Chapter 39
Spencer
B
eing there, at the top of the hill snuggled up with Lyra doesn’t feel real.
It’s something I’ve never allowed myself to hope for. To dream about. Not just being with Lyra, but being with the woman I’m in love with.
I’m in love with Princess Lyra. No—I’m in love with Lyra Erickson.
I don’t tell her that as we talk about things of no importance. We laugh.
We kiss a lot, and it’s a revelation. Men never think of whether women are good at kissing or not—at least I never have. I just assume they will take my lead—and I’ve never had any complaints.
Arrogant, yes, but true.
Kissing Lyra is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
It’s not just the touch of her lips against mine, but the confidence with which those lips move against mine.
Long, languid kisses, with her hands thrust in my hair, until I need to pull away for a break. Tiny pecks while we change position, laughing because Lyra pouts that she can’t get close enough to me.
The way her mouth finds the spot behind my ear and how she kisses her way down my throat as she sits, straddling my lap.
Hopefully not all the kissing makes it through the editing process, or I might have some explaining to do to King Magnus.
On the surface, it feels like things are resolved between Lyra and me—that there is an us—but deep down, I know there’s more to come.
I know we need to talk about us, but it feels better to wait.
It feels better to keep kissing, and work out the details later. I’m good with details—although with all the kissing I’m doing, I feel like I’m pretty good at other things as well.
We stay entwined for a long time, stopping occasionally for a sip of champagne or a piece of fruit, but are quickly drawn to each other again. There are whispers of nonsense, murmurs of appreciation and—thunder?
“Did you hear that?” I mutter against Lyra’s lips.
“No,” she says, snaking her arms around my waist. “But—” She feels the cold droplet at the same time I do. “I think it’s raining.” She groans as she buries her face into the spot where my shoulder meets my neck, her lips brushing my skin because she’s already pushed aside my shirt to kiss there.
King Magnus doesn’t need to see that.
“Do you have an umbrella?” she whines.
“It’s definitely raining.” I glance over at Johnny, who has the camera down and his phone against his ear. “We should get off the hill.”
“We have to walk down?” Lyra cries, clearly unwilling to move.
“I didn’t think you were the lazy sort,” I tease, my hands on her waist to push her off me.
“I’m not lazy, I’m comfortable.” Lyra stretches and I can’t look away from her smile of contentment.
I put that smile on her face, and she put an even bigger one on mine.
I’m still smiling as suddenly, the rain begins in earnest, fat drops that quickly turn into a sheet, soaking us within moments.
Lyra shrieks and jumps, laughing, to her feet. This is the only shelter on the top of the hill, and it’s not much of one. Ominous clouds have gathered overhead. “You couldn’t have told us it was about to rain?” I call to Johnny, who is trying to protect his camera under his jacket.
“Ria said it wasn’t supposed to,” he cries back, his long hair already stringy and soaked.
“Our producers are clearly not from the Maritimes.” Lyra pops the last strawberry in her mouth. The set up has been ruined, but there’s too much for us to carry down. She links her hand with mine and swings it between us. “Guess we’re in for a wet walk. Good thing I like to be out in the rain.”
I wish Johnny could get this side of Lyra on film.
The three of us are soaked to the skin before the golf cart gets to us.
That’s the end of the date. We don’t get the dinner portion; by the time we reach the village, it’s storming in earnest. Two SUVs along with Ria meet us. She instructs me to follow Johnny.
“Okay, but—” The driver has an umbrella over Lyra and is escorting her to the second SUV. “Lyra,” I call over the wind. “Call me later.”
“She can’t call you,” Ria tells me, following Lyra, who stops to look back at me with a confused expression. “No contact with the contestants unless you’re on a date.”
“But we’re—”
I don’t even know what we are.
The scent of Lyra’s perfume, her shampoo—of her—clings to my nose. The taste of her—a mix of champagne and fruit—is on my lips.
