Page 26 of Reckless Royalty

He’s wearing that same charming grin on his face as he leans casually against the doorframe. Dressed in a simple T-shirt that clings to his muscular frame, his tattoos peeking out from the sleeve on his arm and the crowned skull tattoo on the side of his neck.

His blond hair is a bit tousled, like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it before showing up, but that only adds to the effortless charm he always seems to carry with him.

What is it with everyone in that friends group being so goddamn fit?

“Ready for that walk, darlin’?” he asks, his accent curling around the words in that soft, familiar way that makes it soundlike he’s got all the time in the world. I nod, grabbing my jacket and stepping outside.

It’s strange, being out here with someone who feels so comfortable in their skin when I feel like I’ve been crawling out of mine for days. Weeks, maybe.

As we walk, he doesn’t say much at first, just leads me along the quiet path that winds through the estate. The silence is surprisingly comfortable, and I find myself relaxing a little more with every step.

But then, true to form, Connor breaks the silence in the most Connor way possible by poking my side.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he starts, pulling a small notepad and pen from his pocket. “We could communicate like this today. Old school, y’know? No need to always be tied to that phone.” He winks, holding out the notepad and pen like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

I blink, then take the notepad from him, feeling the edges of the paper beneath my fingertips. It’s small and unassuming, and it’s oddly comforting holding it in my hands.

Writing is… easier, somehow. Less pressure. I nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“There’s that smile,” Connor says, grinning. “Knew I’d see it again.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the warmth that spreads through my chest. There’s something about the way he talks to me—like he’s not pushing, not demanding anything more than what I’m willing to give. It’s nice.

We continue walking, and after a few minutes, Connor glances at me. “So, tell me somethin’ about yourself. Anything at all. I’m curious.”

I hesitate for a second, then I scribble quickly on the notepad and hand it to him.

I used to be a singer

Connor takes the notepad, glances at the words, and then looks up at me, wide-eyed. “Wait, what? You were a singer?”

I nod, the smallest of smiles playing on my lips at his reaction.

He shakes his head, clearly impressed. “That’s brilliant. You’ve got to tell me more. What kind of music?”

I write again, the words coming easier now.

Mostly rock and indie

“Rock and indie?” he repeats, his smile widening. “Now I really wish I could’ve seen you perform. Bet you were bloody amazing.”

The blush creeping up my neck is undeniable, but I look away, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and pride. I was good at it—once. Before everything fell apart.

“Damn, Maddy,” Connor says, still clearly amazed. “First you tell me you’re a singer, and now I’m wondering what else you’ve been hidin’ from me.”

I chuckle softly, the sound surprising even me. Connor stops in his tracks, his mouth dropping open as he stares at me like I just pulled off some kind of miracle.

“Did you just laugh?” he asks, his voice incredulous.

I shrug, trying to downplay it, but his reaction only makes me smile wider.

“Alright, I’m officially a genius,” he declares, walking a bit ahead, his grin as wide as ever. “Gettin’ you to laugh like that? I must be a bloody magician.”

I roll my eyes again but can’t help the warmth spreading through my chest. He makes it easy, this whole thing. The way hetalks, the way he flirts—it’s not over the top, not pushy. It’s just Connor, and for some reason, that’s comforting.

“So,” he says, his tone teasing now, “when are you gonna serenade me? You can’t just drop the‘I used to be a singer’bomb and not follow it up.”

I shake my head, scribbling on the notepad:

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