Chapter Twenty-Six
Dare
I run after Edee as if my life depends on it because it does. In fact, I’m chasing her so hard that I almost slam into her when I round a particularly tall boxwood. She’s not running away. She’s parked her cute ass on an ancient bit of wall that dates back to the Greeks or Neanderthals or some suitably dusty, impressive ancestor.
She slaps a hand against my chest. Hard. “Tag. You’re it.”
I love games—but I play to win. I catch her hand in mine and raise it to my lips, brushing a kiss up her soft fingers and over her bare knuckles.
“You’ve lost something,” I say. “You’re not wearing your rings.”
She crosses one bare leg over another and looks at me. The dress she’s wearing slays me and I decide on the spot that pink should be the new color of Vale. My most favorite things are pink after all—the peonies my mother decorated the palace with, a really awesome cake the palace chef makes, strawberries, strawberries after they’ve been dipped in champagne, and place inside somewhere else that’s pink . . . Pink is fucking perfect. My dick votes we move straight to hot reunion sex.
Sex is an important part of a healthy relationship.
I wait for lightning to strike or hell to freeze over. Nada.
I’ve never had a relationship before, but I want one.
“So tell me, Your Royal Highness, what else did I lose?” She looks me up and down and I swear her gaze lasers through my tuxedo jacket and spots the ring. “Because it’s not you. You’re right here.”
“So you’re waiting for your prince to come.” I wink at her. “And here I am.”
Her face tightens. “I saw where you just were.”
Uh-oh.
“Did you pick out my replacement already?”
“Of course not,” I growl. “I already picked you. I told Queenie I was married, but he wanted me here tonight for solidarity. He said that if I couldn’t say yes, I didn’t have to say no, either. One of us is supposed to be proposing tonight, and I just ran away with the ring.”
She tips her head back, staring at the stars. Aquila, Cassiopeia, Aries. Jason, that poor bastard, had to find Aries’s fleece in order to claim his throne and become king. There’s an important lesson there for men. We can bumble around half the known world hunting for treasure, or we can fucking stop and ask for advice. Jason didn’t find the fleece until he wised up and begged Medea for help. He married her, too, because he wasn’t stupid.
I suck at asking for help, but now is the right time to start. “Talk to me?”
Edee looks at me. “There were three girls in that gazebo. That doesn’t seem like an accident to me.”
It’s dark here in the garden, and I can’t see her face clearly. “Queenie wants me to say yes, but he has his reasons.” I unbuckle my sword belt and toss it onto the ground. “Royals are good at keeping secrets, and my family has plenty. I should’ve shared, but I didn’t. I’m not good at that. At letting people in.”
“Then tell me now.”
I drop down beside her, my thigh brushing hers, my arm resting against her shoulder. “It’s not just my secret.”
I want to be the man she needs—the kind of man she trusts to stick by her side. Permanently. But my head . . . my head remembers all the ways people have sold me out before. The times my life has ended up on the Internet and on public display. My heart, however, believes that Edee is different.
“Why did you agree to a betrothal ball? Why didn’t you come back? Did you agree to marry one of those girls? Are we even still married?”
“The ball was one of Queenie’s surprises. I took one look at those girls and knew I was planning on walking out of here and straight back to you. And yes. Fuck, yes.”
She processes my answers. I’m telling her the truth. Or most of it. I’ve never lied to her overtly, but I have kept shit back. And yet she still took a chance and came here tonight. I know how she feels about public scrutiny and she just went off on my ass in a crowded ballroom full of reporters. By now, a significant percentage of the world’s seven and a half billion residents have also heard the news.
I don’t think she’s grasped that, however, because she gives me a smile. It’s tentative and faint, like so much of the starlight overhead, because it’s taken a long time to travel here through all that empty, black space. “Explain it to me, Dare.”
There is no NDA, no promises of silence, nothing but these . . . feelings between us. Once I’ve done this, she’ll either tell me that she understands and we’ll move forward—or she’ll go back to Las Vegas. She’s not making any guarantees. For all I know, my family’s secrets could end up splashed across a dozen websites tomorrow.
I suck in a breath. This can’t be any worse than my first jump. I sucked down too many Red Bulls and got the dry heaves right before we rode to altitude. The exit was almost anticlimactic and then I was free-falling. Pretty fucking amazing, seeing all of Vale spread out beneath me but a jump goes fast. One minute you’re in the door and then you’re air bound and you open your chute and the harness yanks hard at your balls and it’s all about the landing.
