People have unrealistic expectations of monarchs. They think we should know everything, and when we don’t, they lose faith and trust in us. That’s why I keep my ignorance to myself when I lack knowledge about a certain subject.

But I don’t want to pretend with Tessa. I want her to know the real me, and the real me is clueless about botany.

“I’m probably not the best person to give you a tour of the garden,” I tell Tessa as we meander down a garden path made of crushed shells. “I don’t know anything about flowers.”

She slants me a teasing look. “What a surprise—a man who doesn’t know anything about flowers.”

Her dry tone makes me chuckle. “You hear that a lot?”

“Nine out of ten guys who walk into my shop ask for roses because that’s the only flower they recognize.”

“And what about the tenth guy?”

“He knows exactly what he’s looking for, but only because his wife or girlfriend mentioned her favorite flower. I had a guy come in a couple of weeks ago asking for a bouquet of pussy willows because his fiancée said they were her favorite.”

My ears get hung up on the word pussy. I might have fantasized about Tessa saying that word, but I never thought I’d hear it in real life.

I’ve been thinking about Tessa’s pussy for weeks, wondering how tightly it would clench my cock, wondering how it would taste as I worked my tongue against her clit, wondering if it would drench my hand when I fucked her with my fingers.

Wondering if I’ll ever stop wondering and just know.

My cock thickens inside my riding pants, making them even tighter. I breathe deeply, trying to prevent an erection.

Tessa is still talking about the guy who wanted a bouquet of pussy willows, and I do my best to pay attention. I don’t know whether to be happy or horrified that she reduces me to a teenage boy who struggles to think of anything except getting laid.

“I tried to tell him pussy willows are fillers that add texture and interest to a bouquet of mixed flowers,” she says. “I warned him a bouquet of them wouldn’t be very pretty, but he insisted on ordering one anyway.”

Tessa clearly expects me to comment, but I can’t add anything relevant to the conversation. After a lengthy pause, she says, “You have no idea what pussy willows look like, do you?”

“No.” And I really wish you’d stop saying pussy. “What do they look like?”

“They’re not really flowers. They’re tree branches. The buds are fluffy and whitish-gray.”

I nod in understanding. “So the guy ordered a bouquet of branches decorated with cotton balls.”

Tessa’s laugh is low and husky, deeper than her voice. “Pretty much.”

“What did he say when he picked it up?”

Her nose wrinkles like she caught a whiff of something nasty. “He said it looked like a bunch of twigs tied together with a bow.”

“Idiot. He should have listened to you.”

“Instead of paying for it, he threw the bouquet in my face. And on his way out, he pushed over a display of hand-blown glass vases.”

The sorrow in Tessa’s voice creates a weird feeling in my stomach. I hate the thought of her being exposed to verbally abusive customers. 

“Does stuff like that happen a lot?” I ask, hoping she’ll answer no.

“Not too often. I get a few bridezillas, but mostly, people are happy when they leave my shop.” A light breeze blows an auburn wave across her mouth, and she brushes it away. “Flowers make people happy.”

“Do they make you happy?”

She smiles widely, drawing my attention to her full lips and white teeth. “Of course. That’s why I opened a flower shop. I like making people happy.”

Suddenly, I’m struck with the realization that Tessa makes me happy. Talking to her, spending time with her, thinking about her ... all that makes me happy.

She stops on the path, and I stop too. Long, rectangular planters surround us, overflowing with brightly colored blooms. Bees buzz around, moving lazily in the late afternoon sun, and the breeze carries the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and flowers.

“What’s your favorite flower?” she asks.

“I don’t have one. What’s yours?”

“That’s like asking a mother if she has a favorite child.”

I survey the garden. “What’s your favorite flower that you can see right now?”

She does a slow turn before pointing to a shrub that’s heavy with small purple flowers almost the same color as her dress. “Lilacs. Beautiful, and they smell good too.”

Just like you.

“Do you spend a lot of time out here?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Marco and I used to play in the maze when we were younger, but I don’t come out here much anymore.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “I’m too busy.”

“Have you ever heard the advice, ‘You’re only here for a short visit. Don’t worry. Don’t hurry. And be sure to smell the flowers along the way.’”

