“I’ll always support you, my sweet boy. Sometimes, you just need a good kick in the arse to get there.”
I smile at her as I get a shove out the door. I didn’t realize how much I needed her validation in this project. So much of what I’ve done in the past has been because it’s been handed to me. But for once, I don’t want to do something just because I’m told. I don’t want to skate by just because I was born into this life. I want to thrive. My grandfather was perhaps the best King we’ve had in centuries. I not only want to live up to his legacy, but to surpass him.
Finding my way back to my own office here at the palace, my advisors stand upon my arrival. “We’ve got some work to do.”
“Pardon me,sir, but if you don’t leave now, you’ll be late for your dinner with Miss Cross.” Charles is at my shoulder. Checking my watch, hours have gone by. With no events on the schedule for today, I took full advantage of working on my new charity. I have so many ideas, and all I can think about is sharing them with Zara.
“Where are we meeting her?” Standing, I slip into my blazer and follow Charles out the door.
“You were going to cook for her tonight.” His voice is even as we descend the stairs from my office.
“Did you get takeaway for me?” He gives me a knowing stare as I get into the car.
“Italian is waiting for you at home. Zara will arrive a few minutes after, so it will look like you prepared dinner yourself.”
“Excellent.” I clap him on the shoulder as we head off. My cooking skills are lacking. As much as I’d like to impress Zara, I don’t want to poison her with my nonexistent abilities. Except, I don’t think Zara is labouring under the delusion that I know how to cook after Oliver let it slip about my burnt pasta in uni.
Pulling into the grounds in Kensington, my mind eases. It’s been a long few days. Things have never been better with Zara. We were off after the wedding was thrown in our faces, but after the Royal Garden Party, we’re on the same page. We’re connecting more. We easily tell one another how much we love each other. And we definitely show it. I can’t get enough of her sexy body. I long for the day when I can wake up to her snuggled up against me.
The paparazzi are eating our every appearance up. I can’t remember the last time my picture was on the front page of every tabloid, but there I am. With Zara by my side. I know she hates it, but I love having her there.
The heavy scent of Italian greets me as I walk in the door of the apartment. Heading to my room, I change into something more casual before coming downstairs for a drink.
Eggplant parmesan. Lasagne. Chicken Alfredo. It all looks delectable. Whoever put this together did a brilliant job.
“James?” Zara’s voice carries throughout the house. It’s settling. Like she’s seeking me out after a long day. That this is something we do on a daily basis. I like that thought more than I should.
Walking out into the formal living room, I find her setting her things down on the back of the couch. “Hi, love.”
Her face softens as she looks over at me. The space of the living room separates us. I hate any distance between us.
“You seem to be in a good mood.”
“Let’s eat and I’ll tell you about it.”
She nods, walking over to me. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I pull her into me. “Where’d you get dinner from?”
“You don’t believe I worked all day to make you a feast fit for a queen?” Her hand comes down on my stomach, warming me from the contact.
“If you cooked, we might get food poisoning. And you’d want to make it look like you did, so I’m guessing you had someone get takeout instead of anyone else cooking.”
I stop, pulling Zara in front of me. “How the hell could you have guessed that?”
Zara drags her fingers over my cheeks. “I love you, James, and I know you better than you seem to think. Besides, it’s what all men do.” She walks away, a little more sway in her hips.
“Someone’s in a cheeky mood tonight,” I whisper, following her into the kitchen.
“It smells delicious.” She tucks her hair behind her back, as she takes a deep inhale of the dishes set out. “Are we eating in here?”
“Good a place as any.” She grabs the dishes as she heads for the small table in the corner. I rarely eat in here, but it feels normal with her. I grab some wine for her and settle in beside her.
“So, how was school today? Teach the kids any pop songs?” She cuts into her eggplant, her lips closing around the fork. Fuck, if I don’t want to be that fork right now.
“They do like the classics too.”
“Do they?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“Well, they do when I tell them they have to in order to get the pop songs.” She sighs, swirling her wine in her glass. “At least they enjoy playing, so I’ll take that most days.”
