Page 50 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
Nick narrowed his gaze at her. Same lovely blue eyes. Same bow-shaped lips. Same billowing gown, decorated with a profusion of shimmering rhinestones and lace. This time, she’d added a faux fur-trimmed velvet cape and a white fur muff for her hands, as though she’d prepared for a stylish trip to the Arctic tundra. But the overall effect was the same—snow queen meets glitter bomb.
So why the sudden change in demeanor?
“And how are you so well-acquainted with royal protocol all of a sudden?” he asked. There was a telltale ache in his voice that he hoped she didn’t notice.
She blinked up at him. “Google.”
He felt the corner of his mouth hitch into a grin.
She jabbed her pointer finger at his chest. “Do not laugh at me.”
Ahh, there was the fiery American girl he knew and loved. Not loved loved. Loved, as in liked. A lot. Far more than he should, if he was really being honest.
He held up his hands. “I’m not laughing. I promise. I just find it interesting that you Googled me.”
She studied him for a moment with those icy blue eyes of hers. “What about you? Have you done any Googling lately?”
“Maybe,” he said, choosing not to mention the embarrassing amount of time he’d spent poring over the photographs on the slideshow page of the Perfect Party Princess website late last night. Mittens had finally given up and gone to bed without him.
Gracie’s lips twitched as if she was trying her best not to smile. But the sparkle in her eyes gave her away.
Right answer.
“Please don’t curtsey to me,” he said, just as a gust of wind blew a lock of hair free from her elaborately braided chignon. He reached a tentative hand toward her face, and when she smiled at him, he took it as permission to brush the stray curl from her eyes.
“Why not?” she asked with an inflection that Nick knew all too well. It was the same vulnerability he’d heard in her tone in the contest video when she’d been singing to the child in the hospital bed.
Nick drew his hand back, and then paused with his fingertips just a whisper away from her porcelain skin.
He wanted to kiss her. Was that crazy? It was, but Nick didn’t care. He longed to cup her face, lower his lips to hers, and kiss her until she forgot he’d one day sit on San Glacera’s throne.
Or maybe he was the one who needed to forget…
Even if just for a moment.
“Why don’t you want me to curtsey to you, Nick?” Gracie asked in a soft voice—so soft that he had to lean in to make sure he heard her correctly.
Her breath fanned over his face, warm and sweet in the winter wind. Nick had never wanted to kiss a woman so badly in his life.
He rested his forehead gently against hers instead and brushed a tremulous finger down the soft curve of her cheek. “You don’t need to defer to me, Gracie. I want to be your friend, not your prince.”
“Your friend,” she repeated. Her breath hitched, and before either one of them could say another word, a throat cleared nearby.
Gracie sprang away from him as if he were the last person on earth she’d want to be seen with.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jaron said.
“You’re not.” Gracie shook her head. A lovely flush flooded her cheeks, as pink as the lush carnations that grew wild outside the castle gates in springtime. “We were just talking.”
“About carriages,” Nick added. If she was so desperate to pretend they hadn’t just shared a moment of tenderness, he’d go along with it.
For now.
Jaron glanced back and forth between them.
“I was just wondering how I’m supposed to get inside this thing,” Gracie said, eyeing the coach.
Good question. It might be a challenge for both of them to fit inside of it along with approximately ten miles of glitter chiffon and lace.
