Page 41 of Prince of Her Heart
No—never furs.Tabitha would be furious if anyone killed an animal for her.
But why was he so sure of that?She didn’t own a cat or dog.Neither did her parents.
Still… he justknew.
He liked that about her.Hell, he likedeverythingabout her.
There were layers to this woman—unexpected, fascinating layers.And Ramzi couldn’t wait to spend the rest of their lives exploring them.
In and out of bed,he amended silently.
“Breakfast is ready,” Tilda announced, setting a steaming casserole dish on the trivet in the center of the table.“Tabitha, can you get the plates and utensils, please?”
She paused, peering out the window over the kitchen sink.“Where is your father?I just told him breakfast would be ready a minute ago.”With a huff, she turned to Ramzi.“Would you mind getting him?”
Ramzi blinked.
No one hadeverasked him to fetch someone.He was the one people fetchedfor.But Tabitha smirked from the other side of the table, and before he could overthink it, he pushed to his feet and headed outside.
The shed was quiet when he stepped inside.Sunlight filtered through a dusty window, lighting up curled wood shavings and the gleam of polished tools.
Ben looked up from the long, gleaming blade he was wiping clean.
Ramzi paused, waiting until the knife was stashed away in a custom drawer before he stepped farther inside.
“How’d things go last night?”Ben asked, tossing the rag aside.
Ramzi cleared his throat.Was he asking about the dance?
Or about the part that had happenedafterthe dance?
“I know you’re not used to a country dance,” Ben added, sparing Ramzi from answering the wrong question.“But it looked like you and Tabby were having a good time.”
Ramzi nodded, trying to play it cool.“Yes, sir.It was… nice.”
Nicedidn’t even come close.
“Think you’ll do it again?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, a touch hoarse.He was definitely hoping for a repeat.Several, actually.
Ben studied him for a long, weighty moment.“Tabby’s a good girl.”
Ramzi almost bristled.Girldidn’t cover it.Tabitha was a woman.Smart, passionate, stubborn, and impossible to ignore.But he kept that to himself.
“Yes, sir,” he said again.
Ben held his gaze a beat longer, then sighed.“I suppose my wife sent you out here to get me?”
Ramzi nodded.
“Well then,” Ben grumbled, pushing off the workbench, “let’s go eat.”
He paused at the shed door and turned, his expression conspiratorial.“Don’t tell my wife I ate the last of her lasagna this morning.”
He rubbed his belly with a satisfied groan.“That woman makes the best damn cookies and pies in the county.Not fair she can do lasagna too.”
Ramzi closed the shed door behind them, still chuckling as he followed Ben along the stone pathway back to the kitchen.The air was crisp, birds chirped from nearby trees, and despite the weight of his title, he felt surprisingly light.
