Growing up, I spent a lot of summers at this estate. It was paradise, a respite from the restrictions of school, the forced learning, the structure. Here I was finally free, surrounded by fresh air and summer sun, and I had nothing to do all day except precisely what I wanted.

Which, when I wasn’t terrorizing my sisters, included a lot of sports. If I wasn’t beating Cristina’s ass at tennis matches, I was playing soccer or rugby against various butlers and guards. The only thing I didn’t do here was horseback riding—I left that to my sisters. I don’t get along with horses.

This morning, I’m on a long run through the woods and up the mountain right behind the house. I know Ella and Jane are expected at any minute and then the two-week countdown begins, but the amount of nervous energy I have coursing through me has to go somewhere.

So I run several laps around the small lake nearby until sweat is pouring off of me and my heart feels like it might burst through my chest, and finally, finally my thoughts cease. I’m no longer worried about anything—having to live with Ella for two weeks, not knowing what’s going to happen after—none of that matters. My mind is blissfully blank.

By the time I get back to the house, my damp shirt is off and bunched up in my hands, my skin slick, my hair sticking to my forehead.

I see a limo parked in the driveway.

They’re here.

And so it begins.

I run up the front stairs and through the main doors and hear voices coming from the parlor room.

Ella and Jane are talking to Ottar about the crown moldings or something and I can only guess he’s pretending to know what he’s talking about.

“Sir, you’re back,” Ottar says, then frowns. “And you’ve lost your shirt.”

I hold up the shirt. “Didn’t lose it. It’s right here.”

Look, I know what I’m doing. I know I’ve worked my ass off for this body and I’m not afraid to use it. It’s at least working on Lady Jane, who is staring at my abs and chest in a very unladylike way.

Ella, however, immediately averts her eyes the moment she takes one shocked look at me. But I’m not blind. Her cheeks are going pink. She likes what she sees even if she wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

I can work with that. For the next two weeks, I can definitely work with that.

“Do you run?” Lady Jane asks, finally tearing her eyes away from my body and up to my eyes. “Like, as exercise?”

I nod. “There are a lot of trails around here. Hiking trails too, right to the top of the mountain. You should go at some point.”

Jane laughs, a kind of belly laugh that shakes the whole room. “Please. My idea of exercise is a good brisk sit. Preferably with a hydrating beverage in hand. Chardonnay is best.”

“Chardonnay isn’t very hydrating,” Ottar comments, which I’m pretty sure causes everyone to roll their eyes. He can be quite the literal one.

“She’s joking, Samwise,” I tell him. “So, how was your flight?” I ask her, making small talk now. As Jane chatters away about the plane, I walk further into the room, purposely passing close to Ella as I grab an apple from the fruit bowl that the help must have laid out for us. I stand right behind Ella, staring down at her delicate neck.

Her hair is up in a messy bun, but there are a few loose strands with a bit of curl to them, which makes me wonder if her hair is naturally curly or not. The nape of her neck is pale and there’s a tiny freckle just behind her ear.

I wonder what it’s like to kiss her there. If I’ll ever get a chance.

The thoughts are fleeting but they’re there. Usually I don’t have to work so hard to wear a woman down, but this is a whole new ballgame, and at this point I can’t expect anything.

What I do know is that the next two weeks will become a lot more interesting if I make it my goal to get under her skin. Whether she likes it or not, I think provoking her might be my next adrenaline sport. She wants to see if we’re compatible? I’ll show her we’re combatable.

She can tell I’m staring at her too, from the way she adjusts herself in her seat like she’s uncomfortable. She’s not listening to Jane at all. Her focus is entirely on me, whether she wants it to be or not.

Finally, Ella whips her head around to glance up at me with a dirty look, and I smile and open my mouth to take a smooth chomp out of the apple.

Only to realize it’s fake.

Wax.

Oh god.

I keep the smile plastered on my face, frozen mid-bite, until she turns back around. Then I spit the apple out.

I glance up to see Ottar staring at me with his brows furrowed, having seen the whole thing.

