Chapter 2 – Rowan
ROWAN
This entire night has been a bore. Person after person shaking my hand and bowing and trying to impress me while asking when I’ll be the next to settle down.
Then there are the women. The same old women in the same old gowns with the same old look.
Women of money, power, and influence. Their daughters, too.
Vultures who came here tonight to gossip, make connections, and try to snag a prince as their prize.
Yawn.
I’ve turned it into a bit of a game. With every new introduction, seductive look, or flirty remark, I take a sip of my drink.
I’ve upped the ante to add drinking to every snarky remark made about Bellamy.
By the end of this night, I’ll either be too drunk to have fucks left to give or start speaking my mind instead of taking the diplomatic route as I’ve been trained to.
It’s the Bellamy shit-talking that’s throwing me over the edge more than the advantageous women.
I thank the heavens daily for my new sister-in-law.
She not only broke the curse but also brought my asshole of a brother back to life.
She’s sunshine and beauty, and these women have ugly, greed-darkened souls.
They’re all the same. Every single one of them.
Until her. Ella. Raven hair, dark eyes, come-fuck-me red lips, and a sharp-as-a-knife tongue.
She was right there watching me, catching me yawn in the middle of a royal wedding party.
After casually calling me out for being exactly what I was, bored, she simply sauntered off as if she hadn’t just made it impossible to take a breath.
I watched her go, irritated she didn’t so much as look back once. The one woman in the entire place I actually wanted to talk to, and she wasn’t interested. It took me another hour to find her, but I did. Now I have her in my arms with no intention of letting her go tonight.
The orchestra throws me a bone and picks some version of a popular song and plays it to a soft tempo.
I bring her into my arms, one hand on her lower back and the other holding her hand.
Her hands have a texture. Like fine sandpaper.
It surprises me. These aren’t the hands of a lady.
These hands are no strangers to work. And her eyes.
There’s something about them. About the particular shade of black-brown.
Still, even as the questions mount, I can’t stop staring at her.
It was actually her skin I noticed first. It’s creamy white and such a contrast to her hair, eyes, and dark makeup.
It’s so damn pretty and almost glows silver like her gown.
She also smells good. Like fresh air and winter nights and heat. Not like perfume but like skin.
Inwardly, I chuckle. I’m fucking drunk. When the hell have I ever noticed a woman’s skin before? A woman who is also visibly unhappy to be dancing with me and making sure she keeps a solid bubble of space between us.
It makes me smile like a devil.
“Do you think the space you’re forcing will keep you safe from me?”
I get a quirked eyebrow. “Do I need safety from you, Your Highness?”
My hand on her lower back slips a notch, and I draw her in where I want her. This time, she doesn’t fight me. Her hand on my shoulder slides to the crook of my neck at my collar as I spin us around the dance floor, ignoring the annoying tickling sensation of eyes on us.
“Call me Rowan.”
“Are you safe for me, Rowan?”
The way she says my name in that sexy voice of hers makes my cock twitch.
“I’m the safest person in the room.”
A small tinkling of a laugh hits her lips, so light and sweet. Such a contradiction to everything dark she appears to be. “There’s nothing safe about you, Your Highness.”
I twirl us in circles, both of us good enough dancers that we don’t have to mind the steps, and I can focus on her. “Does that thought excite you?”
She stares up at me as if she’s giving this genuine thought. “Perhaps. But before you start getting ahead of yourself with me, I’m not safe either.”
“Noted.” Challenge accepted. “I like the way you said my name.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“But what if I can make you scream it?” I whisper into the shell of her ear, and before she can answer, just to play with her a bit and keep her off guard, I use the hand I’m holding and spin her out onto the dance floor before I snap her back into me.
She gives me a dismayed head shake for that move, especially as there’s applause around us, but I catch the hint of a smile on the corner of her lips.
It’s there underneath all the red and sass.
“You’re the worst sort of flirt, aren’t you?”
“You’re the only woman in the room I want to flirt with.”
I get an eye roll that makes my lips twitch. I don’t think a woman has ever rolled her eyes at me. I’m starting to understand why Sebastian found Bellamy’s back talk and cheek so appealing.
“You just proved my point,” she says. “I have a feeling we were photographed.”