I just have to exit the plane, so to speak.
I sound like an idiot.
Here goes everything.
“My older brother, Nik, has always been the heir to the throne. He’s the best man for the job. We call him Saint Nik, and he’s earned the name. Feeding orphans, looking out for the weak and the vulnerable, running international charities single-handed. Puppies follow after him like he’s the Pied Piper of their doggy world. He was on a volunteer trip a few months ago . . . and he didn’t come back. His helicopter crash-landed on the side of a mountain. I didn’t know. He was lost for days, and no one told me because I was the playboy prince, too immature to handle that kind of secret.”
Edee shifts beside me. Her hands come up, go back down, as if she’s not sure what to do with them. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
I look her in the eye. “I fucked, I partied, I had a good time. But none of that prepared me—”
“To cover for Nik,” she says quietly.
“To be Nik. Queenie wanted me to take his place—to step up as heir and to be the perfect prince. He also needed a distraction, and a royal wedding would have been perfect. He wanted to announce my betrothal immediately, wanted the media attention focused on dresses and rings and happily-ever-after. He didn’t want anyone asking where Nik was.”
“You give awesome distractions,” she agrees. “Although Elvis and Hunka Hunka Burning Love Drive-Through Chapel probably don’t fall into Westminster territory.”
“Definitely not.” My grin is wry and a little bit guilty. Did I take that away from her? “Would you have wanted that long, ceremonial walk up the aisle with a million-dollar dress, a tiara, and a bishop? Because we could do a vow renewal.”
Queenie can kiss my ass—the bishop owes me.
“No, I don’t need to be married on TV with a million people watching.” And if she’s decided something, she slides onto my lap, knees on either side of my thighs, hands on my shoulders. Hello. FYI, ladies? If all wedding discussions were conducted this way, guys would be much more willing to spend hours discussing cakes, venues, and bridal favors.
“You don’t want to be king?” Her eyes look into mine, and I want to look away. But I don’t.
“It’s complicated.” I don’t know how to explain it to her. “No, I don’t want the job of being king. But Vale is my country and if they need me . . . I want to do the right thing. I have to be what everyone needs me to be. And if that means I end up on the throne, then that’s what I do.”
“But Nik’s not missing anymore.”
“He was rescued by an American backpacker. She looked after him for weeks until someone from the palace tracked them down. But there are gaps in his memory. He doesn’t remember who he is. Who we are. So—”
“So you’re not off the hook,” she says softly. My eyes are glued to her, and not just because my view is amazing—and it totally is. Her sweet face, the trust I see there, the curve of her lip, and lower where her shoulders and tits threaten to spill out of her dress.
“There’s something else I didn’t tell you, although the Internet probably already has. The royal rulebook says a prince must have the king and queen’s permission to marry. Our marriage isn’t valid in Vale.”
“So you’re telling me I’m technically single.”
“No.”
I don’t have to think about what comes next. Since she’s come this far, I don’t think she wants to be alone.
“You’re mine,” I whisper roughly, squeezing her close.
“You were born for this,” she whispers back, and I know she’s looking up at the palace and all it represents.
“I was born for you.”
I don’t want to go back, not when I can go forward. Plus, I’m not all that reformed. I do want what’s best for Vale and I always will, but I’m also still me. I stand, scoop her up into my arms and twirl us both in a lazy circle.
She shrieks something distinctly uncomplimentary about my royal ancestors. You American girls have such a colorful vocabulary.
“Put me down.” She mock slaps my shoulder.
I drop a kiss on her forehead. “That’s not very PC of you.”
She looks up at me. And . . . fuck. There are tears in her eyes. Tears that I’ve put there because I’m a royal dick. She told me in Vegas that she had trust issues—that she had a hard time believing I’d always be there for her. While I’m still trying to decide how to further plead my case, footsteps crunch on the gravel behind us. It’s either my bodyguards or the Valeian army, come to arrest me for my crimes against the throne. But like I told her, I don’t belong on the throne.
I belong right here, with her.
“Incoming,” I whisper against her ear. She tenses and swipes at her eyes. She’s an angry crier and she’ll hate it if anyone sees her like that, so I sprint toward the closest mass of shrubbery. I have one chance to get this right, and for once in my life, I don’t need or want an audience. The only person who matters now is Edee.
