Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
This Jeremy bloke was something else. If he glared any harder at Michel, Sophie might have to jump in front of him to bodily block the death ray. But Prince Michel had years of practice at civility and propriety. If he could smile and play nice with greedy, conniving foreign officials who wanted to take advantage of Rouleme, Michel could endure an hour or two of Jeremy and his homicidal eyes. For Emma.
Even in the smoky, raucous Korean barbecue restaurant—the last one in Los Angeles permitted to use lump charcoal indoors, per Sophie’s research—Emma looked impeccably poised and beautiful in her white off-the-shoulder jumper and black jeans. But she still fit in seamlessly at the no-frills restaurant.
When the server came to grill the meat for them at the table, Emma politely waved her away. “That’s all right. I’ll cook for our table.”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Jeremy grinned when the server left with a shrug. The murderous light evaporated from his eyes when he looked at Emma. “You need to relinquish control sometimes. The servers are professionals. You can trust them with cooking our meat.”
Michel’s eyes narrowed at the easy way the other man teased Emma. They were undoubtedly close, but how close?
“It’s not that I don’t trust them.” She placed long strips of marinated boneless beef rib onto the sizzling grill. “I just enjoy doing this.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes, and she elbowed him in the ribs, then went right back to grilling the galbi. Michel’s eyebrows furrowed into a faint frown at their antics. He was being ridiculous. They were friends. That was how close friends acted with each other. Right? Impatient with himself, Michel turned his focus on Emma as she laughed and talked while expertly flipping the meat and cutting it into bite-size strips with a pair of kitchen shears. Fascinating.
Emma caught his eyes and smiled a little shyly at him. His answering grin was full blown and ridiculous. Her lashes fluttered down as she returned her focus to dinner, but Michel couldn’t look away. His gaze slid to her creamy bare shoulders and lingered. Suddenly, the delicious grilled meat in front of them didn’t tempt him. All he wanted to do was bite the soft curve of her shoulder and lick away the sting. His mouth watered with the hunger to taste every inch of her.
“Okay.” Emma sat back and spread her hands toward the grill. “Help yourselves. We need to get it off the grill before it burns.”
Without stuffy decorum, she and Jeremy began piling the meat onto their plates. After a couple of seconds, he and Sophie followed their example. His friend was a more accomplished chopstick wielder, but Michel managed not to drop any meat on the table. He carefully picked up a perfectly cooked piece with his chopsticks and popped it in his mouth. It was a literal flavor explosion. The sweet and savory marinade added to the richness of the generously marbled beef, and the meat melted in his mouth with hardly any assistance from his teeth.
“This is fantastic.” He reached for another piece of galbi. “What’s in the marinade?”
“I don’t know their exact recipe, but it’s generally soy sauce based with sugar or honey—sometimes people use grated Asian pears or apples—garlic, onions, and toasted sesame oil,” Emma said. “Do you really like it?”
“How could I not?” And he liked every minute he spent with her—he liked her more every minute. His gaze lingered on her face until she blushed, but he couldn’t look away.
The side of his face prickled with some sort of premonition—or perhaps a sense of self-preservation—and he reluctantly broke eye contact with Emma to meet Jeremy’s stinging gaze. The death ray had intensified into a weapon worthy of Armageddon. Michel swallowed his annoyance at the other man’s antagonism and prepared to offer his best diplomatic smile, but it died on his lips when Jeremy gave the barest shake of his head. Was he warning Michel off Emma? Something snapped in him at that.
“Tell me, Jeremy,” he drawled. “How exactly do you know Emma?”
“My mother is her godmother.” It was impressive how Jeremy managed to enunciate with his jaws clenched so tight.
Emma glanced warily between them as though sensing a storm brewing.
“So, you’re a family friend of sorts,” Michel said blandly.
“I’m basically her older brother.” The other man’s nostrils flared like those of a bull being taunted by a matador.
“ Basically is a far cry from actually .” Michel bared his teeth at him in a not-so-diplomatic smile.
An angry flush rose up Jeremy’s neck, but he seemed to check himself and leaned back in his seat, slinging an arm across the back of Emma’s chair. “In some ways, basically is much better than actually .”
It was Michel’s turn to see red. His hands clenched into fists, and he leaned forward. He wasn’t sure what he could do with an open-fire grill between them. Perhaps he could cautiously reach across the table to smack the smirk off the other man’s face—anything to get him to drop his arm from Emma’s chair.
“Michel.” Sophie placed a firm hand on his forearm.