“I’ve heard a variation: ‘Stop and smell the flowers.’”

“And you never stop and smell the flowers?”

“The best-smelling flowers attract bees,” I quip. “I don’t want to be stung on the nose.”

“Good point.” She laughs again. “I like your sense of humor.”

“You do?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise.

“Yes. You make me laugh.”

“Most people think I don’t have a sense of humor.”

She tilts her head. “Then they don’t really know you, not like I do.”

The truth is, I’m different with Tessa. I’m so focused on her I forget who I am.

With Tessa, I’m not royalty. I’m not the future king of Alsania. I’m just a man ... a man who desperately wants to kiss her again. 

She reaches for my hand and weaves our fingers together. Within my grasp, her hand feels small yet strong. For a second or two, I envision her at work in her shop, arranging flowers with the goal of making someone happy.

“Can you show me the hedge maze now?” she asks. “I’m dying to see it.”

The maze is situated toward the back of the formal garden. We make the walk in silence, our hands linked. I can’t remember ever holding hands with a woman, and I realize Tessa represents a lot of firsts for me. She’s definitely the first person to get a piece of my liver.

I draw her to a stop in front of the maze. Two stone statues flank the entrance, modeled after Greek gods. 

“King Alfonse commissioned the maze in the late nineteenth century and hired the best maze designer in the world to build it,” I say. “It’s laid out in a series of concentric rectangles with a courtyard in the middle.”

I watch her face as she studies the front wall. The hedges are taller than I am, nearly seven feet high.

She edges closer to the hedge and rubs a glossy green leaf between her thumb and forefinger. “This is a boxwood shrub. It’s a very hardy plant, able to withstand extreme weather, even short droughts.”

“Did you want to go through the maze or just look at?”

Looking over her shoulder, she says, “I don’t know. How long does it take to walk it?”

“Over an hour. There’s a shortcut though ... takes about thirty minutes.”

“Do you remember the path?” she asks with a hopeful expression.

I nod. “It’s imprinted on my memory.”

“Are you sure we won’t get lost?”

With the exception of my family, Tessa is the only person who’s ever questioned my competence. Strangely, I’m not bothered by it. In fact, I like that she’s not intimidated by me or my title.

“I’m sure we won’t get lost.” I arch my eyebrows. “Do you want to explore the maze or not?”

A grin lights up her face. “Yes!”

She lets out a little squeal before darting through the gap in the hedge. I can’t help laughing at her excitement.

“Hey, Tessa,” I call out as I walk along the path. “Are you a-mazed? Do you think this is a-mazing?”

Her voice floats from the path on my right. “Yes. I’m full of a-maze-ment.”

I chuckle under my breath before shouting, “You’re going the wrong way, tesoro.”

The endearment slips from my lips without thought. I tell myself it’s only because tesoro and Tessa sound so much alike, but deep inside, I know I’m lying. I want her to be my darling ... my treasure.

A couple of minutes later, I hear her voice from somewhere close by. “I think I’m already lost, Leo.”

I peek through the shrubbery on my left and catch a glimpse of her coppery hair. Feeling mischievous, I lean into the hedge and wiggle my hand through the leaves. She’s within touching distance, and I brush my fingers across her nape.

Her scream is loud enough to crack the headstones in the family cemetery. Unable to hold in my mirth, I burst out laughing.

“Oh, my God!” she screeches. “You scared me to death!”

I’m laughing so hard my ribs are aching, and I bend over at my waist with my hands braced on my knees to catch my breath. Twenty seconds later, dainty feet clad in metallic silver flats enter my vision. For a second, I wonder if she’s going to kick me in the shin for scaring her.

As I slowly rise, my gaze skims over Tessa’s toned legs and the full skirt of her dress. A matching fabric belt cinches her waist, and tiny round buttons march up the valley between her round breasts.

By the time my eyes meet hers, I’m breathless again. My ribs aren’t aching any longer, but my cock sure as hell is.

With only a few inches separating us, I wrap my arm around her waist. As I pull her against me, I wonder what the fuck I’m doing.

I promised myself I wasn’t going to touch Tessa Lulach again, and I pride myself on not breaking my promises. But this is one promise I am going to break. I’m going to touch her, and I’m not going to stop until she either tells me no or comes with my name on her lips.

