“I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” he says.
“What sort of thing?” I ask, though I already know.
“Romance,” he whispers, the word making my chest swell.
My gaze drops from his eyes to his mouth. His lips areslightly parted, and all I can think about is what it felt like to kiss him during that photographic session at the palace.
Only this time, there’s no audience. No cameras. No obligation. Just him and me, standing on a balcony below a sea of lanterns, the most perfectly romantic setting I could have imagined.
In one decisive movement, he reaches out and gently pulls me against him. His hands cup my face, firm and certain, and he bends his head to press his lips softly to mine.
I close my eyes, letting myself feel everything. The familiar scent of him, the surprising gentleness of his mouth, the warmth of his hands against my skin.
It’s wonderful. It’s…over?
He pulls back. “I hope that was all right. I?—”
“Fred,” I interrupt, my voice unsteady. “It’s more than all right.”
This time, when he reaches for me, there’s no hesitation. His hand slides around my waist, the other brushing the skin of my shoulder, tracing the line of my neck and slipping into my hair. He draws me firmly against him, and I rest my hands against the broad expanse of his back, feeling his strength beneath my palms, solid and reassuring and so veryhim.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” he murmurs, his words barely leaving his lips before he kisses me again, only this time, there’s nothing tentative about it. His kiss is raw, full of longing and pent-up desire, as though he’s finally stopped holding himself back.
I melt into it.
It’s the most incredible kiss I’ve ever had, and I never want it to end. His lips are hot and firm, his fingers tangled in my hair, sending electricity coursing downmy body.
If I was ever in doubt that I would get to know Fred the man, this kiss is confirmation that this is not just a political arrangement between our two countries. His walls are not impenetrable. He wants me as much as I want him.
And then something shifts. The air changes around us.
He pulls back abruptly. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what came over me.” He bows his head, staring down at his feet, and my heart stutters.
“Fred.” I reach out and place my hand on his forearm, needing contact, needinghim. He almost flinches, his body going rigid at my touch. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
His features are tight, his jaw sett, and in a single, sickening instant, I understand.
He regrets it. He regrets kissing me. It was the most wonderful kiss of my life, and he regrets it.
My heart drums. “We’re engaged. Weshouldbe kissing on balconies. It’s what engaged people do. Why are we so different?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
“Fred, please,” I plead, my voice catching. “You wanted to kiss me so you did, and I wanted to kiss you back. Can’t you just live in the moment? It’s clear to me that you have feelings for me, just as I have for you.”.
I can already feel him slipping away. His jaw remains set, that familiar, rigid mask sliding back into place as if the last hour had never happened.
“We’re not just an engaged couple, Astrid. We’re royal. We have responsibilities and expectations.” His voice has regained his clipped, professional edge.
“I’m not a line item in one of your binders, Fred!” My frustration finally boils over, sharp and hot inmy chest. “Is that what tonight is to you? Did you pencil in a moment of human connection between our PR exercises?”
He flinches, but his eyes remain fixed on the dark horizon. “It was a breach of protocol. I allowed the atmosphere of the festival to cloud my judgment.”
“A breach of protocol?” I repeat, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “You’re treating the best moment of my life like it’s a… a diplomatic disaster?” I step toward him, needing him to see the fire he’s trying so hard to put out. “You opened up to me tonight. You told me you admired my ease, that I was good for you. Surely that means more than just a ‘breach of protocol’.”
But all he does is turn on his heel and push open the doors, stepping back into the room as though retreating behind a Medieval fortress wall.
I’m left on the balcony alone, the railing pressing into my back as I watch the man I’m falling for disappear behind the marble-cold version of himself.
