Carolyn’s hand extends across the table as she passes the colorful teacup and saucer to me. Our fingers touch, skin brushing skin, and she jumps at the sudden electric rush. Her flinch is visible even to Freya.
“What’s the matter, Queen Carolyn?” Freya asks, when Carolyn retracts her hand as if burned.
Color floods Carolyn cheeks. "Sorry. Someone must have walked over my grave,” she mutters, avoiding my eyes.
Freya frowns. “What?”
“Nothing, Princess Freya. Perhaps you could ask the King if he will have some cookies with his tea.”
Freya forgets her question and picks up a plate of plastic cookies. I take one and pretend to bite into it while sipping from the miniature cup. “Mmmm… very tasty.”
Carolyn smiles to herself, then completely ignores me and focuses on her own cup of tea.
I feel as though she is trying to calm down, but can’t. I watch her fidget, uneasily crossing and uncrossing her legs under the tiny table. Her bare foot accidentally brushes my calf once. It sends an electric jolt through me and hardens my cock instantly. I shift to hide my arousal, but I continue to watch her throughout. My curiosity has turned into something hotter, my gaze tracing the flush climbing her neck, the way the sundress shifts with her breaths, nipples peaking against the fabric in the room's gentle breeze.
It is a small shock when my phone buzzes in my pocket—a call from outside my girl’s dinky little world. It must be the office. The vibration is insistent against my thigh. A reminder of the real world. In the end, I answer, but keep it brief.
"Hold it—I'll call back in ten."
Pulling the crown off my head, I rise to my feet, knees cracking from the difficult crouch.
I turn to Carolyn, my voice steady, though my gaze lingers on the way the sundress rides up her thigh. "Could you keep your calendar clear on Friday night? It’s a boring charity event, but the board expects us to attend together."
“Sure.” She nods dutifully and lowers her head.
Hmm…she didn’t make faces and didn’t ask who would be there. I lean down to kiss Freya, her cheek soft and sticky. "Thank you for tea, princess." Then I lean down to kiss Carolyn. A habit that died years ago, but I want to see how she reacts. My lips brush her forehead. Her skin is warm under my lips and I again smell the subtle difference. Yes, the perfume is the same, but…
I see the goosebumps that break out across her arms, prickling like a shiver in the sun-warmed room, and her breath hitches audibly. Her chest rises and falls fast. That’s strange. We bear our interactions with politeness that only we know masks a dead relationship. Why is she suddenly breaking out in goose pimples and acting like her heart is about to jump out of her chest at my mere presence?
It stirs me, that reaction, as I straighten. I leave the room with more questions than when I entered. The door clicks shut behind me, and her delectable scent lingers on my lips.
Chapter Eighteen
JULIET
The door clicks shut behind him with a soft finality that echoes in the sun-dappled room, and that is when I start to breathe again—really breathe, my lungs expanding like they've been held underwater too long. The air rushes in, carrying the sweet strawberry scent of Freya's shampoo. I shut my eyes for a second, leaning back against the plastic edge of a doll house, trying to steady the wild thrum in my chest from his kiss on my forehead—warm lips brushing my skin, his breath stirring my hair, leaving me tingling like I've been touched by lightning.
Freya's small concerned voice pulls me back, her little hand tugs at my jacket sleeve. "Are you okay, Carolyn? You look funny."
I open my eyes, and force a wobbly smile. My whole body still feels flushed from the heat he left behind.
"Yes, sweetie, I'm okay," I say, my voice a little breathy. Then I try to continue with her, straightening up to pour more phantom tea into Mr. Bunny's cup, the teapot’s lid rattling in my shaking hand. Inside, I'm reeling. Blake's presence lingers on my skin; the woody richness of his cologne is still in my nostrils,making it hard to focus on the tea party. The stuffed animals stare back with button eyes.
“I have something to do, Freya. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay.” She sounds disappointed, but I honestly cannot stay another minute in that room.
I head back to my room, the hallway stretching long and quiet, the polished hardwood cool under my bare feet, the distant crash of waves comes through the many open windows, carrying the salty tang of the sea. I decide to occupy myself with the housekeeper's birthday. I’m very good at organizing so I’ll throw a surprise party for her. It’ll be something tangible to focus on, to distract from the way Blake's kiss still burns on my skin, from the ache that's settled low in my belly since the gym this morning. In my room, I grab the Chanel purse from the nightstand, sling it over my shoulder, and head out, calling Franklin from the foyer to bring the Bentley out front. That is exactly what Carolyn said she would do and that is what I do too.
It is a relief to leave the house.
The car purrs smoothly along the winding roads of the Gold Coast, past estates hidden behind iron gates and manicured hedges heavy with late-blooming roses. The weather is milder today, mid-70s with a humid breeze that ruffles the leaves, but in the car, the temperature is perfectly cool. I pull out my phone—my secret burner one—and text Emma, my fingers flying over the screen as I ask what I should do about the gift I’ve volunteered to buy on behalf of Frances.
Me: Em, I'm lost. Scarf from Frances? Something cute from Freya? What about from me for the housekeeper?
She pauses—three dots dancing.
Emma: Get a Hermes scarf from the old dragon. One of the old classic designs. Navy with horses. They’ll both get a kick out of it.
