Chapter 4 #2
Of course, I can’t slip out completely unnoticed as my requisite pair of protection officers always follow close behind.
Frank and Brenton have been with me since university, the former staying on the outskirts of my circle and keeping a bird’s eye view on my surroundings, the latter young enough to follow me closely while looking like he was just another student.
I’ll be forever grateful to these two men.
They sacrifice a lot for me. Frank left his wife and children for months on end when I was in school or traveling, and Brenton had served with me in Afghanistan, having gone through rigorous military training himself in order to join the Royal Guard.
In the corridor, it isn’t hard to find the smaller banquet hall where the children have been relegated.
Squeals of laughter are muffled behind a pair of wooden doors at the end of the hall.
I push one door open a crack. All the tables are pushed to the walls, leaving the middle of the room free of obstacles.
A long line of children hold hands as they snake through the room.
Several others run independently and try to skirt the group.
I watch as one of Bertram’s grandchildren is encircled by those holding hands and then joins the line in a fit of giggles.
One head towers above the rest in the growing group of hand-holders.
I step fully inside to catch a better view of Aurelia, her hair escaping its tight bun and a few stragglers framing her heart-shaped face.
Her laughter rings out like wind chimes as yet another child is brought into the fold.
The other nannies stand on the side or sit at a table along the wall.
Some are watching in interest, others with thinly veiled distaste.
One child is left on the outskirts, and the group lets out a screeching battle cry as they attempt to corner the outlier. I catch Aurelia’s eye as she turns the mob to chase. Her already huge smile widens, making my chest swell. Damn, this woman.
The last child is caught in a shout of outrage, and the group disperses with more giggles. She sets the children back up to continue the game and then moves along the outside of the playing area.
“I don’t think I remember the children ever having this much fun at a formal dinner before,” I say as she reaches me. We stand shoulder to shoulder, focusing our attention on the room before us.
“No?” She sounds a bit out of breath, and I try to be inconspicuous as I watch the rise and fall of her chest from my peripheral vision.
“What do you call this game?”
“Ameba tag.” She’s still breathing a little heavily, and it’s all I can do not to stare.
“A game of your own invention?”
Aurelia lets out a wistful sigh. “Something from church camp as a kid.”
I turn my head to study her, but she stares resolutely forward.
“Church camp, eh?” She doesn’t respond to that, but her jaw is tight as she watches Darcy get trapped in the middle of the crowd of children who are apparently all it.
The little girl pouts a moment, but her nanny shouts encouragement, and the smile from Dietrich’s daughter takes up her whole face as Darcy joins the group.
“What do they normally do with the children during these things?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Read them a book or play on the floor quietly until bedtime.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“I doubt fun for the children is high on the agenda of the event planners,” I scoff.
Aurelia turns to me, and I fight the urge to tuck one of those wild strands of hair back. “Guess I need to come along to these dinners more often.”
“The children would love that.” My willpower runs out, and my hand brushes her forehead to tuck a stray lock behind her ear.
Her eyes go wide as I let my fingers trail down and along her jaw.
She bites the corner of her lip, and I have a sudden desire to kiss that spot.
But she bows her head, and I drop my hand.
“Why did you invite me to that match?” she asks to her feet.
“I thought it would be something you might enjoy.” And I want to see her smile again. I want to know if she is just as passionate as I am, to see her light up at a great play or scream for a beautiful goal. Will she curse the ref for a bad call?
“Yes, I would. But…”
I put a finger under her chin and lift her face to mine again. Her dazzling green eyes search mine. I’m trying to read her, but all my training in facial expressions is failing me with her. “But what?”
“Your Highness.” Her voice is edging toward firm.
“Fritz,” I correct her.
“Your Highness,” Aurelia insists. “What was your intention, really? You knew what was about to happen, what the palace would announce the next day. Why invite me to go to a match with you when you’re about to start searching for a wife?”
“What’s the harm in taking a beautiful, hardworking woman to a football match to show her a good time?”
