Page 12 of Guarding the Princess
“All clear. And Jake’s here.” Ryker steps back into the room, his bark piercing the silence stretching between Rhys and me.
We both turn to see Ryker and Jake standing in the doorway, both so broad in the shoulders and tall, their masculinity more than any single room should be able to contain. Rhys jumps up from the bed and races into Jake’s open arms. A scene plays out in my mind, one where I also jump up and run into Ryker’s arms. I blink and rein my brain back in. In no life, in this fake one or the one in which I’m a princess, would I be running to embrace Ryker.
Maybe my nerves are frayed more than I thought from that ridiculous party. But as much as I’ve become an actress these last two and a half years, I can’t lie to myself. A small part of me wishes beyond all reason I could confide in Rhys and let Ryker comfort me with his muscular arms.
* * *
The fog is thick the next morning, painting the city in shades of gray. Managing a chuckle despite feeling lower than I have since I moved here, I realize the weather has coordinated itself to my mood. I wrap my sweater tighter around me and look for Ryker’s truck. I’ve become accustomed to him waiting for me there at the curb, sipping his coffee and pretending he doesn’t stand out.
When I see him, he raises a hand to say good morning. My feet have mercy on him and stay planted, giving him time to get out of the truck and to my side before starting their journey to the coffee shop for my early morning shift. Considering he swooped in and took care of that ill-planned party yesterday, I squash the urge to walk off and not care if he catches up. I always know he will, but it gives me a small thrill to try to leave him in the dust.
“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice sounding more tired today than normal.
“Good morning. Stay up late at a wild party last night?” I tease him on instinct. I can’t help myself.
One side of his mouth lifts. “Got the wild party part right. But I only stayed up late helping clean up the mess.”
That shuts me up quick. The guy not only broke up the party but stayed after Rhys and Jake left to help me put my apartment back together. Then I remember all the catered food he ate.
“More like you stayed to help eat all the leftover food,Stor Kille.”
He chuckles, the laughter more a vibrational rumble next to me than an actual sound. “Come on now. You weren’t going to eat all that food. I was helping you out.”
“Ahh, I see.” I swallow, losing the playful tone. “Thank you for your help yesterday.”
There. I thanked him. Now I didn’t have to feel guilty about causing problems. To prove my regret, I pull a brown bag from my huge purse and hand it to him. He takes it, but doesn’t open it.
“What’s this?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a gift. Jeez, don’t make this awkward.”
“Just making sure it’s not a bomb…” he mumbles.
I’m sorely tempted to roll my eyes again, but it can’t be good for one’s health to roll your eyes so many times in the space of five minutes. He slowly opens the bag and reaches in, pulling out a huge chunk of cake.
“What is this?” He brings it up close to his face, examining it like it really could be a bomb.
“It’sKvaefjordkake.”
He slices his gaze to me and I realize he’s never heard of it. My jaw drops open and I stop walking to pull him out of the stream of pedestrian traffic. We’re nestled under a closed storefront canopy, pressed up against the brick wall.
“Okay. Hold on, please. You’ve never had the most delicious cake in the world?”
His grin makes him look younger. “Can’t say that I have. How do I eat it?”
I can’t help but smile back. “Normally with a fork, but since you’ve manhandled it already, just take a bite. I dare you to tell me it’s not the best cake you’ve ever had.”
His grin edges toward a smirk. “Pretty confident there.”
“Just eat it.”
He takes a huge bite, custard lingering on the corner of his mouth while he chews. His eyes close for a brief second and I know I’ve got him.
“Go ahead,” I tell him, lifting my chin in the air.
“So good. Here.” He thrusts the cake in my face, and after only a split second of hesitation, I lean down to take a bite, smaller than his though. He takes another huge bite and says something I can’t understand. He doesn’t even apologize for talking with his mouth full and something about it hits me differently today. At the coffee shop, it irritated me. But now, the same horrible manners remind me that here we don’t have to follow palace protocol. I’m eating cake from a man’s hand on the street while talking and moaning with our mouths full.
All the dark thoughts of running away or having to go back to the palace fly away. I feel light and burden free for the first time, well, maybe in forever. I take another bite, laughing at the two of us continuing to devour this cake while people pass by. Most ignore us. A few raise their eyebrows, but no one bothers us or tells us to get a plate and fork. I can’t remember ever being allowed to eat like this at home in Regora. A plop of custard rolls off his hand and hits the pavement, nearly missing his shoe.
