Page 49 of Royal Darling
This can only end badly.
“Jackson?”
I take a deep breath and refocus on her. “Yeah.”
“Did you, um, want children?”
“I never wanted to be a family man.”
“Oh. Okay. Shall we go?”
Something isn’t sitting right. She’s too easygoing about this whole baby business.
I take her hand and tug her against me, wrapping my arms loosely around her waist. She looks up at me. “Ready for round two with condom?”
I hold her jaw, my thumb sliding across her soft cheek. “Listen. I…I don’t know anything about being a father. My own dad split when I was two. I don’t even remember him. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”
“Now you listen. We’ll play it by ear. Everything will work out.” She hugs me, her cheek pressed to my chest. I can’t help but wrap my arms around her. “Jackson, I’m in love with you.”
I stiffen and drop my arms from her. “No.”
She looks up at me, her arms still wrapped around my middle. “You don’t have to feel the same way.”
I scowl. “You shouldwantsomeone who feels the same way. Don’t accept less. This is why you ended up running away from your wedding. You just accepted a loveless marriage.”
She jerks away. “Don’t judge me when I’m speaking from the heart! I will rip your hair out by the roots, jab you in the throat, and-and kick you in the balls!”
My God. She is perfect. I think I love her too.
I can’t help myself. I yank her against me and kiss her. I can’t seem to stop.
Fuck me.
14
Emma
What-ifs scare me. I was prepared to produce an heir for Abdul after our marriage, probably right away. I was not prepared for whatever this is with Jackson.
I refuse to spend the rest of my limited time with Jackson worrying about something that might not even happen. So I’m completely focused on the now. I’m on the back of a motorcycle for the first time in my life, my arms around the man I love, the Italian countryside breezing by. I’m wearing his leather jacket because the moment we stepped out to a chilly November day, he took his jacket off and put it on me. He cares about me. I don’t need the words to know. The jacket smells like him, and I never want to take it off. Does it bother me that he didn’t say he loves me back? Not at all. He kissed me passionately after I said I love him. Adam was the same way at first. I think sometimes men can’t say the words, so they show it instead. I feel it in his touch, in his gaze, in his gloriously happy smiles when we create music together. That is more than enough for me.
Viktor is on a second motorcycle in front of us. Oliver took the car for our purchases and is behind us. I don’t anticipate any problems shopping in Milan at this time of year since it’s not tourist season. And Viktor is more than capable of dealing with any unwanted attention on the two of us.
When we arrive, we park the motorcycle on the street and head to the main shopping district with its fashionable boutiques. Here I am shopping with three men in tow. Ha! You’d never catch my brothers shopping. Viktor stands guard by the door. Oliver takes a seat near the dressing area.
The saleswoman, a brunette in her fifties with oversized glasses, welcomes us, and I greet her cordially in Italian. I can feel Jackson’s stare, and I give him a smile. He’s astounded I know so many languages, but it’s like music in a way. I have an ear for it, always have. I spoke English and French equally well when I first spoke at two years old (my nanny was French), and my mother was so delighted with my skill, she brought in native speakers to chat with me in Italian and Spanish as well. The romance languages—French, Italian, and Spanish—have a lot of commonalities, so it’s not terribly difficult, and I had ample opportunities to visit those countries when I was older to practice the language.
I browse the racks with the saleswoman’s assistance. Soon, a dressing room is filled with a variety of modern dresses, skirts, jeans, and trousers. Tops follow, ranging from silky blouses in bold patterns and bright colors to cute T-shirts with cap sleeves. I’ve never enjoyed picking out clothes so much in my life. This is for the new Emma, the one who lives out loud.
I go into the dressing room and start trying things on. The first dress is a long-sleeved black jersey material, much too tight in the waist.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Si?” I ask, figuring it’s the saleswoman.
Jackson’s voice rumbles through the door. “Let me see your outfits.”
I open the door.