I shove my hand in her hair, loving the way the silky strands tangle around my fingers. I tilt her head back so I can see her face. Her eyes have darkened to deep green, and a vibrant flush stains her cheeks.

Her lips part just a little, revealing the slick pink interior, and I can’t hold back any longer. As I cover her mouth with mine, lust zings through me and heat suffuses my skin.

Her lips are so soft and plush I have to nibble on them, and when that’s not enough, I suck lightly. She lets out a breathy sigh that makes my cock harden into a full, throbbing erection. I press it against her stomach, and she gasps into my mouth.

Taking advantage of her open lips, I lick into her mouth and get a taste of sweet and tart from the tea cakes mixed with her complex flavor. I slide my tongue against hers, and she surprises me by sucking it into her mouth and massaging it with her lips.

A spark shoots down my spine and pulses in my balls. A groan bursts from my throat. Her mouth is delicious, but it’s not enough. I want—need—more. 

With my lips sealed to Tessa’s, I uncoil my arm from her waist and slide my hand up her ribs until my palm cups her breast. I can feel her nipple through the fabric, tight and puckered, and I squeeze it gently between my thumb and forefinger. She moans into my mouth and rubs her stomach against my hard-on.

I’ve reached the point where my instincts have taken over. Jerking my mouth from hers, I let go of her head. I scoop my forearm under her ass and lift her up until my cock settles into the cradle of her thighs. With my other hand, I grasp her left leg and drape it over my hip.

As I trail my fingers over the lace top of her thigh-high stocking, the sound of my blood roaring in my ears nearly deafens me. I can’t hear anything except my own labored breathing.

I encounter the crease where her inner thigh meets her ass. She’s wearing cheeky panties, and as I slide my fingers inside them, her juice drenches me.

“Holy fuck,” I mutter. “You’re so wet.”

I pull her panties to the side and brush the backs of my knuckles over her pussy lips. I take a moment to pet the tiny fluff of damp hair before slipping my fingers between her folds.

Finding the smooth pearl of her clit, I massage it with my thumb. I can feel it throbbing with the beat of her heart. With my thumb still pressed against her clit, I slip one finger into her soft, wet heat.

“Tesoro, you’re so tiny. So tight.”

Her nails dig into my biceps, and she whimpers deep in her throat. Slowly, I stroke my finger in and out, letting her get used to me. When she starts rocking her hips, I add a second finger.

“Leo,” she gasps. “Leo.”

I focus all my concentration on making her feel good. I want to make her come so hard she screams my name.

With every stroke of my fingers, I rub the slick walls of her pussy. She’s making little mewling sounds now as she rides my hand. She’s so wet her juice is dripping down my wrist. 

“Leo,” she pants. “Make me come.”

“Tell me what you need,” I growl.

“Deeper.”

I plunge my fingers deeper into her pussy and increase the pressure of my thumb on her clit. “Oh, God,” she moans. “I’m so close.”

I feel the tiny flutters that signal her approaching climax. “Come for me, Tessa.”

As her pussy spasms, she cries out, “I’m coming!”

“Let me hear it.”

When I flick my thumbnail over her sensitive clit, the supple muscles of her pussy clamp down on my fingers in rhythmic clenches. Finally, she gives me what I want, screaming Leo so loudly the birds take flight from the trees. 

My vision goes dark around the edges. I need to be inside her. I need to feel her pussy gripping my cock, and I need to hear her scream my name again.

I set Tessa on her feet and tear at my clothes like an animal, ripping off the button on my breeches in my haste. I shove my underwear down just far enough to free my cock, and then I reach for her.

As I lift her, she wraps her legs around my waist. I stumble toward the hedge and push her back against it.

I grasp my cock and use it to nudge her panties aside. After slicking my shaft with her juice, I place the head against her opening. I can’t wait one more second to be inside her.

Suddenly, Tessa grabs a handful of my hair and pulls. The pain makes me even harder.

She whispers something into my ear, but I can’t hear it over the pounding of my pulse. Finally, I catch what she’s saying: “Someone’s coming.”

Unfortunately, it’s not Tessa. And it’s not me either.