Royal Marriage Market (18 page)

I want more.

I want that spark, that flame to petrol. And I know I’ll never find it with Isabelle.

chapter 22

Elsa

The Pergola path is uneven in spots, especially in the pitch black of night, and I cannot seem to properly stay on my feet. After the third stumble, I grip Christian’s arms in an effort to keep from face planting in abject humiliation.

Keeping it classy and real, Elsa
.

He stops to steady me. “Are you okay?”

I assure him I’m fine. “I swear I am not normally so uncoordinated.”

It is hard to tell, but in the darkness, it appears a smirk tugs at his lips. Maybe it’s best I don’t see it, though. That mouth, and the way it curves, is dangerous. “Don’t worry. Uncoordinated is one thing I’ve never thought of when it comes to describing the Hereditary Crown Princess of Vattenguldia.”

I ache to laugh. Instead, I shift closer as a gust of wind rattles my balance. “Are bossy, rude, and inappropriate on your list?”

He does laugh. “Possibly inappropriate, but meant in the best of ways.”

Before I can request clarification, he clears his throat and releases an arm. The beam of his flashlight waves down the path in front of us. “Almost there.”

I am pleasantly surprised he does not release me entirely. A strong hand drops to curl around my frozen fingers. “Shall we?”

It’s chilly in a way Vattenguldia never is, but his hand in mine renders me warmer than if we were on a beach in Bermuda. “You know an awful lot about this place.”

He takes my teasing in stride. “Parker had me read up on it during the flight here.”

My toes find a rock and I stumble again, but this time, he is right here to catch me.

Prince Charming strikes again.

“You know what?” Christian says. “Forget about going all the way to the end. Let’s stop here.”

“Will the first count? We didn’t traverse the entire Pergola.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think that was the first, was it? I merely wanted to hike the path. We’ve done so, haven’t we?”

I hold aloft an imaginary wine glass. “Cheers to your first, then.”

“Hold off on that for just a moment.” He shrugs off the backpack he’s been carrying and unzips it. In the curved beam of my flashlight’s glow, I watch him extract a blanket, a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and two paper cups.

“You brought wine!”

The blanket spreads out below us. “Why do you sound so surprised? You asked for it, didn’t you?”

I join him on the blanket, cross-legged as he passes me a glass. “Do you always do everything a woman tells you?”

“God, no. But then, I don’t do everything a man tells me, either.”

I wonder what he would do if I told him to kiss me. I bet he’s a fantastic kisser, the kind that can make a girl forget just about everything.

I am so pathetic, daydreaming about kissing Prince Charming.

Being attracted to a person, and all the chemical reactions that rock your body when you’re in their presence, can be so bloody inconvenient, especially when it is with your future brother-in-law.

He uncorks the bottle and fills our cups. “You’re awfully quiet. Are you worried about wild animals?”

It is enough to tear me away from vivid images of us hiding away in a quiet room, tearing off one another’s clothes. “There are wild animals around here?”

He passes me a cup. “Didn’t your Charlotte have you read up on the place, too? The original owner used to have a private zoo here.”

I nearly drop my wine. “There are zoo animals running wild on the property?!”

He chuckles again. “Els. Hold on. Just listen.” A warm hand rests on my arm. “What I was saying was, there used to be a zoo here, but most of the animals are gone. That said, there are still some breeds that remain, but I imagine there are also other animals in the region, such as coyotes and raccoons. So yes, there are lots of animals around here. There are animals everywhere in the world.”

I angle my flashlight into the darkness surrounding us, desperate to ensure no shining eyes reflect back.

“We can go back if you’re worried.”

I swallow my uncertainty at the worry in
his
voice. “Don’t be ridiculous. How often does somebody get to drink wine in the dark, surrounded by . . .” I lamely motion in front of us. “The possibility of wild animals?”

Soft, rueful laughter spills out of him. “It was a terrible first to request, wasn’t it?”

I am tempted to say yes, but I turn toward him and finally decipher snatches of his face in the dappled moonlight. All of the air inside of me ceases its flow as it sinks in that we are sitting underneath the moonlight, wine in hand, and it’s exquisitely quiet and still and there are no parents or RMMs or anything else to touch us.

Right now, we are simply Elsa and Christian and no one else.

“No.” I am surprised at the strength of this sentiment . “It was the perfect one for tonight.”

We drink the wine, serenaded by the songs of crickets, while thoughts and feelings and words flow between us. There is no awkwardness, no searching for trivial niceties to fill the space with. I soak up every bit of himself that he gifts me, and I cannot help but think he does the same. Our time together is comfortable and yet charged with something I can’t quite put my finger on.

Something lovely and fluttery and comfortable and exciting all at once.

Later, when we’re back at the main house, he says, “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” I pass it over anyway.

