Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
LEO
Leo knocked on Emma’s door. His gut was a tangle of nerves, and he couldn’t figure out if it was because of the project or because she might still be mad at him.
And who could blame her? He had plenty of opportunity to tell her who he was, but he hadn’t.
Hopefully some carnival food would help mend things.
The door opened, and he smiled without meaning to. He was still getting used to how short Emma was. She didn’t look mad, at least. Her apartment smelled like cinnamon and clove. It was warm and inviting, unlike the drafty halls of the castle.
Cooper leapt off the bed and trotted over to him.
“Hello,” Leo said, handing over a bouquet of pink roses he had stolen from the greenhouse on his way over.
“Oh, they’re beautiful. Thank you. How did you get roses in December? Wait, shit. Should I be curtsying?”
She started to bend, but he put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Please don’t curtsy.”
She couldn’t be that mad if she was prepared to curtsy at him.
“Imagine what your mother would say,” she said breezily as she opened half a dozen cabinets in the kitchenette before filling a pitcher with water.
Damn. He should have brought her a vase.
“I really am sorry. About earlier.”
She shot a look at him as she trimmed the blooms and nestled them in the vase. “That really did suck. But I’ve never been in your shoes, so I can’t fully understand what you go through on a daily basis. You get one mulligan.”
“Mulligan? Is that some kind of punishment?”
She snorted. “No. It’s like a do-over. But do not hide things from me again.” She brandished a pair of scissors in his direction. “Especially gigantic secrets about your identity.”
He raised his hands like she was holding him at gunpoint. “Never. I swear. I’ll take the do-over.”
He put his hands down, then stuck one out toward her. “Hi, I’m Leo. Technically, Leopold Chester Beaumont-Castillo, Prince of Lynoria.”
Emma made a face. “Oof.”
“I know. Anyway, I’m technically second in line for the throne, but I prefer getting my hands dirty over christening boats or whatever ceremonial bullshit my brother is always up to.”
She smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Leopold. I’m Emma.”
“Just Emma?”
“Were you expecting another outrageously long name? Emma Clark of New York, Artisan of Fine Confectioneries, Breaker of Bread, Mother of Scones?”
“Do you have children?” he blurted out.
For some reason, he hadn’t even considered it. His gaze dipped to her finger, but there wasn’t a wedding ring. Why did it matter? This was just an apology outing for a contracted service provider. There wasn’t anything going on here.
She raised an arm and almost knocked the vase over before smoothing her hair. “No children. Just dogs.”
“There’s another one?”
“Arizona. My mom’s service dog.”
A beat of silence fell. “It must be hard to have so much responsibility on your shoulders,” he said quietly.
A storm passed behind her eyes, but she shook it off. “Well, at least I’m not partially in charge of a whole country. Anyway, ready to go? Am I disguised enough?”
She spun in front of him, giving him permission to take her in.
Leo hesitated. More than one relationship had fallen apart because of the press hounding his partners. But they had been locals. And besides, he and Emma weren’t dating. He was just being a good diplomat and showing her around.
And thanking her for saving his life.
“I think you look perfect.”
She shuffled her feet and looked down.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
“What? Yeah, it’s fine. I’m not worried about the Lynoria Tribunal thinking I’m your secret American girlfriend or whatever. How are you feeling, by the way?”
“Feeling?” He raised his eyebrows.
She touched a hand to her throat. “From the whole…choking incident.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
It was partially true. That moment had been on his mind all day.
His throat was still raw from the effort of dislodging the pastry.
The panic that accompanied the obstruction had been so visceral that he had gone to bed still shaky.
If Emma hadn’t been around, he would have been all alone, unable to alert a staff member. He could be dead.
She reached over as if she was about to touch him but stopped. “It’s okay if you’re not. It’s terrifying.”
Leo paused. He could count on one hand the number of times someone had told him that feelings and vulnerabilities were okay. He didn’t know what to do with that information. He resolved to google how to self-Heimlich and filed the idea away for now.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “Ready to go?”