I am overwhelmed with Lyra and I don’t even know what to call us.
“She’s still the Suitorette,” Ria reminds me, all the while pushing Lyra into the vehicle and out of the rain.
I stand in the downpour, as Lyra manages a quick wave before they drive off toward Camille’s. The driver of my SUV, with Johnny inside, honks impatiently and I hurry to get in the backseat.
He drives us back to the hotel.
Every ounce of my being wants to be with Lyra. I want to be at Camille’s with her, telling her and Odin about our date. Hugging Hettie and Tema and telling Bo that I’m in love with his sister.
But the reality is that I’m being taken back to the hotel, where there are eleven men waiting to hear about my date, just like they waited to hear from Basher and Tanner.
The hard truth is that Lyra has a commitment to the show, and the other men are still waiting for their chance to win Lyra’s heart.
I know the contract she signed, because I saw Odin’s, and Lyra’s would be so much more involved.
We may have found each other, but that doesn’t mean she’s mine.
At least not yet.
Back at the hotel, they have pulled the heavy storm doors across the back of the lobby. I’ve been through storms in Battle Harbour, but the driver tells us they’re worse here in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with nothing to protect the little island.
He drops off Johnny and me and drives off into the night, eager to be home.
A group of men wait for me, as I enter the lobby, dripping all over the floor.
“Looks like you got rained out,” Rand says, hurrying up to me with towels.
“It sounds like it’s going to be a bad one,” Jon tells me. “They’re worried the power will go out.”
“It’s okay—Spence here will heat things up and tell us what happened with him and Lyra.” Basher bumps my arm as I run the towel over my face.
“How was it?” Tanner asks.
Basher had his own one-on-one date with Lyra. So did Tanner, standing behind him. I’m only one in the process. Who will be next? Jon? Rand? Boone?
How am I supposed to get through that now?
“Good. It was good,” I manage.
“What happened?” Jon demands.
“Nothing. We… talked. We…”
“Did you tell her you’re in love with her?” Charlie demands.
“No, but we—”
“You kissed,” Rand supplied. “Yay, you. But—”
“What happens now?” I ask them. There’s going to be another group date, another one-on-one date.
There are still weeks to go until Lyra makes her choice.
It might be me. I want it to be me. But, “She might pick me,” I say.
“She might pick any of you, and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing any of us can do.”
No one argues with me.
“You—” I point to Tanner. “—or you—” this time I point to Basher. “Could end up with her. She might fall in love with you. Or you—” I look at Ashton and shake my head. “Not you.”
“Hey!”
He laughs and I sink onto one of the couches, head in hand. “I don’t know what to do. I gave it… maybe not my all, but a lot. But she’s still here, and there’s you. Anyone of you could take her from me.”
“Except me,” Ashton drawls.
“The lack of control is the hardest thing.” I look up with surprise to see Rand with a serious expression on his face.
“I’m not used to it,” Basher agrees.
“This is why The Suitorette is so popular with women,” Liam says. “They would all love the chance to make the big decisions. To think about themselves for once.”
“Yeah,” Tanner says with a bewildered expression. “How do you know that?”
“I have sisters.”
“Coming on the show means Lyra can make a choice based on what her heart is telling her, not her head. She’s not considering logistics about what would happen after—she’s making a leap of faith, trusting it will all work out.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t,” Basher points out. “I’ve got a sister too, and she watches this stuff religiously. She gave me the stats.”
“Look at the stats in real life,” Ashton mutters. “Nothing is guaranteed.”
I look around at the worried expressions. Lyra is in full control of the situation, and I trust her.
But along with Lyra, the show has control here because they have Lyra under a contract. Lyra may know who she wants to end up with, but the producers may not let her pick me.
And after more dates, with the numbers dwindling, who can say Lyra may not second-guess choosing me.
Did she even choose me?
I can’t do anything but wait to see if it’s Lyra and me at the end, and that might just drive me nuts.