Page 106 of Prince Charmless
“Excuse me, ma’am, this is a private estate.”
“Groundskeeper,” Taylor clarifies. He leans over the console, “Martin, could you let us in, please?”
“Uh, yes, Your Highness,” Martin stumbles. “Sorry about that.”
The gates immediately slide open.
“Your Highness,”I grumble. “Do you make people call you that during sex, too?”
I wait for a snarky comeback, but Taylor remains silent. He’s always in the mood for snark.
“No, don’t tell me,” I say. “Have you been called—”
“Shut up,” he says, looking away from me.
I cackle as we pull in.
The red Porsche I park next to looks straight out of the seventies. I’m assuming it’s Thomas’ car. Taylor says he’s obsessed with it. When I throw him his keys, I finally get a good look at the house. It’s a cream-stone two-story mansion with some vines growing up its east side. It has forest green shutters and a matching front door. There’s a balcony on the second floor where I imagine someone could let down her long flaxen hair or pine over a Montague. It’s big, but definitely not the manor monstrosity that Taylor lives in. I could probably walk around the perimeter without passing out.
“It’s pretty in the sunset,” I say. “Your place is great and all, but it looks like people actually live here.”
Orhavelived here. It’s been two years since his grandmother died, and Taylor says it’s been sitting empty since. Although Charlotte was an only child, I wonder if anyone is sad about selling it.
Taylor comes around the car and takes my hand. “Can I show you something?”
“Sure?”
He looks behind me for a split second, then says, “Close your eyes.”
I do what he tells me. “Is it another fridge magnet?”
I hear him open the car door, close it, and take a solid bite of something hard. “You’ll need this,” he says with his mouth full. He places something round in my palm. It’s an apple.
“Do I eat it?”
“No.” He takes my hand and waist to lead me in a direction away from the house. Gravel crunches under our feet.
“Where are we—”
“Shhh. You’ll startle them.”
“Them?” I whisper.
When a gate creaks, I open my eyes. I make out I’m in a field before his giant hand turns into my blindfold.
“Just a few more steps,” he says.
The gravel turns to grass. “Are you going to murder me?”
“Worse,” he mutters against my neck.
I love that part of a relationship where every touch feels exciting and new. The arm snaked around my torso constricts as his lips move up to my ear.
“I’m going to torture you.”
I pull off his forearm to find a stumpy four-legged creature standing ten feet away from me. Taylor grunts when I jump back into his chest.
“The hell is that?” I rasp.