“Sure. Bye, Coop.” She bent over to kiss the dog between the small brown dots of his eyebrows.
“He’s a beautiful dog.”
“Thank you.” She shut the door behind them. “He’s the sweetest.”
“How long have you had him?”
They descended the stairs together and emerged into the frigid winter night. Massive snowflakes lazily drifted down.
“About three years. Someone abandoned him down by the docks in Brooklyn. I came across him on a walk and took him home with me. We’ve been together ever since. Do you have any pets?”
He shook his head. “My mother’s allergic.”
So she claimed, anyway.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said wistfully. “I would go crazy without Coop. He’s the best company. And he’s surprisingly invested in reality TV.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I think he belonged to a Real Housewife in a past life.”
Leo smiled. He had smiled more in twenty-four hours of knowing Emma than he had in months. It was a refreshing distraction from the stress of his project.
He waved as they passed through the gates on foot. Alejandro, the security officer on gate duty for the night, nodded at him from behind the desk.
“Do you have Christmas festivals at home?” Leo asked.
Their boots crunched over the fresh blanket of snow.
“Oh, yes. They’re so over-the-top and packed with the best food vendors. And incredibly crowded. My mom loves them. Or did love them, before her mobility challenges.”
“How do you and your mom celebrate the holidays now?”
Emma bit her lip and hesitated, like she wanted to divulge something. “Christmas is really important to us. We make a big show of it every year and do a bunch of super embarrassing stuff. One activity every day of December leading up to the holiday.”
Interesting. That was taking consumerism to a whole new level. And yet, he had to know more.
“Like what?” he asked as they descended the hill toward the glimmering lights of the village.
“I don’t think you want to know. You might think of me differently.”
“Tell me. Please. I’m curious what American Christmas is like.”
She tugged on a strand of hair. “Well, we do the stereotypical stuff. Hallmark movie marathon, ugly sweaters. We set a theme for cookie decorating every year—dead celebrities, swear words, animal butts.”
“Animal butts?” He raised his eyebrows.
She nodded. “I told you you didn’t want to know. When things were…better, my favorite tradition was making care packages for the homeless. Warm socks and toothbrushes and things like that.”
He tilted his head. Better? Meaning that things weren’t so great now? His heart dropped at the idea.
“Mom used to propagate and sell mistletoe out of a rickety old wagon. But our most embarrassing tradition by far was playing this obscure dancing game on our decrepit Wii. There were like two Christmas songs on there, which automatically made it a holiday tradition. One time, my mom drank too many Santa’s Revenges beforehand and accidentally punched a vase off an end table. ”
Leo laughed. It sounded warm, loving, and fun—the opposite of Christmas at the castle.
“Santa’s Revenge?”
“A drink I made up when I was twenty-one. It’s basically hot buttered rum with M&Ms. I didn’t have good taste.”
“It must have been hard for you to leave your traditions to come here. You don’t have any other siblings?”
Emma shook her head as they passed a streetlamp. The tip of her nose had turned pink, and snow clung to her hair and eyelashes. He had to stop himself from reaching over to brush them away.
“No, it’s just me and my mom.”
Another question was starting to bother him.
“Your boyfriend doesn’t mind you being away for the holidays?”
She snorted, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “Sorry. No boyfriend. There was, once. But he left me a few months after my mom’s stroke. He didn’t like the idea of marrying someone who was a required caregiver.”
He straightened. “What an arsehole.”
Emma’s expression shifted from cloudy to delighted. “Are you allowed to say arsehole? Is Beatrice going to pop out of a bush and smack you with a ruler?”
“They gave up on me a long time ago,” he said.
“The people love a rebel,” she said warmly. “What’s Christmas like for you and your family?”
Leo kicked a rock down the road. Faint strains of music were audible, and the air was spiced with cinnamon. It smelled great, but not as good as whatever had been wafting out of Emma’s apartment.
“We’re not big on Christmas. We go into town and ring the bell, then have brunch and gifts.”
