Page 18 of Prince She Shouldn't Crave
‘Ms Rosetti…’
Lena couldn’t stop. She was desperate to clean up the mess she’d made. She kept patting, the white napkins staining with coffee, but it didn’t seem to make a difference.
‘Lena.’ He put his hand over hers. She stopped, defeated, looking up at him. His pupils were huge and dark in the pale, icy blue of his eyes. Nostrils flaring. Lips parted. ‘A new shirt is on its way.’ She didn’t know how, since she’d only just flung a coffeeover him, but sure enough Pieter had arrived carrying a fresh shirt. Gabriel released her and took it from his efficient valet.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I—’
He held up his hand. She noticed how broad the palm was, how long and elegant the fingers. Remembered how it had felt when those hands had cradled her. Had she imagined how gentle he’d been? Yes, she must have. He didn’t want her to fall, that was all.
‘Accidents happen. Why don’t you go and put on some safer shoes for this surface? When you return someone wants a photograph with me. They were meant to come to dinner at the ambassador’s residence tonight and can’t make it.’
He gave her a short sharp nod as he headed inside. She looked around her, but no one had seemed particularly bothered by her moment of clumsiness. It was only her, wanting to die inside from embarrassment, all the while unable to forget what it felt like to be in his arms.
This evening had been a long one. Gabriel strolled down the dimmed hallway of the Lauritanian home, trying to stay quiet as everyone appeared to be asleep. He understood there were people here who’d be at his beck and call should he so desire, but he didn’t need anyone. Or perhaps he needed only one person.
A woman who was his employee. One who’d felt far too good in his arms when he’d held her this morning. In that glorious dress, showing off her feminine side. Lips like wine. The scent of her, delicious, as if she’d bathed in honey and chocolate.
If he’d been any other man he might have kept on holding her. Might have tried to kiss her, even though his sensible side told him that was impossible. Yet after a long evening, he’d begun to wonder why.
He needed to get her out of his head. However, he couldn’t stop thinking about their conversations. What made her different? That slight irreverence for his position she tried to hide. The sense of freedom about her that led him to consider that life might not be as constrained as his family believed. Her defence of him, her seeming belief in him as a man, and as Crown Prince. In her insightful photographs of him, showing a side of himself he’d forgotten.
He liked it, far too much. Craved it. Which was why he hated lying to her about his reading. About his glasses. Did he trust her enough to disclose what the real problem was? Would she judge him for it, for not being truthful?
He couldn’t be sure. His own staff didn’t care. He’d adapted, and technology made things so much easier there was no need to tell anyone outside his immediate circle because it was irrelevant. Wasn’t it? Right now, he didn’t have a good answer to that question whereas once, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Tonight, it was as if the world weighed him down. He’d been to dinner at the Halrovian ambassador’s home—a routine event when visiting another country, to drop in on the person flying Halrovia’s flag. It had been a tedious kind of evening, because he’d seen it for what it was: conversations about the state of Halrovia, the press’s views on the royal family, and the ambassador giving his own advice, because he was a good friend of Gabriel’s father.
But the hints had come thick and fast about the benefits to a population’s mood from a royal wedding. As if it weren’t enough that Cilla was to be married in a few months, and that Anastacia had married only a few months earlier herself—although that hadn’t been a royal wedding. It was a private function at her fiancé’s chateau. Whilst his parents might have looked down on the occasion because it didn’t meet their lofty expectations, Gabriel found something about it to be strangelysatisfying. She’d married a commoner, someone she was in love with. Someone who had made her deeply happy. It was all he could ever have asked for both of his sisters.
As for himself, he’d been quietly reminded tonight of where his duty lay and, for once, he wanted none of it. He’d begun to realise that Lena’s success was vital, if nothing else to ensure that more pressure wasn’t put on him to marry. It wasn’t that he believed he couldn’t withstand it. He was his own man and wouldn’t succumb to the whims of others, but over the past couple of weeks something had made him question life as he knew it.
He had rounded the corner towards his room when the unmistakable light tap of footsteps behind him made him stop and turn.
‘Your Highness…’ came the soft voice. ‘Sir.’
It was as if the weight pressing down on him had lifted. He’d only ever seen Lena polished and professional, yet tonight she was in jeans with a soft pink top covered in butterflies. Her hair slightly damp, as if she’d just come out of a shower. He refused to dwell on that thought, on how rivulets of water would look running over her golden skin…
‘How was this evening’s dinner?’ she asked.
The truth didn’t bear mentioning. He’d done his duty—been polite, chatting to the guests, and then leaving. It had been cordial, but a pointed reminder from his parents as to what they expected from him.
‘Walk with me,’ he said as he set off towards his room. To remove his suit. Wash away the evening of expectation like a taint from his skin.
‘How are things back home?’ she asked.
He was fully aware she’d be keeping a pulse on what was going on—that was part of her job—but small talk suited him right now as the anger churned in his gut. He was an adult, andyet he was still being served missives by his parents through intermediaries.
That lack of communication irked him. He realised tonight how often so much went unsaid in his family. At least with Lena, she said what she thought. There was no guessing. In the palace and with the courtiers it was all about subtle messages you had to unravel. Reading between the lines. He was tired of it. They arrived at his suite and Gabriel walked straight to the credenza and poured himself a whisky. He held up the glass.
‘Would you like one?’
Lena shook her head and held up a mug.
‘Hot chocolate’s my choice.’
Was that why she’d smelled like chocolate so often? Of course, it’d be improper to ask. She placed her lips round the rim of the cup and took a sip. As she did, her eyes fluttered shut as if in pleasure. The hint of a chocolate scent teased his senses. That smell of rich sweetness. Would her lips taste as sweet if he kissed her?
He slammed the door shut on those imaginings.
‘The ambassador thinks an effective strategy is for me to marry.’