Her face hardens, that twinkle in her eyes disappearing in an instant. “I am not a good time girl.”
I can’t help but smile. “I didn’t say that, but what would be the harm if you were?”
She pushes my hand away and steps back. “Excuse me?” I hold up my hands in surrender at the venom dripping from her voice. “I need to get back to the children.”
She turns on her heel and doesn’t spare me another glance.
I watch for a few more moments as they continue this modified game of tag before slipping back out into the corridor.
I don’t feel like rejoining the party and instead make my way to the hotel a few blocks away.
My protection officers leave me at the door to my suite.
A bottle of whiskey sits on the bar counter with a note from Miles. It’s an American bourbon that he’s been tracking down for a while. The note says to share it with someone special. I guess he assumed I would be taking someone back to the hotel after these evening events.
I pour myself a glass and take out my phone.
I know a few people around Cronomarra, one in particular who is always down for a quick shame fuck when I happen to be in town.
But when I open my messages, I catch sight of the thread with Aurelia, and anyone else on my mind slips away.
I find myself wondering if she likes bourbon.
People from the American South like whiskey, right?
I begin typing out a message to her, a casual invite to join me in the offering from Miles, but think better of it.
If an invitation to a football match is enough to raise her walls, talk of a nightcap alone in my room is sure to send her running.
Christ, I’m an idiot. Instead, I type out an apology, explaining that I had no intentions other than to enjoy a match with someone who shares my passion.
My heart leaps when three little dots pop up a few seconds later. Then they disappear.
Well, I royally fucked that up. I’d laid in my huge empty bed last night, watching for those three dots to crop up again.
They never did. I gave up after an hour and switched over to reply to some emails I had ignored during the day.
My focus continued to drift, and finally, there was nothing for it but a few more glasses of whiskey and an obligatory bedtime shame jerk.
Five o’clock finds me wide awake even though I only fell asleep four hours before. There’s no use trying to go back to sleep. I’ve never been able to fall back asleep once I’m up. The exception being the total exhaustion of boot camp. That’s the only time in my life when I’d slept like the dead.
My substitute valet had laid out a pair of thick sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie. Tristan had apparently prepared him well. I lace up my runners and pull on a knit hat with the Portyard badge on the front.
I had texted my security team when I woke, and Brenton is already waiting for me outside my door.
Frank had gone ahead to scout a route, like he always does when I’m traveling.
He’s in his fifties and in decent shape still, but in no condition to keep up with the two of us.
Brenton and I can knock out a sub-six-minute mile on a good day.
The sea air is cleaner and crisper here.
I love running along the water back home, but the pollution from the port and the mills dampens the scent from the sea.
Here, there is room to breathe. I forgo my typical morning news podcast as we run along the boardwalk, preferring the soundtrack of the crashing waves and screaming gulls to the bleak current events.
My mind has no space for such today. It’s like a tangled mess of wires in there, each thought leading to another in a jumble of worry, confusion, and doubt.
Am I doing Father proud on this trip? How many more will he send me on?
Is he passing on these responsibilities because it is truly my time, or because he is running out of it?
I’m nowhere near ready to take that on. I’m older than Father was when he became king, but I still feel woefully young to be taking on such a role.
That wire inevitably leads to the upcoming princess trials.
A wedding will take place before my thirtieth birthday next year, whether I’m ready or not.
Noble women from around the world will be flocking to Marvia City this week in hopes of becoming the next princess, future queen, mother of the heirs.
And thoughts of those women then lead to—
“Oof!”
I turn a corner and run right into something, knocking the air from my lungs.
Brenton is in front of me in a flash, his body between me and whatever I had collided with.
Frank and another guard jump from the black SUV following us, both shouting with tasers drawn.
My brain is so far gone it takes me a minute to realize I had run into a person as they cry apologies. Then the accent clicks.
“Whoa! Whoa. Relax, everyone,” I shout above my security team, putting a hand on Brenton’s shoulder. He stands firm.
