10. Soren
SOREN
The next morning, I woke up in the guest room instead of Jude’s bed.
That should have been my sign that nothing would go right.
For one, I was used to sleeping in late, but Jude woke me up at seven.
To be fair, I did wake up, but immediately after he left, I went right back to sleep.
The next time he walked into my bedroom, the loving Daddy from last night was gone, replaced by a stern one who insisted that, since I didn’t obey him and get dressed, he couldn’t drive me to get breakfast as he’d planned, so my punishment was to make us both breakfast instead.
Me making breakfast?
The idea was so preposterous that I stared at him in shock, thinking he wasn’t serious, especially when he looked that damn hot, looming over me in faded jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt already damp with sweat, even though it was only eight in the morning.
I almost gave him an alternate suggestion of what he could eat for breakfast, but given the stern look on his face, I didn’t think he would be amused.
“Something simple should be fine.” He walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back, letting in sunshine so bright that I pulled the blanket over my head.
“I’m not hungry,” I lied, words muffled under the cover of the blanket.
“But I am, little prince.” I felt the weight of him sitting on the bed before the covers were removed from over my head. “You haven’t forgotten our arrangement, have you?”
“I didn’t expect it to start so soon.”
And being the responsible adult didn’t seem so tedious on paper, but the prospect of making breakfast terrified me.
“Are you saying you want to end our agreement?”
My eyes flew to his face as a feeling of dread sank inside my gut. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Good.” He cupped my face, leaned in, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “There’s bread you can toast and eggs and sausages. See? I’m a reasonable man. That shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Before I could protest that I didn’t know how to make any of that, he was gone.
I wasted ten minutes contemplating whether I really wanted a Daddy if he was only going to wake me up so early in the morning and make me do chores.
Then I remembered I was just a deposed prince with a degree in monarchical history and ceremonial diplomacy who had no way of surviving alone in this country and hauled myself out of bed.
I needed Daddy more than he needed me.
Unfortunately, I took half an hour in the shower, which I found impressive given my usual morning routine could take a couple of hours at best. A lifetime of being a slow riser with someone to run my bath and dress me hadn’t exactly made me the most efficient person.
I borrowed clothes from the closet in the room, but they weren’t exactly my size.
The blouse—because that was exactly what it was—was cropped high on my stomach to show off my belly button, and the flowing white cotton ankle-length skirt couldn’t be zipped all the way, but what other options did I have?
I thought I looked cute. I’d occasionally worn lacy apparel beneath my clothes while in Belvaria but had never dared anything this risqué.
It was one thing to have a third prince who had no prospect of being king one day be gay, but, as open and accepting as Belvaria was, that sentiment wasn’t extended to the royal family and cross-dressing.
The skirt rustling around my legs as I walked felt great, and I twirled, feeling happier than I had in a long while.
Until I walked into the kitchen.
As if he’d understood my predicament, Jude had laid out the ingredients for me to make breakfast, but he had underestimated me.
When I finally got the toaster to work, it spat out two blackened slices of bread.
I figured they were still edible. The darkness had come from one of the toaster’s settings, after all.
Surely manufacturers wouldn’t intentionally include a setting that destroyed food.
Every egg I cracked sent pieces of shell into the bowl, but I got most of them out. I couldn’t get the stove to light no matter how many times I turned the knobs, so I added salt and pepper to the eggs and shoved the bowl into the microwave instead.
Now for the sausages. Maybe I could put them in the toaster? It seemed logical enough, since bread went in and came out hot. I dropped two sausages into the slots and pushed down the lever.
Maybe cooking wasn’t as hard as I’d thought. Feeling proud of myself, I opened the fridge to figure out a beverage. I didn’t dare mess with the coffee machine. There were way too many buttons to push, and I wasn’t about to press my luck.
An explosive sound cracked through the kitchen, and I jumped back with a cry as the microwave door rattled. Yellow eggs splattered across the inside, streaking the glass. I threw the door open and eggs ran out onto the counter and the floor.
At the same time, thick gray smoke poured from the toaster as the machine made a faint sizzling sound, followed by an unpleasant smell that spread through the kitchen far too quickly.
I abandoned the microwave and ran over to the toaster.
The steel wires on the inside were gleaming red, burning fat, and charring the sausages.
“Nonononono.” I stuck my fingers inside the toaster oven to rescue the sausage.
Pain shot through my fingertips.
“Ow!” I jerked my hand back and shook it wildly, staring at the reddened pads of my fingers. In hindsight, reaching into a machine filled with heat was not one of my better ideas. Neither was making breakfast, though that had been Jude’s idea, not mine.
As if the kitchen wasn’t already in chaos, the smoke alarm started screaming.
I grabbed the nearest dish towel and waved it to disperse the smoke, but that only stirred it around. My elbow clipped the open carton of eggs still on the counter and knocked it sideways. Two rolled to the floor and splattered against the tile.
The kitchen smelled like smoke and sulfur.
“What the hell happened?”
I froze.
Jude stood in the doorway, his gaze moving slowly over the kitchen. He took in the burnt toast on the floor—I didn’t even know how it got there—the cracked eggs, the open microwave dripping yellow sludge, the tipped bowl inside it, and the saltshaker lying on its side in a small white mound.
His eyes finally landed on me, and the expression on his face made my earlier confidence collapse. I expected him to be angry, but he wasn’t. He looked horrified, and somehow that was worse.
