Page 57 of Royal Darling
I’m pissed off, though I have no right to be. I take a deep breath. “That doesn’t mean they can disrespect you.”
“I didn’t answer any disrespectful questions, did I?”
I turn and look out the window at the cottages as we wind up the hill. I imagine these little cottages were for the peasants back in the day, where my people would’ve lived. The elite always live at the top of the hill.
16
Jackson
The car pulls up to a front courtyard, and the moment we step out, several men wearing white shirts with black trousers approach, welcoming Emma home with great deference, bowing to her before escorting us to the double palace doors. She doesn’t introduce me to the servants, just greets them and keeps walking swiftly toward the entrance.
Another servant opens the doors for us, and I get my first look at the inside of a palace. The two-story white marble entrance hall with gilded mirrors and silk wallpaper looks like something out of a museum. Only a large Christmas tree with white lights and white ornaments in the corner warms the cavernous space. No wonder Emma was so uptight growing up in a museum like this.
More servants line both sides of the hall. I have no idea what they each do, but they’re waiting with smiles for Princess Emma. No one seems put off by her running away from her wedding. They’re just happy their beloved princess is home. Emma is gracious, polite, extremely proper. Like a completely different person from the one I’ve got to know these past weeks, letting loose with her voice and her body. Here she’s all contained.
Emma squeezes my arm. “This is my boyfriend, Jackson, everyone, here for the holidays.”
The servants murmur greetings to me. I lift a hand. “Nice to meet you all.”
A man steps forward to ask Emma a question in a low voice I can’t make out. She smiles brightly. “Yes. Please bring everything to my suite. Jackson will be staying with me.”
I relax a little. She’s openly acknowledging my place in her bedroom, which is very improper.
She turns to me, smiling, and winks. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost trying to find my room in the middle of the night.”
I slide a hand to her neck, giving her a stroke down the side with my thumb. This is the Emma I know.
By the time we’re in her suite of rooms, after passing through a maze of hallways decorated with oil paintings and marble busts of a horde of royal ancestors, I’m feeling out of sorts again. The scale of everything—the sheer size of the palace, the long proud tradition—all of it is foreign to me.
Her maid, Lina, bustles around the suite, which is like a flat with a living room, sitting room, whatever that is, large bedroom, and en suite bathroom. The suite is very feminine, mostly pink and floral with carved antique wooden furniture full of curlicues and carved legs. The walls are pink floral, the lamps have matching shades, as do the curtains framing large windows with views of the sea. The canopy bed is virgin white from the gauzy sheer fabric over it to the white blankets. There are far too many pink pillows. This is a room a man has never breached.
Yet here I am.
I take a seat on a pink and white floral chair in her bedroom, attempting to blend. What I really want to do is grab my guitar, which is in the sitting room next to her guitar, play it and drown the world out. I can’t be too grumpy though. I’m a guest here. Besides, Emma brought music back to me, so I can deal with a delay in playing my guitar. I shift uncomfortably, the ring in my pocket digging into my thigh. Better find a hiding spot for it. I head to the sitting room and stash it in my guitar case’s compartment inside a small pouch that holds picks. It’s safe there until I can get back home and exchange it for cold hard cash. I can’t sell it through an auction house without exposing Emma. It’s too recognizable. I’ll have to track down a trustworthy jeweler and offer just the diamond separate from the setting. It’s a weight off my mind to know Jack will be taken care of.
I return to the bedroom chair and watch Emma in her “scandalous” red dress as she directs Lina, who’s unpacking Emma’s things and placing them in drawers and in the wardrobe. My Christmas present for Emma is a song. She doesn’t need any material things, and it’s the one gift I can give her that no one else can. Well, they could, but it wouldn’t be a Jackson Walker original.
Lina turns to me. “Would you like me to assist you with your things, sir?” She indicates my oversized duffel bag.
“No, thanks.” I’m not unpacking. I don’t belong here. It’s a temporary gig before I move on. It occurs to me that Emma will want to stay here. After Christmas, we’re finished. I drum my fingers on my leg. We could meet up, I guess, but right now seeing Emma in her element, I just can’t see where we fit.
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?” Lina asks Emma.
“We’re good. Thank you, Lina,” Emma replies formally, the height of princess manners.
It sets my teeth on edge, this bizarrely overly polite Emma with servants who address her so deferentially.
Lina bows her head and leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her.
“Your Highness,” I drawl.
Emma crosses to me, a determined expression on her face. Before I can sayalright?she surprises me, hiking her dress up to her waist and straddling me in the oversized chair. I’m instantly hard, my hands sliding up her smooth bare legs, cupping her bare arse. She’s wearing a thong, part of her new wardrobe. She leans down and bites my lower lip. My cock surges against my jeans. “You, Mr. Walker, owe me a hard fuck.”
I slide a hand to the scrap of fabric between her legs, and she moans. “Do I now?”
“Yes.” She sticks her plump lower lip out in a pout. I’m fixated on those porn-star lips. “You were so busy watching me pack this morning and playing guitar, you completely neglected me.”
My voice comes out hoarse. “Maybe you were so busy packing this morning, it was you who neglected me.”