Having grown up (or not) in the palace, I have the advantage on my pursuers. I slip through an almost invisible opening in the boxwoods. There’s a courtyard just on the other side and a midnight garden. It’s always been one of my favorite places in the palace. It smells like heaven, all flowering jasmine and white tea roses, while lots of naked cupids some romantic ancestor imported from France look on. There’s a fountain in the middle of the small square that my ten-year-old self decided looks like a giant cupcake, three tiers of stone dripping water into an enormous basin at the bottom.
It’s a landscape artist’s wet dream, but Edee ignores it. All of her attention is focused on me and that feels fucking great. She’s pissed off and I’ve screwed up epically, but I’m all in now.
All I want is to fix this. Fix us. And that means the rest of the world—my king, the guards, the ballroom full of aristocratic guests and wannabe princesses—will have to wait. Edee comes first. She’ll always be my first. My first lover, my first princess, and hopefully my first and only wife.
I set her down. I’m not stupid. I keep my body between her and the exit. If she wants to leave, I’ll have to let her go, but I don’t have to make it easy. She told me in Vegas that the men in her life had been a revolving door—that boyfriends left and the number one rule in the Edee-verse was no chasing after them. But she’s here.
She shakes her head. “I’m not having sex with you in the garden. Do you take all your girls here?”
God, she’s fucking amazing. I lay my hand over my heart and sweep her a bow. “That wasn’t my plan, although I’m willing to entertain suggestions.”
Her updo thing wasn’t designed for mad romps through the garden. What my chase didn’t undo, our bursting through the hedge has. Edee’s hair tumbles down around her shoulders, thick and tangled. My fingers itch to smooth out the curls someone has painstakingly created. Her hair is usually pin straight, falling below her shoulders and ending in just a tiny, naughty flick. Edee’s hair behaves. It’s good girl hair. Tonight’s fancy do is pretty, too. Tumbled and tousled, all sexy loops as if she’s just rolled out of bed.
And when she crosses her arms over her chest—I suspect she’s holding herself back from killing me—her tits threaten to spill out of the pink cups. The ribbon that wraps around and around her ribcage just begs for one good tug. So I can unwrap her and eat her up.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to show you something.”
Her gaze drops to my crotch.
“Not that. Not yet.” A man can hope after all.
“Start talking then.”
I drop to my knees. “I forgot my boom box, so I can’t stand outside your window and serenade you. It’s too dark for a skywriter and clearly I suck at the ballroom thing.”
“You can’t. You were born for this.” She stabs a finger back toward the palace.
And yes, my house is crazy rich. I have a hundred bathrooms where normal people make do with one or two. I have two dozen sports cars, a private island, and enough royal jewels to open my own Tiffany’s. But that’s just stuff.
Stuff doesn’t matter.
People do. Feelings do. “I was born for you,” I correct.
Edee freezes. I don’t know how neither of us saw that coming. Because it’s true. The moment she strode into my life, my life changed for the better. It just took me a little while to realize the truth, that there’s only one princess for me. One queen.
“That’s it? That’s your big declaration?”
Edee’s a tough audience.
“Pretty much.”
She opens her mouth and I’m no lip reader but I don’t think I’m going to like what she says next. I hold up my hand. “But there is one other thing.”
My voice sounds like sandpaper but that’s nothing on how my stomach feels. Someone’s taken a sander to my insides and everything feels raw and rough. Like a blowtorch to the heart.
“Oh?” She leans forward, arms still crossed over her chest. “Do tell.”
“I love you.”
“Oh,” she says again, but the pain and the fire inside me ease up some. Because that word is soft and wondering. And yes, it’s also hesitant and skeptical because love is so damn hard that it makes us both crazy.
“Yes, we come from two different worlds, and mine’s the crazy one. The one where if you have enough money you can go swimming in the Bellagio fountains and wear a crown and be hounded by a million paparazzi. But it’s also the world where I love you with everything I am.” My hands curve around her knees, pushing, asking her to make space for me. “I don’t deserve a second chance, but my question is, can I have it anyway? Will you do that for me? Can you forgive me?”