“Sir?” he asks with concern.

I ignore him. “So,” I say to everyone, clearing my throat. “Now that everyone is here, I guess we should go over the rules.”

“What rules?” Jane asks suspiciously.

“The rules,” Ottar says.

“Ottar is a huge fan of rules,” I point out. “I like to break them but I do think some of them have merit. The big one, of course, is that Ella, you’re not allowed to leave the estate at any point. I’m still public enemy number one and on the paps radar and there are Russian twins who are crazy enough to set up camp outside the main gates. We’re just lucky that word hasn’t traveled yet that I’m staying here, but it will.”

“It’s like being trapped on the moors,” she says quietly.

“If it makes you feel any better, then yes. Just pretend I’m Heathcliff.”

“Like you’ve even read Wuthering Heights.”

“Hey,” I tell her, gesturing to my muscles. “Just because I look like this doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Ottar stifles a laugh and I give him a look to shut his face.

Ella twists in her seat to face me. “Okay. So have you read Wuthering Heights?”

“Well, no.”

“Any books at all?” She looks so fucking smug, like she knows I’m going to admit that I don’t read.

I automatically narrow my eyes at her. “I’ll have you know that I’m a huge fan of audiobooks.” When I can find the time and the patience to listen to them, of course. Somehow I found the time to listen to The Lord of the Rings numerous times but I’m not sure admitting that I love Tolkein will impress her enough. She seems like the type who would only be impressed by someone who has been dead longer than he has.

“Back to the rules,” Ottar says. “Can we have a no quarrelling rule in there because it’s making things awkward for the rest of us.”

“Speaking of the rest of you,” I tell them, “both you and Lady Jane have your own quarters in the servants’ house next door. For the sake of Ella and I getting to know each other, there should be a rule that you aren’t to pop by here after eleven at night.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ella says, getting to her feet. “You make it sound like there will be something going on here for them to interrupt.”

I give her a quick smile. “Well, don’t count that out.”

“Sir,” Ottar says to me, this time in Norwegian, “I don’t say this to be a cockblocker, but I think it would be best that her lady-in-waiting be able to stay here for the princess’ piece of mind.”

“You’re always trying to be a cockblocker, Ottar,” I tell him, also in Norwegian.

“Wait a minute,” Ella speaks up. “What are you both talking about?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly in English.

“That should be a rule too,” she says. “English only. No Norwegian. I don’t want to hear your secret language and you can bet I’m going to be Googling what kuk means.”

“You won’t be surprised,” I tell her dryly. “Okay, fine. No Norwegian. We wouldn’t want you to feel stupid.”

She shakes her head slightly and sighs. “Anything else with these rules or is that it?”

“Not really. I’m sure you’ll get used to see the royal guards walking about. My personal bodyguard is Einar, so you’ll probably see him a lot. I don’t know where he is right now. Probably hiding where no one can see him.”

“I’m right here,” Einar says from behind me, making me jump.

“Jesus,” I yelp, seeing him sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room. “How long have you been there?”

He doesn’t say anything. Also he’s wearing those damn sunglasses inside.

I shake my head at him and then face Ella. “So that’s Einar.”

He nods at her.

“There are also a few cooks and cleaners,” Ottar tells her. “But they’ll mostly be staying in the other house.”

I clap my hands together. “So there we have it. That’s how the next two weeks are going to go. I can’t promise that we’ll be friends by the end of it, let alone engaged, but I can promise you that you’re about to get really, really bored.”

Ella and Jane exchange a look. “And where do I sleep?” Ella asks. “It’s not going to be with you.”

“I wasn’t offering,” I tell her. “And you can sleep in any of the bedrooms upstairs. Maybe avoid the ones that are haunted.”

“Haunted?” she asks, eyes wide. “Which ones are haunted?”

I shrug. “I can’t remember. You’ll find out soon, I’m sure. Okay, I’m off to take a shower.” I walk past the fruit bowl and toss the half-bitten wax apple back into it before heading upstairs. “Don’t eat the fruit. It’s fake.”