“I just realized,” he says quietly, yet lightly, “that we don’t have each other’s numbers.”

I am far more drunk by this request than from the wine. He offers me his cell in return, and we program our numbers in. “Will I get a special ringtone, too?”

He chuckles. “Naturally.” And then he surprises me by escorting me back to my bedroom door. Once we’re there, he leans down, his lips right up against my ear. “Sweet dreams, Els.”

So much inside me clenches and flutters. Maybe it’s because of the darkness enveloping us in this tiny hallway, maybe it’s due to the wine, but I return the favor, my lips just as close to his ear as his had been to mine. “Sweet dreams, Christian.”

His head shifts, and we stand there, our cheeks grazing one another as I struggle to control my breathing. And then, as he squeezes one of my hands, he brushes his lips against my temple.

The kiss is completely innocent in the grand scheme of things, and yet, my knickers practically melt right off my body.

I quietly duck into my room before I do something unwise. To my relief, or maybe my dismay, my father and Isabelle are once more sawing logs with gusto. I quickly change into my pajamas, but right before I slip under the covers, my phone vibrates.

Thanks for running amuck with me tonight.

If I thought there were butterflies before, they were nothing compared to what rages inside my chest as I stare down at Christian’s message.

I ought to type something droll, something lighthearted and fun. But my fingers quiver, and my heart thumps hard within my chest. All my wit abandons me in glorious desertion. Perhaps I am truly sleep deprived, delirious even, because all I can type is: I look forward to us running amuck during the next witching hour.

I groan. We joked about sounding secondary school-ish, but goodness, I just sent us right back to those years, haven’t I?

Oh, man. I have it bad for this prince.

chapter 23

Christian

“It looks as if it might rain.”

I squint up at darkened bottoms of gray clouds lining the sky. Elsa’s first has come and gone, and it was done separately. We both missed the morning hike, but so did everyone else save one sad heir. And now here I am on the north terrace, spending a mandatory breakfast with Isabelle after enjoying some pretty damn vivid yet frustrating dreams that starred her sister during the slim amount of time I actually did sleep. Frankly, I’d rather be back in my bed, dreaming about Elsa than talking about weather with Isabelle. “Maybe, yeah.”

Icy amusement barely lifts the corners of her lips as she smooths her long hair over her shoulder. At least there has been no talk of horses this morning, but I might as well be watching paint dry, I’m so uninterested in what’s happening here.

“California is nice,” she adds after a long moment.

I scratch the back of my neck and nod. “Yeah, it is.”

“This is my first trip to the States.” She lifts her teacup, pinky extended. “I wish we could sightsee more.”

More?
I want to laugh at such optimism. There will be no sightseeing outside of the grounds. None of the locals, save those working for the Monarch Council, are aware the world’s sovereigns are even in the region. Our press offices have us dutifully working back in our home countries. Hell, we don’t even have our bodyguards here. But I tell Isabelle, “Me, too.”

Somebody calls out her name; when she turns to wave in greeting, I’m glad for the temporary reprieve. It allows me more time to daydream about her sister.

chapter 24

Elsa

I hiss beneath my breath, “How many more of these idiotic meetings must we be tortured with?”

Christian’s smile is tempered as we weave our way out of one of the guest cottages, even though it is obvious he’s as outraged as I am. “Come on,” he tells me quietly. “Let’s go somewhere that isn’t here.”

Sweet relief uncurls my fingers from fists that have minds of their own. We sat in yet another awful Crown Heirs meeting during which we listened to yet another pompous jackass explain why we are best seen but not heard until our sovereigns tell us differently. I might resent my father’s talking points, but bloody hell. I have not yet had the opportunity to even utter one, and we’re on our third day here.

We disappear into one of the stairwells of the main house. It is quiet; most everyone is either in another meeting or heading to a buffet luncheon. As strange as the location is, though, I like it. Filtered sunlight swirls about us, specks of dust glittering in the cool air. I cannot help but feel that, if we were to stay in this hallway, we very well might wander through a portal in time.

Christian presses his back against the rough, textured concrete of the stairwell and says, “It could be worse.” More softly, “It could be breakfast. Or tea.”

His brutal honesty stings, as I know exactly what he means. Breakfast this morning was a compulsory tête-à-tête with Mat. Last night’s share and tell was over. We had so much to say to one another that the two of us were resigned to chatting about different restaurants. And to know that tea is on the horizon, with the same strained attempts at getting to know one another?

I’d rather return to the meeting so recently fled.

“How was breakfast, anyway?” I ask.

“Well, for once, your sister didn’t talk about horses. So there’s that.”

I am initially taken aback, but then practically choke on all the laughter yearning to find a way out. “You’re not a horse fan?”

He pretends to shudder. “God, no.”

It feels lovely to smile,
really
smile, after a miserable few hours. “Me, either.”