Ah. So that explains her sour expression.
“Maybe one or two photos,” I agree, shifting my hand so I can use her lower back to press her back into me. “Phones aren’t allowed in here tonight, as you know, but there is the royal photographer.”
“Lovely. I’ll be sure to use it on next year’s holiday card.”
“You’ll have to send me one then. Maybe we should smile and pose to make it extra special.” I move us between the other dancers, looping us back to the edge of the dance floor so we’re not the center of attention.
Her head tilts. “Is that why you’re dancing with me? For the fans?”
I chuckle lightly. “Not even close.” I bring my mouth to her ear. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t let any photographs get published. I’ve got you. Try enjoying yourself with me. A wedding party is meant to be fun, and I want to have fun with you.”
Her eyes sparkle up at me, twin pools of midnight, and her hand finally comes up to my neck. It’s different than holding her hand. Hotter. Sharper. Like static electricity. It makes me wish I could touch more of her, but her dress goes up her back practically to her neck.
“What do you say?” I press when she doesn’t respond. “Can we have some fun with each other tonight?”
“Tonight?” she questions, and my insides quicken. It’s an odd feeling. Like excitement when I haven’t been excited about anyone in a very long time.
“Tonight,” I confirm, my eyes on her lips before I slowly trail up to her eyes. I can’t kiss her here, and I have to keep reminding myself to maintain boundaries. “All night. Tomorrow morning. Through the weekend. Honestly, I might not want to let you go.”
Her fingers tickle the ends of my hair. “I don’t plan to give you the choice. But I can have fun with you for now. I don’t very often, so let’s give it a try.”
I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles when I spot our waiter on the outskirts of the dance floor holding our drinks.
“Perfect timing.” I move us that way, thanking him as I release her hand so I can pass her one of them. She takes it, patiently waiting for me to take mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
Our glasses clink, and we each take hearty sips, our eyes holding because I can’t seem to look away from her. Hardly even for a moment. She winces slightly and gently coughs.
“Not what you wanted?”
She clears her throat. “A bit stronger than I’m used to.”
“I don’t particularly like dirty martinis. I’m more of a whiskey man. Where are you from, Ella?”
“Messalina,” she deadpans.
My brows bounce in feigned surprise, and I point at my chest. “No kidding? Me too.”
“Har, har, Your Highness.”
I wink, but she’s a tough one to soften up. “You’re not going to give me any details about yourself, are you? You’ll make me work for everything I get.”
She shifts her weight in her heels but stands up straighter, the stiff fabric of her gown rustling against me as she turns serious. “You could have any woman in this room, Your Highness. Why are you bothering with the one who doesn’t want any part of the world you come with?”
“Probably because that’s what I like most about you,” I tell her honestly. “If I wanted those other women, I’d be with them instead of with you.”
“Except I shouldn’t be here with you,” she states bluntly. “I should turn around and walk away and leave this place behind.”
My knuckles brush her cheek. “You don’t want to do that.” It’s all over her face. The reluctance. The inner battle. “Are you married?”
“No,” she answers quickly, even if she seems unsure and out of sorts for the first time all night. “Not married. Not engaged. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”
That’s…surprising. It has to be her choice.
Any man who looks at her would kill to have her on their arm and claim her as theirs.
My guess is she’s a sheltered girl from an aristocratic family.
The kind of girl who gets paired and married off for money and station.
Her parents are likely in this room but don’t seem to care that she’s dancing and talking to the prince enough to interject. Hell, they’re probably loving it.
“Then why shouldn’t you be here with me?”
She emits a humorless laugh and takes another sip of her drink. “You mean other than the fact that you’re the prince?”
I narrow my gaze. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“I’m thirty-three.”
She smirks mockingly. “I know how old you are.”
“So other than the fact that I’m the prince, why shouldn’t you be here with me?
” I challenge her attempt at a rhetorical question as I stare her down.
I don’t want her to go. I want her to stay with me.
I can’t explain it. Maybe that’s foolish.
Maybe I’m drunk and simply like the way she looks and how she’s entirely different from every other woman in this room.
Whatever. I don’t exactly give a shit if that’s my reason.
There’s something compelling about her. A siren in a sea of boredom.