Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
EMMA
Her mouth went slack at Leo’s question. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Surely he was joking. They both knew this was little more than an apology or maybe a business transaction. Right?
“This is a clandestine nut-fetching mission, obviously,” Emma joked to break the sudden tension.
Leo smiled, but it didn’t seem as genuine as the one he’d given her earlier. “Right. Nuts, which I will buy as a thank you for saving my life.”
“I’ll allow it.” She crossed the threshold of the archway and stepped into the market. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t really had a square meal since she got here, just bites of rejected pastries.
She swiveled to take in the hustle and bustle.
It wasn’t the larger-than-life extravaganza she found in every neighborhood in New York.
Hollybrook’s festivities were smaller, subtler.
Almost illegally quaint. Instead of six-story projections timed to music, simple star lanterns hung from awnings.
Red bows adorned lampposts, and storefronts were draped with garland.
Vendors in booths sold everything from crafts to food to slightly creepy wooden puppets.
A scatter of stars was visible over the vapor of their breath, and she stopped to take them in.
Stars were an uncommon sight in the city.
The stupidly romantic atmosphere of the market had to be to blame for her lack of focus.
The twinkling lights were like an Instagram filter, showcasing a romanticized version of Leo.
The strength of his chin, the dimple in his right cheek when he smiled.
His glasses from earlier were gone, and strong, dark brows showcased the deep brown of his eyes.
She hadn’t given much thought to romance in a long time.
Not since Douchey Dylan had dumped her by text three weeks after her mom’s stroke.
It wasn’t a great loss. Even when they had been together, their relationship had been shallow.
While the companionship—and the sex—had been nice, she had never let him below the surface where the dark things were.
She had never been good at relationships.
Besides, there was no room for a relationship when a paper-thin wall separated her bedroom from her mom’s.
Her plan had always been the same since Lisa’s accident: save enough money to quit Crumb and Get It, freelance for the duration of the noncompete year, open her own business, and find a way to get her mom better care.
That was what she needed to focus on, not some broody Christmas-hating prince who hadn’t mastered the art of chewing and swallowing.
“You know what else would be a great way to thank me?” she asked.
“What?”
“Some insider information on your mom. I interrogated poor Ruby, but all she said was your mom likes cardamom.”
He put a hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her through the throng. Even though they were separated by a marshmallow-sized layer of jacket, her spine tingled.
“I suppose it’s the least I could do,” he said. “Do you drink wine?”
“Do raccoons have an insatiable hunger for deviled eggs?” she asked.
She was talking nonsense again. There was no reason to be nervous. It wasn’t like this was a date.
He stopped to look at her. “I don’t know how to answer that question.”
They had arrived at the wine tent. “Two, please,” he said.
The salesperson’s eyes lit up. She curtsied, and he nodded at her. Her gaze shifted to Emma, who smiled.
There was something bizarre about accompanying a royal person. Was this what ordinary people who married celebrities felt like? She had a feeling she was going to be taking a lot of pictures for people.
Orange peels and mulling spices perfumed the air. She inhaled deeply before fishing for her wallet.
“No,” he said, closing a hand over her wrist. “I’m paying tonight.”
Not because it was a date. Because he was thanking her for saving his life.
“Well, thank you.”
“So about the raccoons,” he prompted as he pocketed his change.
Emma took a sip, and the warmth flooded her body all the way down to her toes. Citrus, spice, and red wine. “God, this is good. What’s it called?”
“Glühwein.” He smiled, maybe pleased that she was enjoying something from his hometown.
“I love it. You’re not getting out of the racoon story,” she said as he steered her in another direction.
She should have been annoyed that he was steering her all over the place like some kind of catamaran. But his touch was a lick of fire, even above the forty layers she had on.
“I should have realized that was not an anecdote that would make sense overseas. Last summer, my mom and I went to a block party. We brought some deviled eggs. Long story short, I looked over during the party and saw a raccoon perched on the buffet table, scooping as many deviled eggs as he could hold into his tiny little hands. We chased him away, but he came back twice, and only for deviled eggs.”
Leo seemed to be considering this information. His lips were tight like he was trying not to laugh. “She hates fondant,” he finally said.
Emma stared at him. How would he know?