My throat’s so dry that the water in the fountain looks downright drinkable, but I keeping on going because I have to get the most important words out. “I’m sorry. I’ll probably fuck up again and it might be as soon as tomorrow, but I’ll be sorry then, too. And I promise that I belong to you and I’ll always kiss it better. I’ll always come back to you or I’ll be waiting for you to come back to me. Lady’s choice.”
And then I shut the fuck up.
And wait.
Edee stares at me. Her lips part, but no words come out. I can’t tell if this is good or bad. All I can do is wait. And fucking wait some more.
And I touch her, too, because she’s killing me and I totally deserve it. I run my thumb over the silky skin behind her knee.
“I’m not a princess,” she whispers. I suspect she’d rather yell at me but there’s a sudden clamor outside our sanctuary. The guards are definitely looking for me. Raised voices carry in the still night air—a girl shouting something that sounds awfully like Nik’s name. Not my circus, not my monkeys—not now. While Vale may lay claim to most of my daylight hours, it can’t have these stolen moments with Edee.
“You’re mine.” I run my hands up her thighs and wrap them around her waist. “Say yes.”
“Because you love me?” I breathe her in, pretending my eyes are full of water from the fountain and not for any other reason.
“Yes because I love you—and because I think you love me.” I’m totally taking a chance on this.
Her sigh ruffles my hair. “You live in a fishbowl, Dare. You’re on public display all the time. I don’t belong here.”
I tilt my head back so I can see her face. “Maybe you don’t and I don’t, but I have a better idea.”
She thinks about it for a moment and then she asks, “Tell me?”
“We belong together, wherever that is, and there will always be time for just us. If I promise you that, if I buy us a mountain retreat and throw all the reporters off the side of said mountain, would you give it a shot?”
The corner of her mouth quirks up and my sad, stupid heart perks up. She’s thinking about it! “Is there a bed in this mountain aerie of yours?”
“A dozen,” I say gravely. “One in each room. Is that a yes?”
“It’s not a no.”
And that’s all I need. A chance. “Let me show you?”
When she nods, I stand up and cup the sides of her face with my hands. There are tears in her eyes and damp tracks down her cheeks. I kiss the silvery marks away and she lets me.
“Do you remember that night in Vegas? When it was just us before all the crazy hit?”
“I do.”
“I made you a promise that day and I intend to keep it. For better or for worse. We can have that. Together. We can do all the crazy things or none of them. Some of them will be fabulous—and some of them will suck. But we’ll do them together. We’ll be together. Those are my favorite moments and I want more them. With you.”
I’m babbling.
I’m—
She slides her arms around my waist. She’s so close that I breathe her in with each breath I take.
“Dare,” she says, resting her cheek against my chest. “I like those moments, too.”
I could stay like this forever because I love her and it’s so much more fucking perfect than I ever imagine. My heart’s pounding in my chest like I’m growing a minialien and I’m about to burst wide open and there are still so many things I haven’t told her yet. It would take days, months, years to share everything with her and—
“I think I’m having a heart attack. My chest is all tight and achy.”
A smile tips up the corners of her mouth. “Those are feelings.”
“Are you sure?”
The smile gets broader, happier. “Lovely feelings.”
“Because I might need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Or maybe you could kiss it better.”
Her beautiful mouth forms a perfect O.
“You make me better, so I’m hoping you’ll make me yours.”
A soft smile curves her mouth. “Such a wishful thinker.”
“Because I can change. I can be whatever you need.”
“I need you.”
I nod. Okay. That’s good. That’s . . . perfect. For a long moment, we hold each other tight. I run my hands over her shoulders, down her back, and yes, I cup her ass. It’s as perfect as the rest of her and deserves some attention, too. Unfortunately, the clamor in the garden is getting louder. Not only is it distracting, but it’s ruining my romantic moment.
“Are they hunting us with dogs?” Edee sounds horrified.
“How backward do you think we are here?” When she stammers a retraction, I press a quick kiss against her mouth. “Of course they’re hunting us with dogs. Queenie keeps an entire pack. There was never any winning hide-and-go-seek when my uncle played.”
Edee splutters something that sounds suspiciously like omgyousuck, the dogs bay louder, and I love this. It’s farcical and imperfect and so goddamned funny that I’m smiling like a loon. I love the way I feel when I’m around Edee.
I love her and it all comes down to this.
“Marry me?”
