The Next Day

I woke up to a handful of texts from Luke. The photos last night must have hit the wires, because he mentioned them several times.

New boyfriend? Didn’t take you as one to fall for the whole fuddy-duddy royal thing.

Please call me. I’m concerned. You’re getting in over your head.

I know you don’t want to talk to me, but this is urgent. I’m worried, Em.

I ignored all of them, of course. Although I’d be lying if I said his warnings didn’t give my morning a jittery start.

I held onto the bedpost as I slipped into a pair of tall patent leather pumps. Turning to face the full-length, three-way mirror—my bedroom was outfitted with every ridiculous luxury imaginable—my heart pounded.

Sloan had done her job. I really did look like a princess. I was wearing a green Victoria Beckham midi dress—Sloan’s top pick for the announcement—with the matching pumps and simple gold jewelry. Considering I’d hardly slept a wink last night, the hair and makeup people had really worked some miracles earlier this morning. I looked way better than I felt.

I smoothed the beautiful fabric down my sides. My hands were shaking. It had to be close to eight. Kit would be here any minute for our touching lesson. Whatever that turned out to be.

I was going to be sick. I mean, yeah, Kit had been so wonderful last night. So wonderful. The Ice Prince was a distant memory. The guy Kit had been on the stairs was someone else entirely. But that didn’t mean I should trust him.

That didn’t mean I should ask him to touch me.

And then there was the issue of me being photographed while pulling away from Kit. I’d been avoiding the internet like the plague all morning. I didn’t want to know if those pictures had been published or not. Maybe Kit and his team had somehow worked their PR magic, or called some favors in to prevent that particular news from hitting the wires.

Or maybe they hadn’t. Which meant this touching lesson wouldn’t even have to happen. Our fake engagement was already over. I’d killed it, and I’d killed EP Designs along with it.

Resisting the urge to tear a hand through my perfectly coiffed hair, I took a steadying breath.

There was a knock on the door.

“Emily? It’s me.” Kit’s muffled voice filled the silence of the room.

I swallowed, hard.

“Come in.”

Kit slipped through the door, closing it softly behind him. Our eyes met in the mirror. His were piercingly blue in the thin winter light streaming through the windows.

My stomach did a somersault. There were tiny purple thumbprints under his eyes. But even so, he looked capital-H Handsome.

Kit was dressed in a crisp white button down, the sleeves rolled up, and navy slacks. His neatly combed hair was still a little wet from the shower. I could smell his aftershave from here. He always smelled good enough to eat. And his forearms—thick with sinew and muscle and veins that popped against his smooth, tan skin—I could’ve eaten those, too.

For half a heartbeat, Kit’s eyes widened as they caught on my body. They moved over me, taking in every inch. Every curve. I could’ve sworn his nostrils flared, too, just once, when his eyes strayed to my ass.

But then he straightened, clearing his throat, and focused his gaze on my face in the mirror.

I was suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“You look lovely,” he said.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” I looked down at my dress. Lowered my voice. “Any news?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. We’ve managed to keep the less flattering pictures from last night under wraps. They published the ones from our entrance instead. You look perfect in the photos. Everyone is absolutely buying it so far.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s really good news, Kit. Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

He took a step forward, coming to stand behind me. He held up a velvet box. It looked tiny in his enormous fingers.

“Your engagement ring,” he said.

I blinked. My engagement ring. Right. Because Kit and I were engaged now. Fake engaged. But engaged nonetheless.

I turned away from the mirror to face him as he opened the box with a small, muffled crack.

The breath left my lungs. Nestled in a puddle of more velvet was an enormous antique emerald ring. The emerald itself was a large square—cushion cut, maybe?—surrounded by a delicate halo of diamonds. There was some lovely gold filigree work around the emerald. Two small, pear-shaped emeralds dripped down the sides of the ring.

It was a total stunner, and totally my style.

I glanced up to see Kit watching me. He had this funny look on his face. This softness.

“I thought the history buff in you might like this one,” he said. “It was my mother’s—the emerald is one of the oldest gems in the royal collection. Apparently Queen Elizabeth I wore it in a brooch, although we can’t say for sure. It’s why there are emeralds in our family crest.”

I nodded. “I’ve been meaning to ask about the crest. What it all means.”

“You’re in luck. It’s engraved on the ring.” With blunt-edged fingers, Kit dug the ring out of the box and turned it upside down. He held it so I could see. The crest was stamped into the gold on the underside of the ring. He pointed to it with his pinkie. “The roses there—that’s where we get our family name, Thorne. Legend has it we were a thorn in some evil king or another’s side. And the swords represent our battle to do good. Also our general badassness on the battlefield.”