“Are you guys for real?” Emma snapped at the same time. With an impatient huff, she shoved a too-big piece of galbi into her godbrother’s mouth. “Eat, dingus.”
Jeremy dropped his arm from her chair and chewed his meat with a sullen scowl. Michel lowered his eyes to his plate, bemused by his own behavior, and took a deep, calming breath.
Deliberately ignoring the two chastised men, Emma smiled at Sophie. “How are you enjoying dinner?”
“I’ve had Korean barbecue before, but this is exceptional,” Michel’s royal guard said as she slowly withdrew her hand from his arm.
“It’s the lump charcoal—sutbul.” Michel loved how Emma’s eyes lit up when she talked about food, especially Korean food. “There’s nothing quite like the smooth, smoky flavor it adds to the meat.”
Michel opened his mouth to speak, but Sophie shot him a look that told him he hadn’t earned his right to talk yet. She turned her attention back to Emma. “I read in my research—sorry, I’m a bit of a nerd—that Korea has the greatest number of distinct cuts of beef in the world.”
“That’s right.” Emma beamed at Sophie like she was her star pupil. “Each cut of beef has such different textures and flavors, especially when they are flash grilled at the table like this. It’s an art and a science that Koreans pursue relentlessly.”
Sophie raised her shot glass filled with fiery soju. “I have to salute that.”
“Hear, hear.” Emma clinked her glass to Sophie’s and tilted back the potent liquor, and Michel’s royal guard followed suit.
When Sophie gasped, blinking back tears, Jeremy laughed as he refilled her empty glass. “If you’re not accustomed to soju, I would take it easy the first time around. It hits you fast and hard.”
“A little late for the warning,” Sophie said hoarsely, drinking ice water to soothe the burn.
“Take it easy, my ass. Don’t listen to him, Sophie.” Emma grinned slyly. “Michel can be your designated driver for tonight.”
“I’d be happy to drive,” he offered without hesitation. His friend could use a real night out. Even if she didn’t show it, being his one-woman security team was a tremendous strain on her.
“That won’t be necessary.” Sophie shot him a cutting glare that rivaled Jeremy’s. Her narrowed eyes seemed to say, You dare question my professionalism? “I’ll be drinking water for the rest of the evening.”
“So how do you guys know each other?” Jeremy asked.
“They’re childhood friends,” Emma rushed to answer for them. “They happened to come to LA at the same time.”
Michel glanced at Sophie, who shrugged. Emma had quietly insisted on Sophie sitting with the rest of them when they’d arrived at the restaurant. It made sense. It was easier to have Sophie just be his friend than to discomfit Jeremy by telling him she was his bodyguard.
Across the table, Emma snickered at something Jeremy said. They seemed exceptionally close. They even had their own unique vocabulary for bickering and teasing each other. Michel wasn’t at all sure he liked it, since Jeremy was basically but not actually her brother, as the other man had so helpfully pointed out.
Michel’s index finger tapped restlessly on the table as he watched their interaction with growing ire. Was he jealous? He was jealous. He’d never considered himself a possessive man, but his body shook with the raging need to shove Jeremy away from Emma. She is mine.
“Please excuse me for a moment.” He stood abruptly from the table and bolted for the lavatory.
What was the matter with him? Staring at himself in the mirror over the sink, Michel raked his fingers through his hair and tugged on a handful. He had to snap out of this. Did love make a thoroughly reasonable man lose his shit? Was he in love? He paced the small space of the men’s lavatory.
This was beyond forgetting himself in the moment like kissing Emma in the middle of the street. His control was truly slipping, and it terrified him. He’d arrogantly believed that he would be spontaneous and let love happen, all the while having full control of his emotions and actions. He’d been an absolute fool. He wasn’t even sure he was in love with Emma, but he already felt well and truly wrecked.
As he continued pacing, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and started. He was smiling. As his mind caught up with his heart, Michel felt a reckless calm settle over him. A woman who made him feel this way had to be worth it. He was still terrified, but he welcomed the feeling—he embraced the uncertainty—because no one ever said love would be easy. After splashing some cold water on his face, he walked out of the lavatory.
Jeremy stood guard in the hallway. “I thought you were pretending to go to the restroom to pay the check.”
“Why would I go behind everyone’s backs like that?” Michel blinked. “I would’ve offered to pay when they brought out the check.”
“Because it’s the oldest trick in the book.” Jeremy scoffed in disbelief. “Paying for the meal is a matter of honor for Koreans, and we’re not above engaging in subterfuge to have that honor.”
