I’m breathing hard—harder than I should be.

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing like skyscrapers.

My heart is racing like a Formula One race car.

Even my palms feel sweaty.

I’ve never experienced something like claustrophobia before. Fuck, I don’t do phobias at all. Unless you count gamophobia—read that as a fear of commitment—then I’m your girl.

But being in that museum with Anton made me feel as though the world was shrinking around me.

I had to get out of there.

I take a moment to bask in the warmth of the sun. A cool breeze washes over me like a gentle wave of soothing relaxation.

Being outside reminds me that the world isn’t closing in around me.

My heels clack against the pavement as I try to put as much distance between Anton and myself as possible.

I remember everything that has happened between us.

And, let me say this, it’s fucked up.

Sure, I’ve always had a soft spot for Anton. How could I not?

My Silver Fox is well-traveled, educated, charming, and a fucking prince, to boot. Throw in his god-like physique and baseball bat-sized cock and you have the total package.

So yes, I’ve had a soft spot for him from day one.

But actually falling in love!?

Fuck. No.

I don’t do the romantic kind of love.

That’s not who I am. It can’t be who I am.

Yet, I remember telling him I love him.

I don’t remember how that happened.

It’s just a long time coming. As if all the little moments over the years have kept adding up until he slipped past my defenses like a fucking love ninja.

There’s a reason I’ve always kept my lovers at arm’s length.

It was so this kind of bullshit doesn’t happen.

Go figure that the princely Silver Fox would be the one to weasel his way in.

“Percy, wait!”

What the fuck?!

I keep walking.

I can’t deal with all this right now.

His tall, muscled frame appears from the corner of my eye. He runs around me and blocks my path.

“Stop, Percy. We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t need to talk. I need a fucking drink.”

I need more than one, truth be told. I could probably go for about a dozen.

“No, we need to talk.”

He looks at me through narrowed eyes. His tone is authoritative yet demanding.

It’s the kind of tone that you expect a prince—and future king—to have.

And—while now is certainly not the best time for it—my pussy throbs in excitement at the sound of it.

“Listen here, your Highness, I’m not one of your subjects that you can just order around,” I spit back in defiance.

“No, you’re not. You’re my fucking wife. The woman I’ve taken a vow to spend the rest of my life with.”

Okay, so he has me there.

“Yeah, well that still doesn’t mean you get to order me around.”

One point for yours truly.

“No, it doesn’t. But it means that instead of running from our problems, we should stand our ground and talk about them like adults. Running away has never solved anything,” he declares.

And after I don’t reply, he goes on, “Cowards run. I’m not a coward. And I refuse to believe that I married one!”

His voice climbs like the crescendo of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. Anton’s words are every bit as true as they are dramatic.

I know that I’m certainly not a fucking coward. But, I am fucking scared. This whole fucking shit show scares me to my core.

I’m scared of loving him. I’m scared of being loved by him.

Loving Anton—and letting him in—opens me up for heartbreak and pain should it all go to shit.

And—as much as I’m afraid to get hurt—I’m just as afraid of hurting him in return.

The walls that I put up have always been there to protect my boyfriends just as much as they protect me.

It’s why I’ve always gravitated towards men with the same mindset. Inevitably, they all fall for me, but that’s why I kick them to the curb.

Falling in love with one of them—let alone marrying one—has never been part of the plan.

“What do you want from me? We both know marriage doesn’t suit me, nor am I queen material.”

“I want what I’ve always wanted, Percy. You. That’s it. All I’ve ever wanted was you and everything that comes with being with you.” he declares in exasperation. “Do you honestly think I give a fuck about whether or not you’re ‘queen material’ for fuck’s sake? If I thought for a moment that being with you would be detrimental to my country, then I wouldn’t be here fighting for you, for us.”

Hearing him say those words pulls at heart strings I never knew I had.

To have a man—a fucking prince at that—throw himself at me like this is probably the fantasy of every woman on Earth who isn’t me.

I never dream of the Prince Charming fantasy wherein I live in a big castle and wear the fancy dresses. I’ll pick a fancy hotel suite in Vegas or New York with a harem of hot studs and cocktail dresses over that any day.

But the way Anton looks at me with those dark eyes is something I’ve never experienced before.

And then there’s the need I hear in his voice. It’s not a sexual need borne out of lust. It’s a need springing from real love, adoration, and affection.

It’s another first for me.

And, yeah, I’m fucking scared shitless.

“There is no us, Anton. I cannot do this with you. I am not the woman you think I am.”

The only thing I can do is try and push him away.

I might love him, but I can’t.

And I keep trying to tell myself that I don’t want to.

Even as I dare to look into his soft, chocolate colored eyes.

I’m sure the girls would be telling me to just “shut up and kiss him already” if they were here. And I’d probably listen to them if they were.

But, the fact of the matter is, they aren’t here, and I’m forced to do this on my own.

If I was wearing panties they’d be big girl ones.

“Oh, I know exactly who you are, Percy,” he says, his voice soft and tender. “You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met. You’re everything a woman should be–intelligent, witty, and beautiful. You live life your way and make no apologies for it. You take no prisoners. You’re a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later kind of woman. And being with you makes me a better man.”

No point in keeping score after that one.

He takes a step forward.

I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

He reaches out to take me into his arms. I push them away.

The second I feel his body against mine I know I’m done. I know I’ll cave.

I have to stand my ground.

But, fuck, he makes it hard.

“Why do you have to be you?” I nearly yell. “Why do you have to be all this?”

Be angry, Percy!

Yes, angry.

Like, how dare he be so fucking hot, sweet, passionate and just fucking good?

I push him out of my way.

I need to put some distance between us again.

I start to run—as much as I can in heels—down the street.

I’m not running from my problem. No, I’m regrouping so I can redouble my efforts.

It’s all strategy.

Chess, not checkers, bitches.

Of course, there’s no problem with this course of action.

I hear Anton chasing after me.

Fuck...