Emily
“What makes you think he’s here for me? You’re way more famous.”
“This is England. You can’t throw a cricket ball without hitting a not-so-royal royal in the head.”
I laugh. That’s the thing with him. Even though he was keeping this major secret from all of us while we were drifting in the ocean, when he told us, no one cared.
Because he makes everything feel easier, lighter.
And I have to stop myself from imagining what it would be like to date him, to be surrounded by his comfort every day.
But then I remember all the stupid things I’ve done while under the influence of what I thought was love.
“Maybe you’ve watched too many movies. Perhaps the guy was just trying to figure out if the petit fours are worth the price.
” I pick one up. “Let’s not worry about him.
” I raise my champagne glass. “To learning more about each other,” I say and click my glass against his.
“To expanding friendship,” he says with a smile. And it’s hard to look at him because he’s so handsome.
“Cheers.” I drink as my eyes flick to his deep amber ones.
I seem to have an awful lot of expanding friendships.
Go with it, I try to convince myself. I have the never-ending habit of sinking in too deep too quickly.
I give my whole heart and want to play house faster than one of Oliver’s luxury cars can hit top speed on the autobahn.
My phone rings. I should have turned it off. An unknown number. I drop my phone in my purse and put it back on the stand next to the table. “I’m so glad you could meet me here today. But you didn’t tell me what you were doing in London?”
Oliver finishes his champagne. “I’m here visiting a friend.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Who?” There’s a twist in my gut. A man like him has to have lots of friends, most of them beautiful women. But who am I to talk? The only people I’ve been hanging out with are two muscle-drenched heartthrobs that any girl in her right mind would immediately jump into bed with.
Oliver laughs. “You, Emily. I’m in London visiting you. I don’t mean to be forward, but damn, I like you and I’d like us to get to know each other as more than friends. Have dinner with me tonight. A real date.”
“Oh, I . . .” This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked out since breaking things off with my ex-fiancé. But it’s the first time I’ve hesitated with my canned answer of I’m not dating yet.
“I’m not going to build you a list of how I’m not anything like your sniveling slug of an ex. But I’m not.”
“No, you certainly aren’t.”
“And it’s been a long time.”
“It’s true.” I take a gulp of my champagne.
“That’s a lot of time for soul-searching and finding self-love. Which I don’t think you ever needed. You just picked the wrong damn guy.”
“Also true.” I’m biting at the inside of my lip. It’s something I’ve been trying to get over for a long time.
“It’s me, Em. Nothing to be afraid of. We have dinner and a few laughs, and if we don’t get on, there’s no pressure.”
“I like the sound of that.” I smile and try to keep my excitement down.
I’ve never dated more than one guy at a time.
Not that I’m dating more than one guy now.
Kissing isn’t dating, I have to remind myself.
Maybe that will be the secret to keeping me from jumping in too deep with any of them.
Light and fun. I can be light and fun. “How’s your family?
” I take a sip of tea, realizing belatedly that, to a guy like Oliver, his family is anything but a light and fun topic.
“Good. My sister’s pregnant.” He smirks, because everyone knows his sister is pregnant. And that their parents aren’t happy with the Formula One race car driver who is the father. Said sister is also the next in line to be queen of Oliver’s home country. And unmarried.
“Is she doing okay?”
“I suppose if you call being locked up in the castle with parents who are pissing mad okay, then yes.”
“Locked up?”
“Figuratively. The media aren’t leaving her alone—her face is on every magazine in our country. How’s your dad doing?”
“He’s been better. The last few years were really hard on him. It’s hard, you know, watching your parents slowly fade away. His heart is weak.”
Oliver nods and turns our conversation to lighter topics, like his upcoming royal charity work and my foundation’s latest projects. Soon the tiers of our cake stand are mostly empty.
“I’ll text you later. Is eight too late?” Oliver pays the bill for lunch and stands. He holds out his hand to help me up.
I take his hand, and I don’t think it’s the champagne giving me the tingles but Oliver. “Too late . . . Our date? No, it’s not too late.”
“You didn’t think I was joking?”
“No, I just thought you meant sometime. Not now.”
“What better time is there?” He loops my arm through his and rests his other hand on top of mine.
It’s hard not to stare up at him as we make our way through the crisp tables, walking out of the restaurant. Oliver’s scanning the lobby. And my pulse picks up. “You really do think it was someone watching me? Not just a random stranger?”
“I do.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends a text. “We used to stay here every time we came to London when I was little.”
“The guy from the tearoom has to be long gone by now.”
“If it’s nothing, then it’s nothing.” The crowded lobby has us dodging suitcases. Oliver looks up from his phone. “Hotel security is going to look into it.”
“You don’t travel with security?”
“Part of the arrangement with my parents. I won’t take another job on a yacht, and they give me more space. Space to pick a profession they approve of.” Oliver’s fingers glide over his phone, and when he slides it into his pocket, his amber eyes hold mine. “You’re really not staying here?”
“No, I’m staying at a chain hotel.”
Oliver wrinkles his nose.
“I said chain hotel, not dive motel where they charge by the hour.” Which has my brain trailing sideways about renting a room with Oliver for an hour. Darn, I need to get out of this horny phase I’m going through.
Oliver laughs. “Fine. I don’t know what you were thinking about just now, but I like the way you were staring at me. Are you heading there now?”
“I suppose I should change.” There’s a fluttering in my stomach. “For our date.”