“I’m so sorry,” Aurelia pleads again.
I see over my guard’s shoulder as she sits in a heap on the sidewalk, hands held in the air, whisps of hair plastered to her damp forehead. Her green eyes are huge and dart from one man to another before finding mine, flashing with something like embarrassment.
Pretty. Goddammit, why does she have to be so pretty?
“Stand down, men,” I say, more firmly this time.
Frank may outrank me in the military, but we’re not soldiers here. He lowers his taser and waves down the others. Aurelia heaves a sigh and drops her hands.
I chuckle as I hold out an arm to help her off the ground.
She stares for a moment, and I wonder if she might refuse the gesture, but whatever battle she’s fighting in her head ends in my favor as she takes my hand.
I hold on perhaps a bit longer than necessary, allowing my thumb to caress over the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist. I thrill at feeling her pounding pulse under my touch.
She drops her eyes, and I let her hand fall.
My men have backed off by now, always conscious to give me space when they aren’t immediately needed.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to disturb your run.”
“I should be the one apologizing.” I stoop to pick up her phone from the sidewalk. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
Aurelia snatches the phone from me, but not before I catch a glimpse of the audiobook she’s listening to. The author’s name is vaguely familiar, and based on the shirtless man on the cover, I think I can place the genre. I know I’m right when her cheeks redden.
Even a sweating mess, this woman is striking.
I am again hypnotized by the way her chest moves as she catches her breath from what appears to be a rather vigorous run.
Or the result of her listening material?
And fuck, now I’m thinking about other activities that would also lead to sweating and heavy breathing.
“And I need to apologize for last night, too,” she says, eyes firmly fixed on the tip of her shoe, tracing an arc in the concrete.
“Aurelia—”
“No.” Her gaze snaps back up to me. “I overreacted.”
“I was crass and presumptuous.”
“You made a joke and I let outside factors color my perception.”
“Outside factors?” My mind begins to churn again. What does this girl know about me? Not that my life is some well-guarded secret.
She bites the side of her lip, and I again have the desire to kiss away that worry.
“Yeah, like stuff that has nothing to do with you making me react that way.”
Why do women like to speak in riddles? “I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”
She huffs, rolling her eyes to the grey sky, muttering something I can barely hear over the harsh wind coming off the sea.
I catch something about other men, and it clicks. Christ, how could I be so stupid? “Did someone hurt you before?”
She looks down again, throat bobbing as she swallows hard.
That’s answer enough. Of course, there’s some huge reason why this gorgeous American woman would find herself not just transplanted to my small country, but also remaining single.
And I’ve pushed her, made her uncomfortable.
I want to lift her face back to mine, to fall under the spell of her amazing eyes, but she was hesitant to accept my hand earlier; perhaps she’s wary of my touch.
“Then I am truly sorry, Aurelia. I hope you’ll allow me the chance to prove that my intentions are pure.”
She does look up at me now and snorts the most adorably undignified laugh. “Are they?”
I shrug. “Hmm. About eighty-five percent.” I shoot her my best smoldering smirk. “I can keep a rein on the other fifteen.”
Her cheeks are already rosy from cold and exertion, but the color deepens, and her lips make a tight line. “See that you do.”
“Yes, mi’ lady,” I say as I place a hand over my heart in solemn promise. “May I join you for the rest of your run?”
“I, um, actually prefer to run alone,” she replies, once again shy. “I really should get going. The children will be awake soon.” She gives a small curtsy. “Your Highness.” And she’s off again, replacing her earbuds before I can get in another word.
I can’t help but watch her go. Her auburn ponytail swishes as she picks up pace.
The outline of thick thighs in black leggings has blood rushing to the exact wrong place for a run.
Aurelia turns a corner, perfectly round ass now out of sight, and I continue my own trek, all thoughts about duty and marriage and responsibilities pushed aside for an American nanny with legs I’d kill to have wrapped around my face.