CHAPTER NINETEEN
Glen
There are some things in your life you are fairly confident will never happen. Attending a royal ball in Europe was definitely one of those things for me.
I stand before the mirror of my elaborate room wearing a tuxedo. If wearing a tuxedo means having unbuttoned cuffs and holding a bowtie.
“This is normal. Not strange at all.”
Max enters the room. “You’re supposed to wear that around your neck, Dad.”
“I’m just finding a YouTube tutorial...”
“I know a better way.” Max takes my hand and drags me from the room.
“Wait!”
“Come, Dad.”
The hallway is dotted with carved chairs and sideboards that look like they could belong in any museum. Crystal chandeliers sparkle overhead, even though people rarely wander into this part of the palace.
An antique clock ticks, and my breath quickens.
The day after tomorrow, I have a flight back to Nevada, and everything will end. Then in a few months, Erik will tastefully issue a press release that he and I have separated, that the distance was too much.
Delicate porcelain figurines glisten under the golden glow of the sconces. I step away in case I accidentally shatter them or something.
Max swings his gaze around. “Where do you think King Erik’s bedroom is?”
I ignore the way my body heats at the combination of ‘Erik’ and ‘bedroom’. “We can’t show up at his room.”
Max narrows his eyes and shoots me the sort of disappointed look that would have made my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Pickle, envious when she was trying to convey her feelings about my lack of progression on cursive.
“He likes hanging out with you, Dad,” Max says.
I press my lips together. I know where this is going. It’s too close to where my mind is going. “We’re only here for Christmas, kiddo. We’re flying back the day after tomorrow.”
Max’s shoulders slump, and I hate that I’m responsible.
“I know,” Max says finally. His face brightens. “Guess I better find him.”
Then Max rushes ahead, sliding over the polished floorboards.
“Wait! Max!” I hurry after him, then do a more dignified stride.
Finally, Max and King Erik appear.
Max beams at me. “I found him! Look at my bowtie!”
He drags Erik to me, and Erik laughs.
“You look very handsome,” I tell Max. Because really—this is my son? In a tiny suit? He’s never looked so polished in his life. “I’m going to show Anders!” Max scurries down the hallway, slipping and sliding.
“Don’t run,” I call after him. “This isn’t our backyard in Mistletoe Springs!”
“It’s fine,” Erik assures me. “I have fond memories of running through this castle once.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“My father used to put me on top of the doors. My mother was displeased.”
I chuckle.
“You look handsome,” Erik says softly.
“I’m nervous,” I admit.
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I’ll try not to be,” I promise.
“That’s not what I meant.” Erik takes my hand. “I am lucky to have you at my side, Glen.”
My heart zings, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going back the day after tomorrow. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“They’re true.”
I shake my head, more firmly this time. “I might believe them, and...” My chest hurts. “I’m going to leave.”
Erik blinks multiple times. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” I add easily.
“Maybe...”
I stare at him. Two pink spots have appeared on Erik’s cheeks.
Is he going to bring up that I’m leaving soon? That we’ll never see each other again?
Romantic music plays, and my eyes widen.
“The musicians are practicing.” Erik swoops into a bow. “May I have this dance?”
I nod and take his hand. Dancing is something I can do. I hold him in my arms, and we waltz in the hallway.
Anders and Max appear. They giggle and wave, then dart away, leaving Erik and me in the privacy of each other’s arms.
I kiss him.
Of course, I kiss him.
I can’t bear not having my lips on him, not tasting his lips, his tongue, his mouth. He kisses me more forcefully, and the initial shyness and trepidation he had a few days ago has vanished. He pulls me against him, so I’m pressing him against the wall.
I run my fingers over him, because I leave the day after tomorrow, and then he’ll turn into a memory.
I’m gonna miss him something fierce.
He does something crazy to my insides, and all I am when I’m faced with him is want and longing.
I kiss him until his lips become pink and swollen.
“Shame these tuxes are difficult to put on,” I say.
Erik’s eyes sparkle. “I am an expert at wearing tuxes. And that extends to putting them on and....”
“Pulling them off?” I ask hopefully.
“I can demonstrate my skills in a spare room.” Erik takes my hand and ushers me into a bedroom. He locks the door, and we’re alone.
KING Erik
I am being ravaged.
I am being ravaged by a tall, muscular cowboy.
By Glen.
We’ve gone from fully, immaculately dressed to not dressed at all.
Glen sweeps kisses over my body, sucking on my collarbone, my earlobe, my lips, as if to remember their shape.
And then I remember that the day after tomorrow, he’ll be gone. I want to tell him to stay.
But I don’t want passion to turn to awkwardness. I don’t want his happy grins at me to turn to bashfulness. I don’t want him to have to remind me that staying was never the plan, that he has a life and job on the other side of the world.
I kiss him instead. I wrap my legs around him, because I want to feel his whole body pressed against me. I want all oxygen to flee, so all that there is, is the feel of his warm skin against mine.
His hardness presses against mine.
“Tonight,” I promise.
He nods. “Tonight.”
But when I take his hand and lead him downstairs, I try not to have my heart break.