Page 76 of Royal Fling
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said.
August waved at him dismissively, and I laughed.
“Please, I’ll have none of that. I’m not my parents,” August told him.
I tugged at his hand to get back his attention, and he turned to look at me with those deep gray eyes that felt so soothing even during this crisis.
“Are you in trouble?” I asked.
“Most likely, but you don’t have to worry about me,” he replied.
“I’m sorry, dude, but that’s hard,” I said.
“That’s what he said,” Leo sniggered.
“Jesus Christ, Leo. What are you? Twelve?” Dad scolded him. “Come on. Let’s give these two some privacy.”
With some hesitation, Leo and Beth walked to the other room, followed by Dad and Dawson until August and I were all alone.
Before he said anything, I kissed him. I tasted those lips because I knew I probably had limited time doing so, and I wanted to commit them to memory.
His tongue slipped into my mouth immediately as he deepened the kiss and brought a hand to the nape of my neck, the other at the small of my back, pressing me closer to him.
Why couldn’t we have this? Why couldn’t we be together? Why couldn’t he be a normal guy that I could run away with?
In fact, that cottage idea from last night with the children, the chickens, and the goats was starting to sound all the more appealing.
“I’m sorry,” I said when I pulled away.
“Oh, Lucas. You don’t need to apologize. That was incredible,” he replied.
I couldn’t help but laugh and slap his chest.
“Not about the kiss, stupid. About the pictures,” I said.
He shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
“No. It’s not. You did everything to give us privacy.”
“But admittedly kissing out on the river wasn’t a stroke of genius.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing.
“Yeah, probably not.”
August guided me to the kitchen table and sat me down.
“How are you feeling? Please don’t tell me you’ve gone online?”
My gaze sank, and that was the answer I gave him.
“Oh, Lucas, I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure those racist, homophobic motherfuckers pay for their asinine words.”
I took his hand in mine and squeezed it on top of the table, staring at our linked hands.
“Only you would use motherfuckers and asinine in the same sentence,” I mumbled, trying to inject some humor in the moment.
“Promise me you won’t go online anymore. Please,” he said. “And when I’m back, I’ll have a course of action. Okay?”