“I was making breakfast,” I said, but the words came out shaky.
The smoke alarm continued shrieking overhead as I lowered the dish towel and finally saw the kitchen the way he must have seen it.
His beautiful kitchen. The counters he had made with his own hands.
The cabinets he had built. The orderly room he had trusted me to use, and I had destroyed it in less than twenty minutes.
My throat tightened.
Of course I had.
The useless prince. The one who could memorize state protocols but not boil water. The one who needed valets, assistants, secretaries, and guards. The one whose brothers could ride, hunt, debate policy, and charm diplomats.
And me?
I was quite proficient at ruining breakfast.
My eldest brother had laughed once and called me decorative. I’d laughed along at the time, but now I’d finally gained enough clarity to understand it hadn’t been a joke. It had been an insult that I deserved.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He rushed by me to open the kitchen windows, and the smoke alarm finally stopped as the sea breeze rushed in to clear the space. Only then did he turn to me.
“Soren—”
“I know it’s horrible.” I took a step back and slid on the eggs. My legs decided to go their separate ways—I couldn’t blame them—and I went down. Strong arms caught me and pulled me into a solid chest before I could hit the floor.
“Don’t!” I cried, trying to pull away. “I’m a mess. I got eggs all over me, and—”
“Soren, it’s okay.”
His voice sounded strained, and shame burned hotter beneath my skin. He was trying not to lose his temper. Of course he was. Anyone would be angry after walking into this nightmare of the deposed prince who couldn’t even light a stove.
“I didn’t mean to ruin anything,” I said, tears filling my eyes.
“I thought the toaster could cook sausages because it cooks bread, and then the eggs exploded, and I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s probably for the best because I don’t think I got all the shells out.
If I could have lit the stupid stove, none of this would have happened. ”
I cringed as I said it because I didn’t even believe that. Maybe it was a good thing I couldn’t light the stove, or he might not have had a roof over his head tonight.
Jude made a strange choking sound, and my heart cracked. Now he was going to regret agreeing to be my Daddy.
His shoulders shook. Was he crying?
“Are you—” I pulled back to look at him.
He covered his mouth, but it was too late. A laugh escaped him, low and muffled. Within seconds, he was laughing so hard he had to brace one hand against the counter.
I stared at him, confused. Wasn’t he upset?
“You’re laughing?”
“I’m sorry.” He tried to stop, but one glance at the kitchen set him off again. “I swear I’m not laughing at you.”
I squared my shoulders and pursed my lips. “You are very clearly laughing at me, Daddy.”
“No, little prince. I’m laughing at the situation.” He waved toward the microwave, the smoking toaster, the broken eggs, and the blackened toast scattered across the floor. “I have never seen so much dis—err, effort in one kitchen before, and still nothing edible was produced.”
I should have been offended, and a part of me was, but then Jude looked at me with tears from laughter streaming down his face, and a giggle slipped out before I could stop it.
He pointed toward the toaster. “Why would you think it’s okay to put sausages there?”
“It seemed reasonable at the time. It makes things hot, and the sausages were cold.”
That only made him laugh harder. Soon, I was laughing just as much, bent against his chest, while the ruined breakfast surrounded us. The kitchen still smelled awful, egg clung to my shirt, and the toaster might never recover, but the shame loosened a little with every breath.
When we finally calmed down, Jude brushed a smear of egg from my sleeve and looked at me more seriously.
“This is my fault.”
I blinked. “How could this possibly be your fault? I was the one who made a mess.”
“Because I assumed.” He glanced toward the ingredients he had left out. “I knew you hadn’t cooked much based on what you said last night, but I figured you knew the basics. I should have asked what you were comfortable doing instead of leaving you alone with appliances and hoping for the best.”
Before I could argue that it was reasonable for him to assume a grown man knew the ins and outs of a toaster, he slipped his hands beneath my arms and lifted me onto a clean section of the counter.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll clean this up.”
I shook my head immediately. “No. It’s my mess. I’ll help.”
Jude studied me, then smiled. “Fine. As long as you promise not to start another fire.”
“I did not start a fire,” I said as I started to hop down, and Jude caught me and slowly lowered me to the floor, our bodies connecting the whole way. Heat flared in his eyes, and I remembered the way he’d gone down on me last night on the beach.
“You came very close.” But there was no heat in his words. I was still amazed that he wasn’t angry.
One broad, calloused hand supported my bare back, and heat crackled beneath my skin.
“By the way,” he murmured, his gaze drifting over me, “you look very good in that outfit.”
“You think so?” Heat crept into my face. “It’s not what I normally wear, but I didn’t have many options.”
He leaned in and planted a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Once we’re finished here and I teach you how to make breakfast, I’ll take you back to Halo House to collect your things.”
My stomach fluttered. “You still want me here after everything?”
“Of course, little prince,” he said gently. “As long as you are open to learning, I will be patient with you.”
“And you don’t want to do a trial weekend?” When he’d suggested that arrangement, I’d thought it was for me to decide whether I was comfortable with him, but he might be the one who actually needed that trial to see if he could put up with my nonsense.
“I’d say last night proved we’re compatible. Don’t you think?”
His voice had dropped, leaving no doubt he was referring to what we’d done on the beach. I smiled up at him and nodded.
“Everyone says you’re the best Daddy, and I agree. I’m lucky to have you.”