* * *

To say that my first day with Ella is awkward as fuck is an understatement. She does her best to avoid me, spending her time with Jane by her side, and even when we pass each other in the halls, she barely looks at me.

Which makes me wonder why bother going through with this two-week plan at all if she’s not going to make the effort? Why didn’t she just say she wasn’t interested when she had the chance? No one would have held her accountable to anything, except for her father, and that’s her business, not mine.

I keep thinking this as we have dinner together. I was planning on it being just us two originally, but when she was insistent that Lady Jane eat with us, I insisted that Ottar and Einar join us too. The more the merrier, the more to take the pressure off both of us.

She didn’t say much during the meal, which meant most of the conversation was dominated by Jane and Ottar, who seemed to get along like long lost relatives. I know I have a tendency to float away and become locked in my head and couldn’t help wondering if Ella was doing the same. She just picked at her food, lost in her thoughts.

It could be that Ella is shy for the most part. I’ve seen her be bold, especially with me. But this has taken her out of her element. She’s no longer in university, living on campus. She’s no longer a student. Instead she’s here, at this isolated estate in a foreign country, where she’s to remain for the next two weeks as she decides whether she wants to marry me or not.

I mean. Fuck.

I actually feel sorry for her. I certainly feel sorry for myself for being in the same stupid situation, but at least this is my home and it’s my life that she’s come into. She’s got Jane here and that’s it.

Though it makes me wonder if it’s the same thing back in Scotland. Is she the life of the party? Does she have a large group of friends? Is she involved in sports teams or does she tutor other students or was she seeing someone before all of this shit blew up? Does she moonlight as an exotic dancer with the name Pantyless Princess?

I know nothing about her.

And if I don’t do something about this, I’ll still know nothing about her by the time she leaves.

And as much as my ego hates being taken down a notch or two, I have to man up here and provoke her a little more than I had intended.

Once dinner is over, she immediately retires to her room while I try to place a call to my friend Viktor, the Crown Prince of Sweden. I haven’t told him yet about the developments in my life and I could honestly use a friend and some advice from someone outside of this royal family, and Ottar doesn’t count. He’s under my father’s payroll, after all.

But with Viktor not answering (not that I blame him, he’s been busy with his own fiancé), I start roaming the halls like a ghost. Too much restless energy than I know what to do with.

Finally, I go to her room and rap on the door. Naturally she’s chosen the room at the opposite end of the hall from my bedroom, as far away as possible.

“Who is it?” I hear her ask through the door.

“Prince Fucking Charming,” I tell her.

I hear a muffled laugh, probably Jane, and a few long seconds tick by before the door opens.

Ella stands there looking unimpressed, dressed as she was before in black leggings and a pale blue sweater that falls off one shoulder. Her blonde hair has been braided to one side, her face bare of any makeup. She looks astonishingly pretty.

Except for the fact that she’s glaring at me. “What do you want?”

I raise my brow and stare at her expectantly.

She sighs. “What do you want…Your Highness?”

I smile. “That’s better. And actually, I was hoping to steal you away from your Lady over there so I can talk to you in private.”

“What about?”

I squint at her and then look over her shoulder at Jane who is sitting on an ottoman at the foot of the bed. “Is she always this grouchy in the evening? I would have thought giving her food would have helped.”

“Clearly you’ve never owned a mogwai before, sir,” Jane deadpans.

Ella looks back at her. “What did you just call me?”

“Listen, Gizmo,” I tell her, pushing the door open further, “we have two weeks to get to know each other and I’m not sure if you’re here just to get a free trip to Norway or what, but at any rate, we need to talk.” I pause. “I have a game I’d like to play.”

“What kind of game?” She looks both scared and curious.

Good.

“You’ll see.” I nod at Jane. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Please,” Jane says with a dismissive wave. It’s only then that I notice she has curlers in her hair. “We were talking about rubbish which is what we usually do. Please take Ella and don’t bring her back for a long time.”

“Jane,” Ella chides her, but I reach out and grab her arm.

“Come on. I won’t bite,” I tell her, pulling her gently toward the door.

