Page 54 of Royal Resistance

“It could,” I tell her quickly. “The dancing part. I like - you like Billy Idol?”

“It has a good beat.”

“I’ve met him, you know.”

There’s a pause. “Are you trying to impress me?” she asks. The corners of her mouth curve up just a little.

“Is it working?”

“I’d be more impressed if you tried to kiss me.”

There is a stunned silence between us. “I… uh… you’ve been drinking?”

Am I an idiot?

Selene smiles sadly. “And that’s most likely the reason I said anything. Just ignore that.”

“No… I don’t want to.”

“I wonder if you have another arrangement, and that’s why you haven’t,” she says.

I continue to act like I have an IQ of ten. “What?”

“An arrangement. A commitment to someone else that might not have been appropriate for a king. Or a good fit for the position.”

It takes me longer than it should to understand what she’s asking. Too long. Because… what does she mean? How can she…? But then – “Are you asking if I have a girlfriend?” I demand.

Selene shrugs, pajamas in hand, and looks ready to retreat.

Pale blue. Satin. They whisper against her skin when she gets into bed.

She’s going to disappear into the dressing room to put them on. And then she’s going to crawl into bed, and I’m going to have to lie awake beside her for too many hours again, wishing I knew what I was doing.

“I don’t have… no,” I say a little too vehemently. “The only arrangement I have is with you. The only commitment I have is to you.”

She looks at me with those pale blue eyes, hair pulled back like it would only take a snap of my fingers before it came tumbling down her back.

Her lips are still rosy from the remains of her lipstick, no doubt wiped off by the drinks she had. I know she didn’t kiss anyone, but I’m jealous of the glasses in Sailors’, marked by the impression of her lips.

“The only one I want to kiss is you,” I tell her.

“Why don’t you?”

My heart hammers too fast. Is this what a heart attack feels like? This inability to breathe normally? How can I say what I want to when I can’t breathe properly?

“I’ve been trying to give you time,” I manage, trying not to wheeze. “I don’t want to rush you. I want a real marriage with you, with feelings and emotions and everything.”

“I want that too.”

My chest loosens. My lungs relax. Maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

“And what if I want to be rushed?”

My breathing stops again. “Are you sure?”

I am the king of Laandia. I’ve played for soldout crowds in stadiums all over the world. I’ve got a gold medal, for god’s sake, and right now, hearing what Selene is saying makes me feel like I’m twelve years old and Marika McKibbon just passed me a note in class to ask if I’ll be her boyfriend.

This clearly isn’t the first time I’ve been oblivious to what a woman wants.