I grinned. “Obviously. Kit, this is so, so cool.”

“Thanks. I happen to think so, too. That crown was added back in the fourteenth century, when the Thorne family married into the royal family. That’s when our line began.”

“What about the moon?”

Kit’s eyes flicked to meet mine. They were tired but also playful. Warm. “That’s my favorite part. No one is entirely sure where the moon came from. If you look it up on Wikipedia, it will tell you some nonsense about the heavens and how they’re aligned in our favor. But the crescent moon is actually a symbol of the Goddess Diana. Goddess of the hunt. We’re hunters, see.”

If I’d looked down, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see that Kit had reached inside my chest and wrapped his hand around my heart, giving it a big old squeeze. He was proud of his family. He believed in their story. I understood why he was so dedicated to them and the work they did. Luke had been so cynical toward the end of our relationship. But Kit was hopeful. He not only lived inside a fairy tale, he believed in it. There was something unbelievably sweet about that.

“Hunters of what?”

“Truth,” he said. “Knowledge. The good things in life.”

Smiling, I said, “Women and wine?”

He laughed. “Not if it gives me a hangover. Here, try it on. Size six, right?”

I nodded mutely as I slid it onto the fourth finger of my left hand; I’d forgotten I’d given Kit my ring size the day I signed the contract. I held my hand out, and the light from a nearby lamp caught on the diamonds, making them sparkle and wink. My heart skipped a beat.

It was gorgeous, yes. But it was the fact that it had such history—that it belonged to Kit’s mother—that really made it special.

“Oh my God,” I said. “It’s…Kit, it’s beautiful.”

His eyes lingered on my hand before he closed the box with his first two fingers and set it on the bureau. “I’m glad you like it.”

I turned back to the mirror and held my hand against my dress. The ring matched it perfectly.

“I may have told Sloan about the emerald,” Kit explained. He scratched the back of his neck. Was he blushing? “It was a shot in the dark, but just in case you wanted to match…Well. Sloan thought it was cute, anyway.”

“It’s perfect.” I smiled at him in the mirror. “Thank you.”

His eyes were on my hand again. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Was he thinking about his mother, I wondered?

A beat of awkward silence passed between us. Kit put his hands in his pockets. My heart took off at a gallop.

I let out a breath. “How do you think we should do this? The touching lesson, I mean.”

Kit’s hand was now clasped around the back of his neck, making his bicep and the rounded ball of his shoulder bulge against his shirt. A rush of longing filled my core, spreading to the tips of my fingers, my lips, the backs of my knees.

His eyes met mine in the mirror. “Perhaps we should start with a safe word? Something more succinct than ‘back the fuck off’?”

“Okay.” I laughed. A nervous, ridiculous sound. “Sure. A safe word. Any suggestions?”

Kit shrugged. “How about ‘lawnmower’? You were really good at that move. I, however, was complete and utter rubbish at it. At every move, as a matter of fact.”

“You were fine.” My laugh moved into a smile. “Lawnmower. All right. I like it.”

“Brilliant. Now what?”

I took a deep breath. Let it out.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” I said.

“Yes we do,” he replied softly.

“For the monarchy. For queen and country.” I looked down at my feet. The pumps were starting to pinch my toes. “Right. How could I forget?”

Kit moved a bit closer, so that he was half a step behind me. My body pulsed with an awareness of just how close. A wall of strength and starched white shirt. He could hurt me in so many ways right now.

He could touch me, too.

“And for you,” he said. “We have to do this for you.”

I started, my eyes flicking to meet his. “For me?”

“Yeah.” He said it casually, like the answer to my question was obvious. “I imagine you’ll want to be comfortable enough one day to hold hands with a bloke. Not me, of course. But someone you’re actually with. I’d like to help you get there.”

My throat closed in.

I was so not prepared for this. For his sweetness.

“Let’s start with the hand on the back thing,” I said, swallowing. “If you don’t mind going slow…”

Kit looked at me for a long moment before responding. “Of course. Remember, just say ‘lawnmower’ if you need me to stop. Or just ‘stop’, I guess—obviously that will work, too.”

He moved even closer to stand beside me. He was still half a head taller than me, even though I was in some pretty wicked heels. Taller and broader and bigger, masculine in every possible way.

He smelled so, so good.

My heart clenched at the pretty picture we made in the mirror. The Prince and his Princess. The future King and his consort.

“Ready?” Kit asked.

I took another deep breath. My stomach roiled with nerves.

I nodded. “Yeah.”