She looked at him. “That’s it? Do you decorate? Make cookies? Watch movies? Play games?”
“Ruby and I do on occasion. I always volunteer around the holidays, so there’s not a lot of time for frivolity.”
“Hmm. Sounds like your Christmas needs more vase-punching,” she teased.
He shook his head. “It’s just another day on the calendar.”
She seemed to consider this in silence. “Are you planning to go to the ball?” she asked after a beat. “Five hundred years is a big deal.”
“No. I usually volunteer at the community kitchen on Saturdays.”
Was it his imagination, or did she look slightly disappointed?
“That’s too bad. You’ll miss the desserts,” she said.
“I’ll have Ruby save me some.”
“Ruby’s wonderful,” Emma said. “So smart and kind. She loaned me this outfit.”
Right. His eyes drifted down. She wasn’t wearing her stitched-up jacket. Was there money trouble at home?
“She’s the best,” he agreed. “Definitely the family favorite.”
She side-eyed him. “There must be a significant age gap between the two of you. Unless you’re secretly a very wise and mature twenty-one-year-old.”
“I was fifteen when she was born. John was sixteen. She was a surprise, but a welcome one. She’s the only one who can convince my mother to do anything. Hence, you’re here.”
Emma nodded. “I’ll be honest, I thought all of this was a scam. I was convinced we were going to touch down in Spain and get kidnapped and tossed in a trunk. Why pay room and board for a couple international randos when you could support a baker from your own country?”
Leo smiled. “I might have said something similar. But my mother’s very concerned about image. She was impressed by your Instagram.”
“Good,” she said flatly.
“I’m sorry if she made you feel like your desserts weren’t up to par,” he said.
She paused like she was debating on saying something. “I do wish she had provided a little more direction.”
Emma must have been crippled under the pressure, especially considering the queen’s lukewarm reception.
“For what it’s worth, I thought everything you made was more than spectacular enough on its own,” he said.
She perked up. “Really? Which one was your favorite?”
“The raspberry tart. Even though it almost killed me. Honestly, worth it.”
She looked pleased. “Can I quote you on that? A royal endorsement would be a boon to my future business.”
“Future business? Are you not planning on staying with…what’s her name?”
Emma bit her lip. “We have some…differences of opinion that make it challenging to work together. I do all the baking,” she explained.
He could have guessed. Maya didn’t even seem to know the name of half the things they had offered.
“Well, I’m so glad we caught you before you struck out on your own. Oh, careful—” he pointed to a patch of black ice, but it was too late.
Emma’s boot hit it, and in a split second, she was falling backward.
He lunged sideways and caught her before she hit the ground. Her eyes were wide, mouth frozen in an O as he held her.
Even with the puffy coat in the way, the feeling of her in his arms was like a hot shower after a long day.
They froze that way for a moment, snow falling on them.
He had an absurd, almost irresistible urge to kiss her.
The music, the snow, the beautiful woman in front of him.
It was like one of those kitschy snow globes sold by shops in the village.
He was being weird.
He tugged her back to her feet and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Thank you so much,” she said. Her cheeks were flaming. “Maya would have killed me if I got a concussion.”
Leo frowned. Maya seemed like a pill.
Emma stopped in her tracks and sniffed the air. “Oh, it smells amazing.”
“Roasted nuts. They’re my favorite.”
They had reached the outskirts of the winter carnival.
People teemed through the cobblestone streets, ducking into local businesses and perusing jewelry and wood-carving stands while shopkeepers stomped their feet to keep warm.
The scent of onions and butter drifted over from the pierogi stand.
A band was playing on the newly fixed stage at the park. At least the new boards were holding.
Emma started toward the elaborate wooden archway that marked the entrance to the market, but he grabbed her wrist.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure that I’m going to push you into a snowbank if you prevent me from finding those nuts.”
Another smile. Damn it, she was funny. “I just meant…people might assume things.”
She waved a hand flippantly. “Let ’em talk. We both know exactly what this is.”
“And what is this?” The question slipped out in a rush of condensation. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that.