“Unless I want you to, right?” she asks wryly but still lets me drag her out into the hall, the door shutting behind her.

“I didn’t say it,” I tell her. I don’t let go of her arm either; instead, I slip my hand down until I’m holding hers.

“What are you doing?” she asks, trying to wrestle her hand out of mine.

“Holding your hand,” I tell her. “I’m dastardly like that.”

“More like bastardly,” she mumbles under breath.

“That’s the spirit,” I goad her. “A few more back and forths like that and it’ll be like we can hold an actual conversation.”

She doesn’t say anything after that. Still holding her hand in mine, I take her down the stairs and into the parlor, sitting her down in a giant leather wingback chair beside the fireplace.

“What are you having to drink?” I ask her, heading for the little bar cart I had Ottar help set up earlier. There may be fake fruit in the bowls but the booze is very real.

“I’m okay,” she says.

“Scotch then,” I tell her, filling her up a highball glass.

She sighs as I bring it over to her and reluctantly takes it from me. “Thank you,” she says quietly, and I know that’s just an automatic reaction from her upbringing.

“No problem.” I get my own glass and sit down across from her in another chair. The fire is roaring—courtesy of Ottar again—and everything looks downright cozy in here.

Ella sits in her chair primly, her ankles crossed, taking delicate sips of her drink. A bird would drink it faster.

She stares at the fire rather than at me, which gives me the freedom to stare at her. Her profile is rather cute, her nose turning up just slightly at the end. With the way the flames are lighting up her face and her hair, she’s positively angelic.

My eyes drift to her bare shoulder where I don’t catch sight of a bra strap. The skin of her palm felt soft and smooth, and I can only wonder what the skin on her shoulder feels like. Silk, probably.

I haven’t seen Ella expose much skin. At dinner with my family, her gown practically covered her all up except her lower arms. When she came to negotiate, she was wearing black pants and a white turtleneck. Today’s glimpse of her shoulder is probably the most I’ve seen of her skin.

I know women think that wearing a revealing outfit is sexy, and while I have no objections to seeing a lot of leg, a lot of tits, or a lot of ass, there’s something equally as sensual as only showcasing one spot of skin.

I’m starting to fixate on it, hyper-focus.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have quite the intense stare?” Ella says, still not looking at me.

I tear my eyes away from her shoulder and take a gulp of my drink. “I’ve heard it a few times. Nothing I can do about it. I feel things intensely most of the time.”

I can tell she wants to roll her eyes. “So what is this game you speak of? Please tell me it’s not a drinking game because I’m not interested.”

I let out a chuckle. “You’re in what, third year of university, living in a dorm, in Scotland of all places, the only other place I know that can match Norwegians for their drinking prowess, and you aren’t interested in drinking games? Please tell me you have a fun bone in your body.”

Now I have her attention. She snaps her eyes onto me and I can’t help but smile at the sparks flying out of them, which probably only angers her more.

“Just because I’m not out boozing and cruising with everyone else at school doesn’t mean I’m not fun. I’m fun.”

“Okay, so tell me your idea of fun.”

“Oh no,” she says, shaking her head. “Not with you. Your idea of fun is jumping off a cliff or racing a motorbike. Or filming a sex tape. Or getting herpes. My idea of fun will always pale in comparison to yours.”

“Okay, first of all, herpes?” I scoff, leaning forward in my seat. “You don’t seem to play very fair.”

She shrugs. “You started it. You said I wasn’t fun.”

“For the record, I don’t have herpes,” I tell her. “I’m clean as a whistle.”

She snort-laughs. At any other time it would have been adorable.

“It’s true,” I protest. “I have the tests to prove it. And by the way, I think that’s a big plus going into this marriage.”

She fixes her eyes on me with a pleading look. “Oh, please. Come on, Magnus, we both know this marriage isn’t happening.”

I still. That catches me off-guard. “What do you mean?”

She sighs and looks down at her glass as she swirls the liquid around. “I mean…let’s be reasonable here. This can’t possibly happen.”