“You look lovely now. But I’ll walk you back and take care of meeting the security team here. You’re sure I can’t convince you to switch your hotel?”
“I’m only in London for tonight. I fly home tomorrow. I’m not much of a princess.” My stomach tightens, and I reflexively move my hand to my waist. “Not that there’s—”
“Em, no worries. It’s part of the lexicon. My sisters make fun of it all the time.”
“Thank you, that’s really understanding of you.”
“No worries, I’m a real prince when it comes to being understanding.” His amber eyes laugh at me. “Let me call you a car back to your hotel. Or if you prefer, I’m sure I could get you a spa appointment.”
I laugh and wrinkle my nose. “I’m not much of a spa girlie.”
“Really? My sisters love them.”
“I don’t know. I just feel weird with people I don’t know touching me.”
“Well, I’m glad we know each other.”
I playfully slap the side of his suit coat. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” My eyes drop to his lips. I might not be talking about it, but now I’m thinking about it.
“I’ve never had a couple’s massage,” he says.
“You, really?”
“That shocks you?”
“I guess I figured your college days were full of jetting off to Switzerland with Venezuelan supermodels.”
“I was . . . a bit of a nerd at uni. But that’s not to say I didn’t have my fair share of dates at Hemmings.”
“Hemmings, that’s impressive. What did you study?”
“Guess.” His eyes widen.
“Well, if you want me to guess, that either means it was something outrageous, hard, or extremely rare.”
“So, you’re ruling out the humanities.”
“Hey, mister, I have a degree in English and I worked really hard for it.”
He throws his hands up in the air. “Sorry.”
“With that answer, I’ve got to pick one of the majors that are full of holier-than-thou people. The triad: mechanical engineering, aerospace engineering, or quantum physics.”
“Close. Naval architecture, which is aerospace engineering for the ocean. I’ve revealed my true nature to you. Hope that doesn’t mean you’ll cancel your date with me.” He cocks his head to the side.
“Naval architecture, and you—”
“I wanted to be normal. I always loved being on the royal yacht. I helped as much as they would let me. Our captain wouldn’t let me do a bunch of things because I didn’t have any certifications.
One class led to the next, until finally I realized I could escape out into the world and be Oliver, Ollie, not Damien, for a bit.
It was nice—normal. My sisters always tell me I’m the weird one. ”
“Normal’s overrated. I like a bit of weird.”
“I’m glad. I’m a designer at heart. I suppose at some point I’ll get down to it. Hemmings was a great education, and I have plenty of friends working in ship building in the Netherlands and Germany.”
“Hemmings. It’s a good school.”
“You know it. Not a lot of Americans have heard of it. England’s finest.”
“I know someone who went there. From my high school.”
Oliver nods and looks away. Of course he knows about Thayer, but he’s never mentioned it. Though he didn’t just hang out at my house like the rest of the crew did, so we haven’t connected the same way I have with Anders, Ryder, and Shayla.
“I should get going to freshen up. But I don’t need a car—it’s not a far walk.”
“Okay then, let’s go.” His shoulders have squared up. Thayer Zambrano can change a mood in a second.
“You don’t have to. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you would be, I just would feel better if I walked you back and then picked you up later.”
I’m about to protest but put out my hand instead. We interlock fingers, and a tingle spreads up my arm to my chest.
Oliver leads us to the lobby.
“Your Highness,” a doorman says as he opens the door. “Can I call you a car?”
“Thank you, Dennis,” Oliver says. “We’re going to walk.”
Dennis takes a black umbrella with the Saint Redford logo on the handle and holds it out to Oliver. “Radar says it will rain in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.” Oliver takes the umbrella.
“You really do come here a lot.”
“I used to chase the pigeons on this very sidewalk. Dennis has been here since before I could open a door on my own.”
“He’s a little off in his weather prediction.” We’re only a hundred feet across the street and down the sidewalk before the rain starts. It’s a drizzle at first—just enough for Oliver to put up the umbrella while I hold on to his arm.
“I love the smell of rain in the city.” Oliver stops me from walking into the crossroad. “Does that make me weird?”
“I like a little weird too.”
The rain picks up, and we speed our steps. At the cross street, there’s a mother with a young child in a stroller with no awning. Water rolls down the boy’s cheeks, and he’s tearing up.
“It’s okay, baby. Just another three blocks and we’ll be home.” The mother holds her hand over the child’s head while we wait for the crosswalk to change. Oliver looks at me and I nod. He hands me the umbrella and takes off his suit coat and drapes it over the shoulders of my white dress.
“Miss?” I tap the mother on the shoulder and hand her the umbrella.
She tries to refuse. “No, it’s okay. You’ll mess up your pretty hair—”
“I won’t melt. I’m not sugar and spice anymore.” I laugh.
“Well, thank you.” She holds the umbrella over the stroller, and we part ways on the other side of the street.
Oliver holds my hand, and we dash from store awning to awning all the way until I see my hotel.
“Almost there,” I say at the next doorway, which is a closed business with soaped windows.
“You’ve got a good heart, Emily Rockwell.
” He pushes me against the locked door and grabs my chin with his thumb and pointer finger, turning my head to his.
Our lips crash together. He’s decisive and firm.
And damn, does he know how to kiss. My heart slams against my ribs as his body presses into mine, and if it wasn’t late afternoon on a busy London street . . .