He chuckles and rubs his jaw as if no one has ever thought to ask him this either. “I have no clue. This is all I’ve ever known. What I knew my life would be.”
I nod in agreement. “Same. My family needed my help, and I stepped in.”
Oddly, we’re not so different in that. Neither of us had authority over our lives or situations.
“I’m sure they appreciate it.”
“It’s necessary, and that’s what matters, sir.”
“Not sir. I want you to call me Rowan. Remember?”
“I still think it’s inappropriate. Why are you asking me to do that?”
His lips bounce, and he rubs his finger along his bottom lip. “You’re going to call BellamyBellamy.”
I shake my head. “I never agreed to that, and I have no plans to do so.”
“But you will,” he says with assurance. “She’ll wear you down.
“You won’t.”
He smirks, his eyes raking down my body, making tingles explode along my skin. “We’ll see, Marcella.”
The way he says my name curls through me and tightens my belly. I need to get out of here. Away from him. “If you have no further questions for me, I should get back to work.”
“I do have further questions for you. I haven’t decided yet if you should take over Emily’s position.”
I push out a silent breath. I don’t want to sit here with him. The more time I spend with him, the greater the chance that he could recognize me. If he hasn’t already. I feel like he’s playing with me, and I don’t like it. I don’t know how to outmaneuver him.
“Your Highness?—”
“Rowan.”
My exasperation comes out in a heavy sigh. “Rowan?—”
“See. I knew I’d wear you down. That didn’t even take much work.” His eyes glint with triumph and something else. He was baiting me, and he won. “The way you say my name…your voice…not much of an accent that time.”
Oh god. It’s the first time I’ve said it since that night, and atrickle of fear hits me because I knew that’s why he wanted me to say it, and I fell into his trap.
I straighten my spine and meet his gaze. “Your Highness,” I emphasize. “I’m not sure what else?—”
He sits back, crossing his legs at the knee as if he’s settling in for a long chat. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Pardon? I don’t see how that’s pertinent to anything.”
His hand twists through the air, encouraging an answer. “Humor me.”
“Salad.”
His eyebrows bounce in surprise. “Salad?”
I arch an eyebrow in return. “You’re rating my answer.”
“When your answer issalad, I am.”
“Sorry it’s not lobster, Your Highness. We grow fresh vegetables on our farm.”
He laughs and points at his chest. “You’re rating my censure?”
