CHAPTER SIXTEEN
King Erik
Glen’s eyes soften, and I think my heart might fly from my chest.
He cups my face with reverence.
It’s going to happen.
After all these years, I’m going to be kissed by a man.
Just like I dreamed of when I was younger.
And I’m going to be kissed by Glen. His cowboy hat tilts, and I stare at his dark curls and his wide, kind eyes, and the way stubble shadows his chiseled features.
Will I feel them when we kiss? He leans closer to me, and I close my eyes, happy he’s taking charge.
Glen moves his lips against mine, sucking on them, and I can absolutely feel the masculine texture of his cheeks. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my chest against his sturdy, wide one. He moves his hands to my waist, and the next thing I know, I’m being dipped back, back, back.
Shutters click, and the world explodes in yellow.
His mouth is on mine the whole time, and his lips and tongue capture my mouth more forcefully than I’ve ever been kissed before.
Glen rights me, and I’m bemused and breathless, as we stare at the still-flashing cameras.
Paparazzi lower their cameras, and for some reason, their smiles fade. I figure out the reason once Sven swaggers forward, dark shades in place, black suit impeccable.
“This way, Your Majesty,” Sven says.
Glen and I kissed.
These pictures will be at every grocery checkout lane in Europe.
My security team ushers us back to the castle, and Glen is quiet the whole way.
Gunnhild and Olav greet us inside.
“Those pictures were wonderful, Your Majesty!” Gunnhild exclaims when we enter the castle. “I’m so happy.”
Olav is similarly enthusiastic once Gunnhild leaves. “Those pictures were brilliant. I’m glad that you and Mr. Garland found each other.”
Glen stiffens beside me. Is he going to think I concocted this whole thing, just to kiss him? He can’t. He mustn’t.
“We’re not...” I sigh. “We knew the paparazzi were there. It was for them. He’ll return to Nevada in a few days. Please do not expect anything.”
“Oh.” Olav’s shoulders droop momentarily, before he valiantly raises them. “Forgive me. I assumed, Your Majesty...” He smiles. “Well, you looked very devoted. If people ever vote the royal family out, you can go into acting.”
“Olav, see that Glen has clothes suitable for the Christmas Ball.”
“Of course. I’m already on that.” Olav glances at Glen. “And absolutely no orange ties.”
Glen gives me a nervous glance. His cheeks are redder than they were before, and I hate it.
“I think orange is charming.”
“You would say that,” Olav says.
I blink. “I hardly make it a habit to comment on apparel.”
“My case rests.”
Glen gives us a wobbly smile. “I’m going to get some studying done. Thanks for the trip to the Christmas Market, Your Majesty.”
I nod, deciding not to revisit the argument about Glen’s studying in front of Olav.
I collect a tray of Christmas cookies and eggnog from the kitchen, then go to the drawing room to surprise Glen.
He’s not there.
In fact, a footman tells me he hasn’t been there at all.
Is he avoiding me?
I hand the tray to the surprised footman and tell him to share it with the other staff, then retire to my room.
I see Glen at dinner, but he is quiet and withdrawn. Max chatters through the dinner, and even Anders is surprisingly talkative. Apparently, they went ice skating after Glen and I left.
Glen doesn’t meet my eyes very often.
Is this because of the kiss? Does Glen resent me for it? That I stole the first kiss he’s had since his husband died? Did I do it wrong? Was the experience unpleasant for him? So unpleasant that he’s been avoiding me the rest of the day?
Shame curdles my stomach.
I retire to my bedroom to read, but the words blur together.
I find myself walking through my corridor, then walking to the greenhouse. The last time I was here was with Glen. Did he think the experience was silly? Sven certainly was baffled why we were there late at night.
Could he tell I have a crush on him?
I enter the greenhouse and inhale the greenery. Normally, the space calms me, but now the place feels haunted, like I can feel Glen’s presence.
The stars and moon are mostly hidden, and snowflakes fall over the greenhouse roof.
“Your Majesty?” Glen’s voice asks.
My chest squeezes. I hate it. “Stop it. I’m imagining you.”
For a moment, there’s only silence, then I hear a faint chuckle.
A shuffle sounds, then another. “You’re not imagining me.”
“Glen?”
“I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I couldn’t sleep and—”
“You came here?” I swallow hard. I try to remember what I said when I thought I was speaking with imaginary Glen.
“It’s a real fine place, Your Majesty.”
I smile, but then I remember all the awkwardness since we returned from the Christmas Market. “I’m sorry about the kiss.”
He stiffens. “Don’t worry.”
“I shouldn’t have let you kiss me,” I tell him. “I apologize. Most likely I did it all wrong and—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He takes my hands in his. “In fact, it was mighty nice.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” He rubs his thumb over my wrist, and my pulse jumps under his touch. “I wanted to kiss you.”
“You did?” My voice is too high-pitched.
“Uh-huh,” he drawls. “I think you’re real special, Your Majesty. But I know I’m only here for a couple of days and that cowboys and royals don’t mix. I—”
And then, by Solberg, I launch myself into his arms and kiss him.