more puddle than human. If he keeps this up, I won’t be able to remember my name.
I break the eye contact and look down into my drink—suddenly, I remember what I needed to tell him.
Crossing the room, I put my drink on a coaster next to his. I have to be careful when I mention Sacha. Being as he’s Max’s brother, I don’t want to sound rude or mean-spirited.
“Amazing,” Max is murmuring, maybe more to himself than to me. “Absolutely amazing.”
“Okay, you can stop now. I have to tell you—”
“Better than anyone who has been royal all their lives,” he says. “You observed protocols, yet you brought a freshness and your own personality to the whole affair. Many people in the royal world are stuffy, completely devoid of any interesting characteristics. They only want to get the box checked for doing everything right.”
“Maybe I was a princess in another life,” I joke.
Max shakes his head. “Perhaps you were, but that doesn’t matter. You are every inch a princess in this life, and one I am glad to have found in the unlikeliest of places.”
“Thank you.” I try to breathe, noticing that I’ve landed much closer to him than I meant to. I could count every one of his long, thick eyelashes if I wanted to.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I swallow hard. “That you did a good job, too. You played the part of a loving husband perfectly.”
It’s not exactly what I was thinking. Really, I was busy worshipping the strong cut of his jaw and the fullness of his lips.
But close enough.
Max’s face drifts closer to mine, and it’s like we’re two magnets unable to stay apart. I’m not even thinking about what’s happening. There’s no choice to be made.
His lips brush mine, gentle and easy. I lean into him, and the kiss deepens the slightest bit.
Drawing back, he touches my cheek. His eyes search mine.
“The loving husband, hm?” he murmurs.
“Y-yeah,” I rasp, my tongue heavy as lead. I’ve gone all woozy from his touch, and I need to feel his lips on me again.
“I would like to show you I am up to playing the role of the loving husband on every front,” he says.
His lips meet mine again, and this time the kiss is fiercer. There’s passion and hunger. I lose myself in it, threading my fingers through his thick hair.
One of his hands cups my face while the other slides down my side. It nestles into the lower dip in my back, the heat it expels entering my belly and sinking deep inside of me.
Max’s tongue slips past my lips and grazes my front teeth. I dig my hands into the back of his head, and my hips bump against his.
We’re walking, kissing frantically as we move down the hall.
My skin is on fire. While ten minutes ago I was in love with this dress and wanted to wear it forever, now I’m desperate to get it off.
In the hall, Max spins me around and pins me to the wall. His lips are hot on my neck, the kisses alternating between soft and gentle and wild and animalistic. He nips my earlobe, and I grab hold of his lapel.
“That’s your bedroom?” I ask in between heavy exhales. I nod at the door closest.
“It is,” Max says, the skirt of my dress in bunches in his hands.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and he spins us around again. We whirl into his bedroom, the back of my legs knocking into the mattress.
Max breaks his lips from mine. In the room lit only by the moonlight coming in through the window,
he studies my face.
My throat thickens with emotion. Should I tell him what I realized at dinner tonight? That I’m in love with him and that I want no other man in the world?
I don’t have to, I realize. He just told me with his words and body that he wants to be a real husband to me. This marriage is no longer fake. As of tonight, it has become completely real.
I lift my chin, nudging my lips against his, and I feel his smile. Our breaths intermingle, and his palms run up and down my back.
Slowly, he lays me on the mattress. My lavender skirt splays around me, and Max stands there above the bed, gazing down at me. The only move he makes is to remove his bow tie.
I reach my arms up to him, and he lowers himself on top of me, careful not to crush me with his weight.
Our mouths take charge, and our hands do what they please, completely unchecked. Max unclasps the top of my dress and pulls the zipper down painfully slowly.
I kiss him with my heart, soul, and body. He thinks that I’ve done a big favor for him, but the truth is that he’s done so much more for me. He’s brought passion and love into my life.
For that, I’ll be his adoring, devoted princess not only tonight, but for the rest of my days.
Chapter 18
Poppy
The smell of bacon frying wakes me up.
I blink my eyes open. I’m lying on my back, my arms stretched out wide. I gaze at the ceiling, my muscles heavy and completely relaxed.
I feel like I just had the best sleep of my life.
And then I remember why.
Memories of the night before come back to me: Max telling me he wanted to play the role of the loving husband in every way possible, us kissing against the wall, him setting me down in bed…
Biting my bottom lip, I grin. Did last night really happen?
For an answer, I sit up and look around the room. My dress is hanging on a hook over the door, and I’m in the middle of rumpled sheets, wearing what can only be Max’s white T-shirt and plaid boxers.
Another big smile. Yep. It happened.
There’s the sound of footsteps, and Max appears in the doorway.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Hi.” I’m still smiling.
He’s already dressed, but he climbs right into bed next to me and plants a kiss on my cheek.
“How did you sleep?” he asks.
“Amazingly,” I sigh. “This is a miracle bed.”
He chuckles and pushes hair from my face. “But how does waking up with me the second time compare to the first?”
“Well…” I pretend to think hard about it. “The second time, you weren’t even in bed with me, and I don’t like that.”
“You’re saying the first was better?” he asks, incredulous.
“You were there,” is all I state.
“Do you forget the confusion? The headaches? The difficulty piecing together the events of the previous night?”
“The confetti?” I say on a giggle.
“I had confetti in my underwear,” he solemnly says. “The chafing was horrendous.”
“No! You didn’t tell me that.”
Max shrugs. “It was embarrassing.”
“Clearly you’re a little more comfortable with me now.”
“I should say that I am.”