Marrying a princess in a binder seems so crazy now. A boy’s desire to make his king happy. I will always serve Vale. I’ll be her right-hand man, and whatever I can do, I will do. Yes, I’ve done some growing up. I won’t be king because that’s what Nik does best and being kingly is simply part of who he is, like a third arm or some weird dick appendage. Nik is strong and courageous and bold enough to lead Vale into the future, but I can still be his prince—and Edee’s.
“I’ve spoken with my uncle and he’s given his blessing. So if you could see your way to marrying me again, I’d be grateful.”
I fish in my pocket and hold out two rings. The first one is Rose’s. I hold it out. It’s delicate and sparkles in the moonlight, which is probably Rose’s doing. I’m sure she’s watching from up there in heaven, probably wondering what took me so long. She’d like Edee.
“This was my aunt’s engagement ring.” I slide the ring onto Edee’s finger. “And this is from me to you.”
I add the wedding band. It has diamonds from a dozen queens and it’s gorgeous. One of a kind.
Just like Edee.
She twists the band on her finger. “You weren’t planning on marrying one of the ballroom girls but you just happened to have a priceless ring in your pocket?”
I hold up her hands so we can both admire the rings. “Honestly? No. All appearances to the contrary, I planned to keep on walking. Up one set of stairs, down the other, and out the door.”
“And do what?”
I shrug. “Look for you. I’ll always be looking for you, Edee. This prince in a suit? This is just part of who I am—the outside part. And while he wants you on his arm and by his side in public, all of me loves you. Let me show you.”
And . . . cue the waterworks. Christ, she’ll kill me later. But for now I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.
She glares at me through her tears. “How? How do you strip down the outside just like that?”
“Show and tell time, brown eyes.”
I told her before and I meant it. We don’t always have to be on display. I will always make time for us.
For love.
So I force myself to lift her off my lap and then I stand up and start stripping. I unbuckle, unzip, and undo. The uniform jacket hangs off one of the wings of one of the fat, naked cherubs decorating the fountain. My shirt goes next, hitting a nearby rose bush, and then I bend over and yank off my boots.
“Dinner and a show.” Edee swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and then makes a give it up gesture.
I look at her and fall just a little bit more in love. “See me.”
And then I unbuckle my belt, shove my pants down my legs, and stand there in just my boxer briefs. I’d lose those, too, but we’re going to have company sooner rather than later.
“What are you doing?” Laughter fills her voice as she drinks me in. See? She totally likes what she sees. All is not lost.
“I’m going for a swim.” I vault over the fountain’s edge. It’s summer and the water is still pleasantly warm. Mostly. At least I won’t freeze my balls off in the next ten minutes. “Join me. Think of it as water therapy. Or a wet tell-all booth on one of those reality TV shots. Come in here and tell me what you’re thinking.”
I drop to my knees and hold out my arms for her. I’ll wait as long as it takes because I’m hers forever.
She stares at me. “Are you crazy?”
“Crazy mad for you.” I don’t move, not even when she slides her phone out of some hidden pocket and snaps a picture of me.
“Still mad?” She sets the phone down and does some more looking. The water’s soaked through my boxer briefs and all of my assets are on full display. Did I mention that the water isn’t frigid? Because parts of me are definitely standing to attention.
“Edee.” I mock growl her name. “It’s not nice to leave your king on his knees.”
“Hmmm.” She toys with the ribbon on the front of her dress. “But we’ve already established that I love having you on your knees.”
And then God bless her, she pulls on that ribbon like it’s the ultimate ripcord and her dress drops to the ground. She stands there, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks, and wearing just a pink thong—pink is definitely my new favorite color—and a strapless corset.
I hold out my hands to her. “Please come here?”
There’s more laughter in her voice as she does, especially when I have to help her negotiate the fountain’s stone lip. And then I hold up a staying hand when she’s balanced on the edge. It’s important to have things clear. “Are you all in, Edee? Am I yours and you’re mine? And we’re doing this together?”
She drops down onto me and my arms close around her.
“Yes.”
“Let’s tell everyone then.” I fish in my jacket pocket for my phone and then I take a picture of the two of us in the fountain together and I tweet it to the world. I’ve met The One. I can’t think of a more perfect caption, can you?
She pulls me closer, her arms brushing my neck. “I love you.”
And that’s good enough for me. That’s the perfect ending for tonight—and an even better beginning for the rest of our lives. I’m going to make her happy. This prince and princess are getting their happily-ever-after.