Page 13 of Guarding the Princess
Ryker uses the brown paper bag to wipe off his hand when we’ve eaten it all. He still has that custard on the side of his mouth and it makes me smile harder.
“Where did you get that?” he asks incredulously.
“I made it. Hold still.” I reach up and swipe the custard from his mouth, the intimacy of the situation hitting me hard. I drop my hand fast, pushing down on the butterflies trying to make themselves known in my stomach. He’s my bodyguard, not my boyfriend, not even my friend.
“Thanks.” He tosses the bag into a nearby trash can and waves me back into walking on the sidewalk. “You made it? How is that even possible?”
“Well, you start with the right ingredients, and then you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You can bake. But how is it that a—well, you know—knows how to bake? Isn’t that what chefs do for you?”
“I’ve always liked to bake. The palace chefs taught me how. And that cake is Norwegian, by the way, but we Regorans make it constantly. You’re welcome to the rest of it back at the apartment.”
We walk a half a block before he responds, his voice so low I can barely make it out with the cars zooming by. “Nora texted me early this morning to let me know I have one week to give her a date.”
And just like that, the lightheartedness and butterflies are gone, replaced by a cold sense of dread. The entire time I baked that cake last night, I’d been making plans. Plans that included running away and starting a new life on the east coast of the United States. I have enough cash in my bank account to get me started. Two days from now, I’ll leave in the middle of the night, taking an Uber into Palm Springs before stopping at a bank the minute they open and pulling out the spending money Mother had given me that I very rarely dip into. Ryker can never know about these plans as I know he takes his job seriously and would stop me, no matter how many cakes I made him.
Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty for ruining his job though. I’m sure Mother will have his head for losing me. The minute we get to the coffee shop, I decide the best thing I can do is give him fair warning.
“I won’t go back to Regora. You can give whatever date you want to Nora that makes your job easier. Just know I’ll be having a conversation with my mother and won’t be needing that plane.”
I swoop into the coffee shop in the hopes he won’t ask me anymore questions about my statement. Stella and I get busy readying the place for our first early morning customers. Ryker stays out of my way, but I can feel him, like I’m somehow connected to him now just because we shared a slice of cake. Stella helps with the steady line of customers while I stay on Bertha, the nickname we gave the huge espresso machine that sputters out coffee and steam. When the first lull hits, I plate two blueberry muffins and a large mocha and take it to Ryker’s table.
“Ready for some more sugar,Stor Kille?”
He eyes the plate like a starving man, then gestures for me to sit. “You know, you’re going to give me a complex with thatStor Killebusiness.”
I wince, only because he butchered the Swedish, not because I feel bad about the nickname. Heisa big boy. Man, if I’m being truthful.
“You promise not to speak Swedish again, I’ll promise not to call youStor Kille.”
“That bad, huh?” He grins, not at all apologetic for butchering my native language. The smile slides away as quickly as he consumes food. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to go back. Explain it to me.”
Not a question. A demand. So typical of this hulking American bodyguard. We’re entering dangerous territory discussing my reasons for not going home, but I have to give him something. Anything to get him off my back so I can plan my escape while he thinks I’m waiting for the Queen to let me out of our agreement.
“How did you decide to become a bodyguard?”
He pauses, taken aback by my redirection. “Well, I guess I always knew it’s what I wanted to do. Went through the police academy after high school and then quickly moved into this job where the real money could be found.”
I nodded along. “Exactly. It’s what you wanted to do. I grew up knowing my thoughts and feelings had no bearing on my life. I would stay royalty and be required to do all the things that come with it. Do you have any idea how stifling that is? To have your whole life already planned out for you?”
Ryker’s eyes are so gray this morning, they match the clouds outside. He studies me and I should feel uncomfortable under his watch, but I don’t. I like his gaze on me. He doesn’t treat me like a princess. He treats me like any other American girl who gets on his nerves and bakes him treats when she needs to apologize.
I’m sure he doesn’t even know that being treated like a normal woman is everything I’ve always wanted.
“Charlotte?” Stella calls to me from behind the counter, blowing a lock of frizzy hair out of her face. “We’re out of muffins again.”
I hop up and lay my hand on Ryker’s shoulder briefly. “See you in a few hours.”
6
Ryker
The burning in my chest grabs my attention. I rub the spot, frowning at the sensation. Maybe the muffins didn’t sit well this morning, but this feeling doesn’t feel like anything I’ve felt before. It’s more annoying than painful, quite like guarding Charlotte. She gets under my skin causing undue irritation.
One minute she’s issuing orders like a general, asking sassy questions, and calling me names in a different language. The next she’s baking me cake and letting me feed it to her like she trusts me completely. Don’t even get me started on her outer appearance. If you just looked at her, you’d see a woman so beautiful, you’d think she was a doll come alive. Long blonde hair with just a hint of curl, cornflower blue eyes so round you got lost in them, skin so soft you wanted to touch it just to feel it flow beneath your fingertips. And let’s not forget the spine of steel required to stand up to a queen, for goodness’ sake.
She’s a ball of contradiction all rolled into a beautiful package.