He tickles my side, and I shriek and try to get away, but the strong arm going around my waist prevents me from getting far.
Not that I really want to.
My back against Max’s chest, he nuzzles his face into my neck. A shiver of pleasure goes through me, and I turn into a rag doll in his arms.
“How could this morning not be better than the first?” he asks, his breath caressing the nape of my neck. “This morning, I’ve made you breakfast.”
That makes me perk up.
“You did? I thought we were going to the palace for breakfast.”
He’s quiet a moment. “Wouldn’t you rather have it here, in a more intimate setting?”
“Well, yeah,” I giggle. “Of course.”
The smell of something burning hits my nose and I turn to look at him.
“I think you have something to tend to in the kitchen. It smells like we might have to be going to the palace to eat, after all.”
Max sucks in a sharp breath and leaps from the bed. He’s out of the room and at the other end of the cottage in a flash, and his curses carry down the hall.
I take my time stretching and then roll to standing. The problem with heading back to the palace from here is that I don’t have anything to wear.
But then I remember the dress I came over here in yesterday. It might have been a little blah for dinner at the palace, but it should be perfect for brunch.
A fresh smile on, I make my way into the bathroom adjoining the bedroom. Pots and pans are clattering—it sounds like Max is having to make breakfast over—so I more than likely have some time to kill.
The bathroom, though small, has everything a person could need. The spacious shower takes up most of the room, and it has a bench to sit on and three different showerheads.
Turning the water on as hot as I can stand, I close my eyes and enjoy the pressure of the spray. It’s perfect. More like a massage than anything else.
Once it gets so hot I can’t stand it, I step out and dry myself with one of the fluffy towels from the shelf. It’s a shame that there’s not another makeup artist knocking on the door, like last night, but I should be able to make do with the basics I carry in my purse. Again, this morning should not only be simpler than last night, but much easier on my nerves.
Finished toweling off, I help myself to the use of the hair dryer on the sink and, with a towel wrapped around my torso, go in search of my dress.
Max is at the stove, struggling to get scrambled eggs unstuck from a cast-iron skillet. I try to stifle my laugh, but it’s no good.
Hearing me, he turns around. His gaze sweeps over me, and he smiles wolfishly.
“Well, hello,” he says.
“Hi, yourself.” I jerk my chin at the frying pan. “You doing all right over there?”
His grin falls as he looks at the eggs. Or rather, the burnt remnants of what were once eggs.
I draw my bottom lip between my teeth. “Hm. Have you ever cooked before?”
“Yes, I have cooked!” He shakes his head at me. “It’s just that… I’ve never cooked eggs.”
That really gets me laughing. “Wow. You can take the prince out of the castle, but you can’t take the castle out of the prince.”
“I assume that is meant to be an insult.”
“Take it as whatever you want it to be,” I coyly respond. Turning around, I go to the living room doorway. “Have you seen my dress?” I call over my shoulder.
“Which one?” Max yells back.
“The one I came here in.”
“It should be in the guest bedroom closet.”
Going to the closet, I grab my dress and change into it right there.
Dressed, I join Max in the kitchen just as he’s setting two plates of bacon, charred eggs, and burnt toast on the table.
“I also have strawberries,” he says, pulling a bowl of cut ones from the fridge.
I smile. “This is all such a nice surprise.”
He goes to the coffee maker and pours us each a mug.
“Want me to grab anything?” I ask.
“Cream?”
I find the small, paper container of half-and-half and set it on the table next to the sugar. We’re both just sitting down when a ringing pierces the air.
Over the small breakfast table, Max and I look at each other.
“It’s mine,” he says, getting up and going to where he left it on the counter.
I look down at the food and lift a piece of toast… take a careful bite… chew…
There are parts here that are edible. The key word being “parts.”
Max has his back leaned against the counter, one arm tight across his chest.
I want to get up and put my hand on him, to comfort him, but he’s so tense right now, I’m worried that if I touch him that might be akin to cutting the wrong wire on a bomb.
Judging by his demeanor, it’s his father on the phone, and the conversation isn’t going well.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Max says. His eyes narrow. “Why?”
More silence as he listens. I slather butter on my toast, hoping that will help it go down easier.
Max sighs. “All right. We’ll be there soon.”
He hangs up the phone, puts it on the counter, and stays there, looking at me.
I blink back at him. “What’s going on?”
“We have been summoned,” he says with grandeur.
“Oh, we have?” I ask, taking on his pompous tone. “Do tell. For what occasion?”
“Brunch with the family.” He comes to the table but doesn’t take a seat, instead standing there and pouring liberal amounts of cream into his coffee. Tasting it, he decides it’s cool enough and downs half the cup in a few gulps.
“Impressive,” I comment. I’m still sipping away at my cup.
He puts the mug on the table and sighs. “Ready for an encore performance?”
Performance?
My body reacts before my mind does. I stiffen, and I freeze with my coffee halfway to my lips. Are we only performing? I thought he really had feelings for me.
Max carries on. “Don’t worry. You did so well last night. I know you can pull off the same effect as before. They’re enamored with you.”
I try to smile, but it’s no good. My lips barely twitch.
Max doesn’t seem to notice. He’s dumping out the rest of his coffee and putting his untouched plate in the sink.
“At least the food will be better there,” he says. “I’ll call Henrik and jump into a quick shower. Can you be ready to go in ten minutes?”
“I’m ready now,” I croak.
He goes down the hall, and I sit frozen. A minute passes, and I hear the shower cut on. It’s only then that I unpause. Putting the coffee down, I look around the room, as if there’s an answer waiting on the fridge or in the windowsill for me.
There isn’t.
