Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
I dropped my olive onto the table in slight shock, then quickly picked it up and shoved it in my mouth. That was a bold statement to make, or maybe I’d just been so used to palace life and dating prim and proper men who wanted to put me in my place that I wasn’t used to it.
He didn’t notice, I don’t think, just kept grabbing food and putting it on a small silver plate that had his family crest on it. He slid it over, rolled up his sweater sleeves, washed his hands in the sink and started humming Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire with a crinkled smile on his face while he sliced bread.
He sliced it with precision.
I whimpered in the back of my throat and kept popping green olives into my mouth like it was a challenge.
Was my brain warped?
Were we moving in slow motion? Why was I suddenly finding everything he did attractive? Cabin fever already? Insanity?
He rubbed his hands together, grabbed some fresh roast beef, and began slicing it into small pieces. “Onions?”
“No!” I almost shouted. “No, I mean, not on my sandwich.” Not tonight.
What the heck was I thinking? That I’d be kissing my own fiancé or something? I was trying to prove we weren’t a match, not launch myself at him. If anything, I should have made him put the whole onion on there. Instead, I stayed silent.
“No onions.” He repeated. “All right. Tomatoes?”
“Sure.”
“Mayo?”
Why did his list of ingredients have to sound so sexy with the way he growled it low in his throat, but in a cheerful, I want to serve you sort of way? When had my father ever even made a snack for my mom? When had my mom ever not been served on by staff? Furthermore, I nearly missed the chair to sit when he added extra lettuce to mine and cheese without asking because he remembered, then cut it into four pieces.
Something that etiquette taught you in the palace.
High tea always included smaller sandwiches, he’d made mine massive but still bless his heart tried to make it look dainty, fit for a princess.
He kept humming when he made his own sandwich, fit for a king, then sat down next to me, not across, but right next to me. His leg brushed mine.
Improper, but we weren’t in public, like he’d reminded me.
“Eat.” He shoved my plate in front of me. “You’ll feel warmer faster.”
I knew other ways to get warmer faster.
I nearly dropped my sandwich when the errant thought hit.
“Is it not good?” He leaned in so close I could see the flecks of gold in his bright blue eyes.
It was good, and the cabin was giving me some sort of fever, yes that’s what it was, we’d always been together during events, both too busy and isolated to go on dates that weren’t for the press. Ones were we awkwardly laughed during an outing, riding.
It was exhausting.
So then all the stories I heard were in the tabloids or from the other two kings who adored him, or the staff.
Yet all I saw was a Yankee getting ready to take the throne and I would be forced to sleep with him and create an heir, plus he’d always seemed so disinterested. Insecurity always crept in, making me think it was me, he didn’t like me. I was too boring, too rigid in all the wrong ways to his upbringing.
So maybe the problem all along wasn’t him, but me. I set down my sandwich and blotted my lips despite there being no lipstick there, then took a sip of wine. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” He polished off his sandwich.
I burst out laughing. “Okay, this wasn’t part of it, but did you chew?”
He threw his head back and laughed freely, his smile was so easy and sexy, he held up his wineglass. “When you ate in my house you had to go fast otherwise there would be a fight over the last sandwich and I was very serious about sandwiches my entire life.” His face fell a bit, he set down his wine, then motioned for us to get up and go to the couch. He held out his hand.
Would this be a defining moment?
I grabbed it daintily as I was taught, and let him lead me over. He didn’t sit down right away though. He put more wood on the fire, then grabbed the quilt from me, sat down right by my side and placed the blanket over both of us, only to pull my legs onto his lap.
My. God. That was bold. He was my fiancé, but we’d only had a few instances where he’d touched me.
He tucked my feet underneath the blanket like it was normal and shot a sad look over at me. Was he going to give me bad news? Had I said something wrong? “It wasn’t until two years ago I found out about my dad’s favorite food, the late King’s—my mom always found him in the kitchen late at night making sandwiches, they even got to the point where after catching him so many times and scaring the staff every time, that they made sandwich nights, the kitchen would be empty and they’d have all these silly names for the sandwiches that the staff learned how to make.” His face fell even harder. “It was, um, right before the coup, Christmas time, that they made their final one. I had already been taken out of the country by that time.”