Page 80 of The Forgotten Queen
“Good morning,” Sydria whispered, pulling away.
He smiled back at her. “Good morning. I hope you’re feeling better than you did at the party last night.”
“Yes, thank you. I’m fine now.” She pointed to the fiberglass board under his arm. “What’s that?”
Marx grinned. “A surfboard.”
She nodded slowly, watching two servants fasten more boards to the top of the transporter in front of them.
“Do you know about surfing?” Marx asked, doubting that she did, but Sydria was full of surprises.
She shook her head.
“Surfing was a pre-Desolation thing. Not something you should remember.” He lifted the tip of his board. “You use these boards to ride on top of the waves.”
She looked back at Marx. “Youdo that?”
“I try to.”
She bit her lip. “I probably won’t.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Her lips moved into a small smile. “Surfing isn’t part of our fake relationship?”
“Nope.” He stared at her beautiful eyes for a moment before he came to his senses and walked his board over to the servants.
Dannyn turned to Marx. “The staff is going to follow behind us in the transporters. They have the food, the canopy, the blankets, everything we need to make our day at the beach the best day ever.”
“I should’ve known when you said that you wanted to plan a celebration party for our wedding that what you really meant was that you wanted to plan a day to hang out at the beach.”
Dannyn smiled over her shoulder as she strode away. “It’s the perfect excuse.”
“Are you ready to go?” Marx swung his leg over a personal transporter, turning the machine on.
“Are we going on that?” Sydria asked.
“You heard Dannyn. The transporters are full of supplies.”
She looked the machine over with skepticism. “I’m in a dress.”
“I think you’ll be fine.”
She bit back a smile. “But are you going to kill me on that thing?”
“I don’t plan to.”
“I suppose it’s safe then.”
Marx handed her his only helmet and helped fasten the strap under her chin, giving him the perfect reason to stare into her dark eyes again. He offered her his hand, pulling her onto the machine behind him. The position made her pink dress hike up a little, revealing long tanned legs that were currently straddling the seat. Her arms closed around his body, and the palms of her hands grabbed his chest as her body pressed against his back.
Marx wanted to thank whoever it was that had invented personal transporters—look him in the eye and shake his hand.
He owed this moment to him.
“Have you been on a PT before?” he asked as the bike lurched forward, causing her body to push against his even more.
She leaned in closer, creating a buzz of feelings inside his stomach. “Yeah, I convinced a guard to give me a ride once.”