“Why not? You said you’d give it two weeks.”

“I’m just buying time,” she says. “I mean, I meant it, but at the same time, now that I’m here…how is this even going to work? Do you really think in two weeks I’ll be able to look at you and agree to spend the rest of my life with you?”

It shouldn’t sting but it cuts pretty deep. Thankfully my face shows nothing.

“And you,” she goes on, “how can you think the same about me? If you do, it’s only because you have to. That’s the only reason we’re both here now. Because you have to be.”

I clear my throat, feeling the wind taken out of my sails.

She’s right.

Or at least she was. If suddenly my father decided to call the whole thing off, said, I didn’t need to do this, if it was no longer his wish, would I part ways and never think about Ella again? Or would I pursue her relentlessly because there’s something inside me that’s determined to uncover who she really is? I joked that she didn’t have a fun bone in her body but the truth is I think she does. I think she’s just waiting for it to be exposed.

“So I have to because it’s what my father wants,” I tell her. “And you have to because you don’t want to disappoint your own father. It doesn’t mean that we can’t have a little fun over the next two weeks.”

She chews on her lip for a moment. “I thought you said I wasn’t fun.”

“Prove me wrong then, Princess.”

She doesn’t say anything but takes a rather large gulp of her scotch, coughing as it goes down.

“Well, that’s step one,” I tell her. “Step two is playing the game. And no, don’t worry, it’s not a drinking game. It’s a getting to know you game. I call it…question tiiiiime!” I sing that last bit like it’s part of a game show.

She cocks a brow. “Question time?”

“Question tiiiiime! You have to sing it.”

“And how do you play?”

I’m actually making this game up on the spot and my mind wants to run with it in a million different directions with dares and stunts and pop quizzes and verbal shoot-outs, but I decide to keep it deceptively simple.

“I ask you a question. It can be any question I choose. You have to answer it honestly. There is no lying, no evading, no avoiding the question, no matter what it is. In return, you then get to ask me one question, only it can’t be a question I’ve previously asked you.”

She wiggles her mouth in thought and makes a “hmmmm” sound.

I go on. “We can play two times a day, morning, night, whenever the person wants to call it. And the most questions we can ask at a time are three. If you have more than three, you have to save it for later. But if I ask you three, you have to ask me three. If I ask you one, you have to ask me one.”

“Sounds simple enough,” she says carefully.

“Hey, you said you wanted to get to know me. I think by the time these two weeks are up, you’ll know me pretty well. And vice versa. Providing you’re not a liar.”

“I’m not a liar,” she says haughtily.

“Don’t get all high and mighty. According to your father, we’re currently engaged. What did you tell him anyway? You must have spoken to him after?”

“Does this count as a question?”

“No,” I tell her. “If it’s question time, you have to sing it. This is just me being curious.”

She sighs long and hard and has another sip of her scotch. When I’m done with this woman she’s going to be drinking like a fish. “I didn’t speak to him. I spoke to Schnell. His butler. And I told Schnell to tell my father to keep things on the downlow because we are hammering out the details.”

“Hammering out the details, huh? So that’s what this is.”

“More or less.”

“Definitely less hammering than I’m used to.”

She shakes her head at that and a piece of golden hair falls in front of her eyes. She blows it off her face.

She does a really good job of not looking at me most of the time. Which spurs my first question. “Okay. Question tiiime.”

She swallows uneasily but sits up straighter. “What?” she asks, staring at the fire.

I rub my lips together, trying to figure out the best way to get an answer. “Ella—oh, yes, that’s the other thing, we have to use each other’s names. Nicknames will suffice too. Okay, Ella…do I make you uncomfortable?”

She balks at that. “What?”

“You heard me. Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she says. Her answer is weak.

“Ella…be truthful. Don’t make me call you Princess Lying Pants.” I lean forward with my elbows on my thighs, watching her try not to twitch.

She exhales sharply through her nose, taking a moment, her dark eyes seeming to wrestle with the truth. Finally she says, “Okay, a little.” She glances at me and for once seems apologetic. “I’m just…you’re very different from me. You’re older. You’re, well, a bloody prince. You’re…look, I don’t have a lot of experience with men like you.”

