Page 24 of Royal Surrogate 1

“So can men.”

“Touché.” I gaze into her eyes for a moment. There’s something there I hadn’t seen before. A deep something. A longing, perhaps. One that seems very familiar to me in a way I hadn’t been expecting.

“What if it doesn’t work?” She tilts her head. “Have you thought that through?”

“The insemination? I’m told it is successful much of the time?—”

“Not the insemination.” Her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “Your plan. Your plan to become a man.”

My cheeks grow hot. “I told you, I’m already?—”

“What if it doesn’t fulfill you the way you think it will? What if…what if you’re wrong?”

CHAPTER 18

Renae

“I’m not wrong,” Caspar says firmly. “Believe me, I’ve given this a lot of thought.”

Honestly, I’m not sure he has. And there’s a little voice whispering to me, reminding me that I need this arrangement, that the money is basically already spent. I should not be placing any doubts in his mind.

This isn’t about him, I realize suddenly. This is about you. About pushing him back to arm’s length, reminding myself that this is a business arrangement and not an actual relationship.

I rise, suddenly aware that I’m wearing nothing more than a robe. “I should get dressed.”

I don’t wait for his response as I disappear into the closet. Thankfully, someone has already deposited my suitcase here, and I quickly rummage through it for some appropriate clothes.

I shouldn’t have told him about Peter. I don’t know when Caspar crossed the line from a business partner to someone I make confessions to, but I don’t like it.

Isn’t it obvious when that happened? I think as I shove my legs into a pair of jeans. Right around the moment you let him ram his tongue in your mouth. And you were this close to letting him ram something else in you, too.

My cheeks blaze as I pull on a bra. I should know better. From the very beginning, I told myself I had to be on my guard and ignore the fact that I find him attractive, and what do I do? Essentially melt into him the moment he makes a pass at me. If he hadn’t brought up the whole virginity thing in the middle of it all, I’d probably be naked under the sheets with him right now.

Out in the bedroom, the tinny strum of the ukulele picks up again. Weird that he should be so humble about something like that when he’s so arrogant and cocksure about other things. Caspar is infinitely more complicated than I initially believed, which is one more reason to play it safe and keep my emotional distance.

I pull a blouse over my head and give myself a once-over in the full-length mirror. I’m way out of my depth here, but like I’ve told myself a dozen times in the last two days, there’s no turning back now.

He’s just a man, I tell myself as I turn back to the bedroom. You’ve spent your entire adult life—save one stupid, emotional night—controlling your sexual urges. Why should this be any different?

But when I return to the bedroom and see Caspar sitting on the edge of the bed—the one bed we have to share every night we’re here—his fingers moving skillfully on the strings and his red-gold hair falling casually across his brow, I know I’m screwed.

That afternoon, as planned, we join Caspar’s brother, wife and son at their picnic by the lake.

Honestly, I didn’t even notice the huge body of water behind Wintervale Manor when we first arrived. I was too distracted by the house itself, which looks like some fancy palace out of a period romance novel. But now I’m a little embarrassed I didn’t notice the beauty of the lake—the water is almost unnaturally blue, its surface glittering beneath the sun like a giant sapphire. It’s surrounded by lush, green trees on every shore except for this one, providing an almost unadulterated view of nature—which is only further emphasized by its stark contrast with the carefully manicured gardens between the lake and the manor house.

“Over here, my little owl,” Caspar says. His arm is hooked through mine, and he guides me toward a flat stretch of grass near the shore where someone has spread a couple of large, luxurious blankets. Three big baskets of food sit at the center.

“Brother, glad you could make it.” Lord Xavier strides up behind us, carrying his son in one arm. On his other side is a pretty, dark-haired woman who smiles at me with kind eyes.

“This is my wife, Lauren,” Lord Xavier says to me.

“Renae,” I offer, extending my hand to her.

“My betrothed,” Caspar cuts in.

Lauren, to her credit, doesn’t look especially surprised by that announcement. But I suppose Xavier filled her in on the situation—as much as he knows of it, anyway. I can only imagine they’ve spent the last couple of hours speculating about us.

“Caca!” Noah cries, reaching for Caspar.

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