But that’s not how our story goes.
For us, there is a bottom. One we’d crash headfirst into.
Everything in my world is centered around him. I fear it as much as I love it because it can’t last, and it can’t be explored.
He takes my hand again, holding it in his, and that’s how we drive the rest of the way. Quiet. Introspective. Connected. His touch is electric, and his hand is the perfect size to hold my much smaller one. And for just this time, I don’t question, and I don’t overthink.
I indulge in it.
And pretend. Maybe I do a little of that, too.
We arrive back at the palace far too soon, the intimidating gates and immense hedges our greeting. He drives around to the back where the garages are and releases my hand so he can pull in. The car is put in park and seat belts are unclicked. He gets out, and so do I, squinting a bit against the bright lights of the garage.
Before he reaches the entrance of the palace, he turns to me, his eyes pulsing with something I can’t name. “Your tattoo fits you.”
“Thank you for coming to get me.”
His hand comes up, brushing some strands of hair back from my face, lingering a second longer than he should, and I live and breathe and die in that touch. He leans in, his eyes on mine, and my breath catches. I close my eyes the second his lips press against the corner of my own, warm, soft, and firm. Pleasure curls deep in my belly. Everything inside me begs for more. I start to turn my head, but he pulls back before I can connect my lips with his and ruin us once and for all.
I watch as it all comes back. All at once. His stern features and straightened back and shuttered expression. “Good night, Bellamy.”
With that, he turns and walks inside. He doesn’t even wait for me to follow.
Because he’s gone again.
A king who does not understand all he could have in this world if he were willing to try again. And I know deep down that I will never be the one to complete his puzzle because he has no desire to have me put his pieces back together. The sooner I learn this lesson and have it stick, the better.
Only I fear it’s already too late for that.
14
BELLAMY
“Papa thinks you’re beautiful.”
My fingers freeze in Phaedra’s hair mid-braid. I turn to Sabrina, who is already all braided up—the girls like to sleep in braids because it gives them mermaid waves—and I gawk at her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“Papa thinks you’re beautiful,” she repeats as if she’s not saying anything out of the ordinary. “Well,hot. That was the word he used. But that means the same thing.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I asked Mrs. Emily what it meant. I was worried you had a fever or were sick.”
I blink at her and shake my head. “No. Not whathotmeans. When did you hear your father say that and who was he speaking to?” I continue braiding Phaedra’s hair before tying the end with the elastic.
Neither Sebastian nor I have mentioned anything about what happened last night when he came to pick me up. Tonight the kids and I made Spanish paella for dinner and then churros for dessert. We watched the newer version ofTheParent Trap,and I resisted flirting with Sebastian as much as I could manage. In return, he was easier to deal with. No snide comments on the food or the movie even though he had to leave halfway through it for work stuff.
“He was on the phone with Oncle Rowan,” she tells me. “He called you a hot pain in the ass.”
I hold in my snicker. “Sabrina…” I trail off. There are too many things to focus on there, and I have to organize them in terms of importance. “First of all, language. We don’t say grown-up words like that.”
“I’m just repeating what he said. He said that you were a hot pain in the ass but that we’re happy and you’re doing an excellent job with us. I think that’s good, right? That means he likes you and you can stay.”
“Yes.” Phaedra twists to face me, her eyes beseeching. “Promise you won’t leave us. You can never leave us. None of the other nannies played games with us or did our hair or read bedtime stories to us. You’re our beautiful friend and we love you.”
I take both girls and drop them on my lap, holding them against me, one on each thigh. “Queen and Princess, I love you with all my heart and have no plans to go anywhere. I’ll stay for however long your papa allows it. And if he thinks you’re happy despite me being a pain in the butt”—they giggle, and I smile—“then that’s good. But Sabrina, how did you hear your father on the phone with your uncle?”