“Or men in general?”

“Is that an official question?”

“No.” I have to save my questions. I have a lot.

“Anyway, yeah. I guess. I guess I’m just socially awkward or something.” At that she finishes the rest of her drink and doesn’t even wince.

I’m impressed.

“You didn’t seem awkward at dinner with my family,” I tell her honestly. “And that wasn’t your average dinner with your average family either.”

She shrugs and glances at me. There’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. It’s fucking beautiful. “I don’t know. I guess I just felt comfortable with them. Like they wanted me there, and no matter what I said or how weird I got about some things, they didn’t seem to judge me.” She pauses, looking away. “At least I hope they didn’t. They might be excellent actors. I guess you would have to be to be a royal.”

“That’s not true,” I tell her. “I’m a horrible actor.”

She tilts her head and glances at me thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that. I saw your public apology and I almost believed it.”

“See?” I point my glass at her. “Almost.”

“Well anyway, you were believable.”

“I’ll have you know that I was being honest in that apology.”

“Right.”

“It’s true,” I tell her, my blood getting hot over that remark. “I am sorry it happened. I’m sorry for the people it embarrassed, especially my family. How the fuck was I to know something I did in private would be shared with the world?”

“Is that a question?” she asks wryly.

“No.” I take in a deep breath. “No. It’s just…I didn’t mean for that to happen. And I care what you think about me.”

She laughs. “Are you serious?” Her eyes are wide and shining. “You don’t seem to care about anything.”

I consider that. “Maybe I should care more about certain things. But you don’t know what goes on in my head. It’s a fucked up place to be. I care deeply about a lot of things.”

“Like what?” she asks, tucking her leg under and facing me head on, suddenly interested.

“Is that an official question?”

She shakes her head. “No. Like you were before, I’m just curious.”

“I don’t know.” I mean, how do you explain what you care about? Where do you start? Where do you stop? “I care a lot about my family. My father. My mother. My sisters. They mean the world to me.”

“That I gathered,” she says. “Considering you’re getting married because of them.” She seems to think about that. “Can I ask you a question? Officially?”

“You have to sing it.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s the rules. For the first question of the bunch, you have to sing it. It’s like the official announcement. Or battle cry, depending on how things go.”

She’s not impressed but she takes in a deep breath and goes, “Question time.”

“No, no, no.” I raise my finger high in the air. “You have to sing it…question tiiime. Like in this high voice at the end, really drag it out. And you have to raise your finger in the air.”

“This is ridiculous. You sound like Nic Cage.”

“That’s exactly who you need to emulate.”

“Fine.” She raises her finger in the air, brows raised expectantly. “Question tiiime.”

“Perfect.” But inside I am laughing my ass off because she just did a pretty damn good impression of Nic Cage.

“My question, Magnus,” she says, her face going serious, “do you want to be king?”

Obviously I’ve been asked that question a lot, always by my family. This is the first time an outsider has asked me and I’m not sure how truthful I should be. What if I do end up marrying Ella and I am the king?

As if she reads this on my face, she says, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything or judge you. I just want to know. Personally, I wouldn’t be cut out for it and I don’t think many people are.”

I nod, running a hand over my jaw, the stubble feeling scratchy against my fingers. It’s my own stupid game and I need to be as honest as I can be.

“Yes and no,” I tell her, taking a breath before I explain. “It’s complicated.”

“Most jobs are. Most families are.”

“Yeah. And most of this is tied to family. We are royals. A monarchy. It’s all about family and the job, combined. There is deep shame in abdicating.”

“So you would abdicate if you could?”

“Oh, I can,” I tell her, something inside me pinching at the thought. “I’d just rather not.”

“I’m not sure if you answered my question.”

“The thing is…my father wants me to rule. Lord knows why when Irene is more qualified than I am.”

“Irene…she’s your sister. How old is she?”