“I apologize for not understanding the seriousness of the matter.” Michel chuckled, remembering what Emma had said to him the first time they met at the café. We’re masters at paying the check before anyone else . “But it would be my great honor to treat everyone to dinner.”
“Too late, my friend.” Jeremy’s grin was all savage glee. “ I paid while you were in the restroom.”
“Thank you for holding back your evil cackle,” Michel said dryly. When he turned to go back to the table, the other man placed a hand on his shoulder.
“What are your intentions toward Emma?” he asked solemnly.
Michel was taken aback, but he didn’t hesitate before answering, “The most honorable.”
“How honorable can it be if you’re planning to leave her in two months?” Jeremy sounded exasperated. And genuinely concerned.
“I’ll be leaving America in two months. Not Emma,” he said fiercely. “Temporary is the last thing I want.”
“That’s not what Emma thinks.” Jeremy held his gaze a moment longer, then sighed. “At least, that’s not what she wants to believe.”
Michel blocked the other man’s path as he made to walk out of the corridor. “What do you mean?”
“Unbelievable.” Jeremy smirked. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder to earn my trust. Until then, you’re not getting any more intel on Emma from me.”
The insufferable git. He had not been trying to get intel out of him. The man had offered the enigmatic statement on his own and Michel merely sought clarification. He still couldn’t decide whether Jeremy was being a good friend or if he was jealously guarding Emma.
“Were you two fighting over the check?” She gave them a stern frown when they returned to their seats.
“Nah.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair and flicked imaginary dust off his shoulder. “I wouldn’t call that a fight. He didn’t even realize I’d paid for everything when he saw me standing by the cash register.”
This bloke was too much. And he was standing outside the lavatory, not beside the cash register, when Michel saw him. What a pompous, juvenile piece of—Emma’s laughter brought his train of thought to a halt. Was she laughing at him? With Jeremy? Something inside him curled in on itself.
“You know what would really be funny, oppa?” She examined her fingernails for a second, then looked Jeremy in the eyes. “If Michel said, ‘Well, actually, I bought the entire restaurant.’ That would be funny. Because he can .”
Michel blinked. Jeremy blinked. Sophie… snorted? Michel didn’t feel triumphant that Emma stood up for him and put the other man in his place. Instead, something warm and aching spread through his chest. He had always been protected from physical threats, but people believed him to be invulnerable to petty hurts. The equanimity and… yes, the arrogance… instilled in him stopped him from expressing his true feelings, especially soft and frivolous feelings such as hurt and disappointment.
But that wasn’t how Emma saw him. All she saw was Michel Chevalier—someone human enough to feel the dig of insults, someone human enough to deserve her protection. Gratitude and greed filled him. This . This was what he stood to lose the moment he told Emma that he was the crown prince of Rouleme.
Everything would change once he became Prince Michel to her. She might be angry at first, but he wasn’t too worried about that. She would come to understand his reasons for the secrecy soon enough. But she would never look at him the same way again. People looked at Prince Michel with fascination and calculation—a mixture of awe and avarice. They saw him as someone they could gain something from.
To Emma—at least for now—he was just Michel. A person with vulnerabilities and insecurities like everyone else. He was starved for the kind of genuine affection that she offered. He didn’t want to let this go. He wanted… no, needed… to stay Michel for as long as possible.
“What is it you Americans say?” Sophie couldn’t hold back her smirk as she held out a fist to Emma, who bumped it with relish. “Burn.”
“Ladies”—Jeremy put a theatrical hand to his chest—“you wound me.”
“Nobody likes a bully, oppa.” Emma grinned and gave his shoulder a light punch.
“Yeah, sure. Your boyfriend’s rich, and I’m just a lowly pediatrician. You sure put me in my place.” Her godbrother tousled her hair. “I apologize for flaunting my prowess at paying for dinner on the sly. I admit he was an unsuspecting opponent.”
Michel found Jeremy slightly less irritating when he took being ganged up on by the two women with good humor. But something Emma said niggled at the back of his mind. Oppa? Was that some kind of nickname she had for him? And Jeremy became thoroughly irritating again.
“What does ‘oppa’ mean?” Michel asked casually. Or attempted to. The slight arch of Sophie’s eyebrow told him that he’d failed miserably.
“It literally means ‘older brother,’ but it’s also just what you call someone who’s older than you,” Emma explained, her head quirking to the side. “Well, what a younger girl calls an older boy. But not a lot older, because then you would call him ‘ajeossi.’ Ugh. It’s a little complicated.”
