Chapter 5
chapter
five
Mitchell
The silence stretches just long enough to start feeling heavy.
Not uncomfortable exactly—but aware. Like we’re both tiptoeing around the thing we pretended didn’t happen back there on the shoulder of the road.
I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the highway. “First stop’s about two hours out. Nothing fancy. Just a roadside hotel.”
“That sounds perfect,” she says immediately. Too immediately. Like she’s grateful for anything that doesn’t revisit the previous conversation.
I nod. “You hungry?”
“Always,” she says, then winces. “I mean—yes. That would be lovely.”
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
“You don’t have to do that, you know?”
“Do what?”
“Correct yourself. Watch your words and movements so carefully. No one is judging you in this truck.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” I say, aiming for casual. “What’s life like… over there?”
She glances at me. “Over there?”
“At your castle or whatever,” I clarify. “You don’t have to answer if—”
“No, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “First, it’s a palace. And everything is very structured. Intentional.”
“That sounds ominous.”
She laughs softly. “It is. Every minute is planned. Every movement observed. I can’t leave my wing without notifying at least three people.”
I whistle low. “That would drive me insane.”
“It does,” she says, then brightens. “That’s why I have a list.”
“A list,” I repeat.
“My American bucket list.”
I glance at her again. “You’re serious.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“All right,” I say. “Hit me.”
She straightens in her seat like she’s been waiting for this. “Okay. First—I want to walk barefoot.”
I blink. “Anywhere?”
“Yes.” She hesitates. “Well, not anywhere. Not like on broken glass or hot coals. Just some soft grass, maybe.”
“…you haven’t?”
“Not outside,” she says. “Not without permission. Or shoes chosen for me. Or someone panicking about tetanus.”
“That’s a little ridiculous,” I mutter.
She grins. “I think so too.”
“What else?”
“I want to hug dogs.”
I laugh. “Dogs specifically?”
“All animals, really. But dogs seem very… hug-friendly.”
“You’ve never hugged a dog?”
“Absolutely not. Fur is considered unsanitary. The only animals we have on palace grounds are peacocks and swans. Neither of which are particularly snuggly.”
I shake my head. “This keeps getting worse.”
She’s smiling now, relaxed. “I also want to wear a swimsuit in public.”
I choke on a laugh. “You what?”
She shrugs. “Apparently Americans do that.”
“They do,” I confirm. “Frequently.”
She sighs dreamily. “Imagine. Just… walking to a pool without a robe, an escort, and a briefing.”
I glance at her again. “You’re killing me.”
“Oh, I’m not done,” she says. “I want to take a shower.”
I frown. “A shower?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve… taken baths, right?”
“Of course. I am clean.” She wrinkles her nose. “But the method is rather odd. I sit in an enormous tub while ladies’ maids wash my hair and exfoliate me.”
I nearly miss my exit.
“You’re telling me you’ve never had an actual shower?”
“Never alone,” she says. “And never standing up. Our method is strange and antiquated and frankly uncomfortable. I just want to wash myself without an audience.”
I stare at the road, trying to recalibrate reality. Because currently all I can think about is water sluicing down every one of her mouth-watering curves.
Thou shalt not lust after thy own brother’s wife. Isn’t that one of the main commandments? I am so screwed.
“That’s it. When we stop tonight, you’re taking a shower.” I toss that out because I can’t have this woman, but we’re going to be on the road together the next couple of days. And maybe I can just fulfill some of the things on her American bucket list.
Her eyes light up. “Truly?”
“Absolutely. I’ll even show you how the knobs work.”
She laughs, genuine and bright, and something warm settles in my chest.
“What else is on the list?” I ask.
“I want to color my hair,” she says thoughtfully. “Just once. Something different.”
“I can see that.”
“And maybe get a tattoo.”
I raise a brow. “A princess with a tattoo.”
She smiles, mischievous. “Scandalous, I know.” Then I feel her hand on my arm. “You have some. I can see the ink peeking out of your shirt.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I have several, actually.”
“Do they hurt?”
“Sure. But it’s not an unbearable pain. Also, it depends on where you get them and how big. What are you thinking you want?”
“A crown on my buttocks.”
I nearly get whiplash looking over at her.
Her lips are folded in and she’s hiding a smile. Then she laughs. “I’m only kidding. That would be dreadful.”
I shake my head, amused and… impressed.
I’d expected entitled. Demanding. Someone used to barking orders and being disappointed when the world didn’t bend fast enough.
Instead, she’s sitting beside me, talking about bare feet and dogs and showers like they’re miracles.
She glances over. “You’re suddenly quiet.”
“I’m just… surprised.”
“By what?”
“By how normal you are.”
She laughs. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I swallow and focus back on the road.
From my periphery, though, I can see that she’s still smiling when the next words slip out of me.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road, “my brother would be a fool not to want a real marriage with you.”
Her breath stutters.
“A real marriage?” she repeats carefully.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice lower than before. “The kind that includes all the… benefits.”
The silence in the cab turns electric.
I risk a glance at her and immediately regret it. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips parted just slightly, like she’s deciding whether to laugh or say something reckless.
“And you’re qualified to speak on that?” she asks, teasing but breathless.
I exhale through my nose. “I have eyes.”
That does it. She laughs—soft, surprised, a little flustered—and shakes her head.
“You’re dangerous, Mitchell Sinclaire.”
“Probably,” I admit. “Which is why we should change the subject.”
She studies me for a beat longer, then nods. “Agreed. Or maybe I’ll take a short nap. Would that be okay?”
“Of course.”
I welcome the escape.
Because if I keep thinking about the way she looked just now—warm, open, very much a woman who longs to be wanted—I’m going to forget every reason this is a bad idea.
And that’s not something either of us can afford.