“My mother, I mean. Not that specific raccoon. Probably.”
“Oh. That helps, thank you.”
Any cake features without fondant would be challenging. It was just as well, though. Fondant sucked.
They started walking again.
The town was impossibly adorable. Lampposts decorated with bows were connected by string lights and garland, and children pointed in wonder at the two-story Christmas tree in the center of it all. It felt a little bit like home. But cleaner.
“Are you rewarding my charming raccoon anecdotes with fun facts about your mom?” she asked to cover the silence.
“Maybe. How about you tell me a little more about yourself, and I’ll tell you a little more about my mother.”
“What else can you possibly want to know?”
“Anything. What made you want to be a baker?”
Emma considered in silence for a moment.
“My mom, I guess.”
He nodded. “Does she bake as well?”
“No. But she is—was—a florist. She can grow anything, even in our minuscule backyard. She made incredible arrangements for high society weddings and events. Like she was born to do it. I didn’t have a knack for flowers.
I’m not even allowed to water the ones at home anymore.
But she got me an Easy-Bake Oven when I was eight, and something just…
clicked. There’s something so powerful about turning a pile of ingredients into something delicious. ”
“You have a true gift.”
She pulled her scarf up to hide her smile.
They joined the end of the line at the roasted nut stand. A couple people in front of them turned around and whispered.
She took a half step closer to him. “Do you not have a security detail?” she whispered.
It seemed awfully cavalier to allow members of the royal family out in the world with no protection. There could have been a dozen kidnappers in the crowd, ready to take him for ransom.
Leo snorted, then straightened like he was expecting to be reprimanded.
“In case it hasn’t become abundantly clear yet, the monarchy doesn’t really mean anything in Lynoria,” he said.
“No?” she asked.
Interesting.
“No. About thirty-five years ago—after my parents got married—the country voted to transition to a constitutional monarchy.”
“Oh. That must have been hard.”
Leo nodded. He continued in a low voice, “Ever since then, my mother has been obsessed with reminding everyone that we’re still here.
Our duties are mostly ceremonial bullshit.
Christening hospitals, holding fundraisers, that kind of thing.
Technically, my dad is the commander of the armed forces, but our ‘armed forces’ is about two dozen people with day jobs and nightsticks. ”
Hmm. Finally, some useful information. That gave her a lot to think about.
“Sounds like that wasn’t what your mom signed up for.”
He gave a curt nod. “Correct. So now she compensates by trying to control every aspect of our lives and thrust us out into the public eye as much as she can. Fortunately for me, she’s mostly focused on John and Ruby. They each have a security detail, but Ruby ditches hers all the time.”
Something in Emma softened. Classic middle child syndrome. Even though he said it flippantly, she could sense a source of pain there.
“Excuse me,” a woman said in front of them. “Your Highness?” She curtsied, and Leo stiffened for a moment before relaxing.
“Good evening,” he said with a deep nod. “Miss Kent, right? From the tailor shop? I hope business is booming this season.”
She nodded, and her cheeks flushed. Holy crap. Did he know the name of every citizen in the village?
“We’re very fortunate, Your Highness. Thank you for thinking of us. I was wondering if we might get a picture?”
“Of course,” Emma said on his behalf. The woman handed over her phone, and Emma stepped back to take the picture.
Leo looked pained, like he was suppressing a fart.
“Let’s get a couple more,” she said, shifting so that the Christmas tree was in view. “Say ‘deviled egg.’”
Ha. She had bamboozled Leo into a genuine smile.
“Perfect. Gorgeous. Christmas-card worthy, if I say so myself,” she said as she handed the phone back.
“Thank you, my lady,” the woman said with another curtsy.
Oh, no. She hadn’t signed up to be curtsied at.
Now that the ice had broken, more people were stepping up with sheepish smiles, bows, and curtsies.
After a dozen more pictures, the line parted in front of them. People ushered them to the front. Finally, a royal perk.
Leo graciously thanked everyone in line, and Emma could hardly take her eyes off him.
Even though she was getting a strong sense that he wasn’t happy in this role—a reluctant royal—he treated everyone with kindness.
The people were enamored with him. Instead of dismissing them, he asked one about his wife’s surgery, and another about their grandson’s football game.