“Oh? How old are you?” He assumed she was in her midtwenties, which put him squarely in the older male category—but hopefully not old enough to render him an ajeossi.
“Twenty-eight.” Suspicion narrowed her eyes.
“I’m thirty-four,” he said meaningfully.
Jeremy burst out laughing. “It’s a Korean thing, man.”
“Well, I’m learning more about your culture”—he spread his hands—“such as the honor of paying for your party’s meal, so I don’t see how this is any different.”
“You want me to call you ‘oppa’?” Mischief swiftly replaced the surprise on Emma’s face. “I’ll call you ‘oppa’ when you’re being an exasperating ass… oppa.”
“Fair enough.” Michel chuckled, jealousy at last loosening its grip on him.
“But it’ll be a shame.” She glanced up at him from underneath her lashes. “Because I like saying your name, Michel .”
His sheepish laughter died in his throat, and his mouth dried up. He was suddenly done with this meet and greet. He wanted Emma alone.
“Then I’ll take great care not to be an exasperating arse, because nothing’s sweeter than hearing you say my name,” he murmured in a low voice.
Emma’s lips parted on a quick intake of breath, and a blush blossomed on her cheeks. Their gazes locked, and their surroundings seemed to melt away. His throat worked to swallow as the urge to touch her became nearly unbearable.
“For Christ’s sake,” Jeremy hissed.
“My sentiments exactly,” Sophie said dryly.
Michel gave his head a sharp shake in an attempt to regain his composure. They were in the middle of a crowded restaurant with Jeremy and Sophie at their sides. He shouldn’t be giving serious consideration to reaching across the table to kiss Emma senseless over burning charcoal. But she held his eyes, ignoring their friends. When her lips curved into a soft smile, full of promise, Michel gave up trying to break free of her hold. It was a losing battle from the start.
With a long, heavy sigh, Sophie said, “Thank you so much for dinner, Jeremy.”
“My pleasure,” he replied with smooth charm. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“Your—” Sophie swallowed the Highness that nearly slipped and came to stand at his side. “Michel.”
He got to his feet and held out his hand to Emma. When she stood and placed her hand in his, he pulled her to his side and looked at Jeremy.
“Thank you for dinner. I’ll see Emma home.” His tone brooked no argument, but Jeremy didn’t seem like a person who took note of such things. Even so, the other man folded his arms across his chest and gave Michel a curt nod without further argument. The concerned glance he shot Emma eased much of the wariness Michel felt toward him. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Same here.” After a pause, Jeremy added, “Maybe next time, I’ll let you grill me for more intel.”
“I wasn’t trying to grill…” Michel trailed off as he noticed Jeremy’s grin. “You know what? I might take you up on that.”
“That intel better have nothing to do with me,” Emma warned, tugging on her hand. He tightened his grip and tucked her close to him. “Besides, I wouldn’t trust that guy if I were you.”
“What? Nonsense.” Jeremy walked out into the street with them past the crowd of people waiting for an open table. “I’m the most trustworthy man you’ll ever meet.”
“Only an un trustworthy man would say something like that.” Emma grinned until her dimple winked. “Good night, oppa. Thanks for dinner.”
Jeremy waved over his shoulder as he sauntered to his car. Michel led Emma in the opposite direction, where they had parked his car.
“Do you want to come over for a drink?” He wasn’t ready to say good night to her. The desire that flared between them was banked to quiet embers, but it still burned in his blood.
But he sobered at the stern warning in his head. You need to tell her before this goes any further . His hand tightened unconsciously around hers. He couldn’t wait until she fell in love with him— if she ever did. Besides, how true would that love be if she fell for him, knowing only a part of him? And how true could he claim his own affections to be if he kept his identity a secret any longer? It didn’t matter how much he longed to remain just Michel Chevalier. He needed to stop being selfish. She deserved to know.
“Just for a drink?” Emma looked up at him.
God, he hoped for so much more, but he made himself say, “Maybe some dessert?”
“I can’t say no to dessert.” That sultry smile curled her lips again.
“Good,” he said thickly.
She leaned close and whispered in his ear, “We can do other stuff after dessert.”
He tripped over his own foot. If it wasn’t for her hold on his hand, he might have fallen flat on his face. Once he regained his balance, he made a run for his car, tugging a laughing Emma along his side.
Sophie caught up with them. “What’s the hurry?”
Looking down at Emma, Michel answered, “I might die if I don’t get some dessert as soon as humanly possible.”