“She’s a couple of years older than you. Twenty-four. But she’s dead serious about everything in her life and has taken an interest in the monarchy and position more than anyone else has. She would rule with an iron fist. She would be steadfast in her role. I can’t think of anyone better.”

“But she’s twenty-four,” Ella says slowly. “I would think that’s too young.”

“She is too young for it. But sometimes I think her twenty-four is a lot older than my twenty-eight. If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m rather immature.”

“You don’t say,” she deadpans.

“Yes, well, perhaps we’re both too young. But the truth is, we may not have much choice. My father isn’t doing well, and…everyone—including him, maybe especially him—think that at the very least he should step back from his role for health reasons. Which means someone has to step in, and so far the world is expecting it to be me. I am the heir apparent and I have no reason to abdicate.”

“Except that you don’t want the job.”

I let out a long breath. “It’s not that I don’t want the job. It’s just that I am not built for it. As you said, very few people are, and I…well, I shouldn’t even run a McDonalds. I’m absolute shit at anything to do with organization, and after a week the company would be overrun with monkeys and knuckle deep in secret sauce.”

She stares at me for a few moments, seeming to take me in. I have to say, I like it when she looks at me. I like the feeling that I’m finally registering to her. Though it might not be in the most complimentary way. What was I just talking about, secret sauce?

“I know what you’re saying,” she says quietly, her eyes dropping to study her empty glass. “But perhaps you’d be better at it than you think.”

I shrug and get up, grabbing the bottle of scotch. “I doubt it. But I appreciate your faith in me.” I go over to her and try to fill her glass but she places her hand over it.

“I’ve had enough for tonight,” she says. “And if question time is over, I’d like to go to bed.”

I take the bottle back, pretending not to be slighted, and sit back down in my chair, filling my glass to the brim.

“I have one more question,” I tell her as she’s about to rise from her seat.

She sighs and sits back down. “This is going to be a doozy, isn’t it?”

I only grin at her. “You should know what to expect from me by now.” I clear my throat. “Listen, it’s only because of what we were talking about earlier. My first question. I asked if I made you uncomfortable and you said yes, because you don’t have that much experience around men like me…”

I pause and can see her shoulders stiffen, anticipating where this is going.

“So,” I continue, “I was just curious. Are you a virgin?”

Oh man, if looks could kill. She’s trying to incinerate me on the spot and I know she’s going to tell me it’s rude, it’s crude, it’s none of my business, but the fact of the matter is, she has to answer truthfully, and honestly, I have no idea what she’s going to do.

Finally she raises her chin and looks me dead in the eye. “Is this relevant to the marriage?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, am I supposed to be a virgin?”

“Oh god no.” I laugh and then quickly compose myself. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a virgin. I mean, hey, that’s always a trip. But this isn’t that kind of marriage. There are no ancient royal Viking laws or anything that say the queen has to be a virgin. Vikings knew how to have fun.”

She slowly raises a brow at that. She’s not impressed with any of this.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she says slowly, getting to her feet, “but I am not a virgin. And to save you the trouble of bringing this up again in future questions, I can tell you that it happened at boarding school, his name was Malcolm, I was sixteen. We were together until the summer after we graduated when he went to Oxford and I took a year to find myself.”

“And did you? Find yourself, I mean.”

“No. Is that all?”

“So he was the only guy you slept with?”

“Is this another question or are you just curious?”

“Just curious?”

“Then you can keep wondering,” she says, walking past me and plunking her empty glass down on the table. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait,” I call after her before she heads down the hall. “You have to ask me another one. It’s the rule.”

She looks utterly dejected as she pauses in the doorway, leaning against it. Then she straightens up and looks at me over her shoulder.

“Do you really think this marriage is ever going to happen?”

Damn. She’s caught me off-guard. I don’t even know if I have an answer for this one.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess I haven’t given much thought to what happens when the two weeks are over.” The truth is, sometimes it’s hard for me to concentrate on anything else except the here and now.

And all I see right here, right now, is her.

But she doesn’t object to my answer.

She just nods. “See you in the morning.”