Page 39 of A Princess for Christmas

“I have to marry someone with whom an alliance will advance Eldovia’s interests.”

Leo’s brain was back to moving slowly. What Marie was saying wasn’t computing. “What the fuck doesthathave to do with anything?” She blinked in confusion, and he was pretty sure he did the same thing back. Unless... “Hang on.” Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. Probably offended was the right call here. “Princess, I assure you there is no universe—no universe—in which I want to marry you.”

“I know that,” she said, taking a step toward him.

He threw both hands in the air. It was, on the surface of things, the same gesture he’d made as he’d walked toward her pretending to surrender but secretly planning his snow-attack. But this time it was protective.Self-protective. What did she think? That he was some kind of gold digger on a long con? “It was just a kiss.” Leo let some derision seep into his tone, even though part of him knew that was a dick move.

“Right,” Marie said quickly, too quickly, as her face shuttered and she took a step back. “Of course.”

Sighing, he let his head fall back. Despite his Catholic upbringing, he wasn’t at all sure about the whole God thing, but he could use some divine intervention right about now. Ideally, a celestial rewind button.

The window of his place opened, and Gabby stuck her head out. “Leo!”

He had to laugh. If God existed, it appeared he—She? Probably she—had a sense of humor.

“The sandwiches are ready!” Gabby shouted. “What’s taking you so long?”

What is taking me so long is that I’m having snowball fights and making out with a goddamn princess instead of doing my actual job.

“I should go,” Marie whispered. “I’ll get a cab, and you can—”

“Your Majesty!” Gabby laughingly called. “Is that what I’m supposed to call you? I googled, and I think it’s actually Your Royal Highness because your dad is the Your Majesty? Anyway! I’msooooexcited you’re coming for dinner. I made you a special sandwich! Wait till you see it!”

Leo turned to Marie with his eyebrows raised. He’d like to see her get out of this one. She stared back at him, and he could see the princess returning and her bearing grow stiff. He recognized that posture as defensive. She was in survival mode.

Well, so was he. He actually wanted her to leave. Kind of. But he wanted her to leave less than he wanted to go upstairs and tell Gabby that Marie had changed her mind. “What do you say, Princess? You’re not going to let a meaningless little kiss scare you off grilled cheese on the wrong side of the tracks, are you?”

“Hi! Hi! Come in! Come in!”

Marie could see what Leo meant about Gabby being happy about her school break. Shewasvibrating. Bouncing up and down on her toes as she took Marie’s coat and herded her toward a sofa where Daniela was already seated. “I’m so happy you’re here! I want to show you—”

“Ahem.” Leo, still standing in the entryway, drew their attention. “What am I? Chopped liver?” He tilted his head, leveled a mock-annoyed stare at Gabby, and pointed to his cheek.

Grinning, she skipped over to him and made a show of kissing his cheek. He must have thought that was going to be the end of it, because he took off his hat and started to pull away, but Gabby threw her arms around him. Leo was clearly startled, buthe hugged her back, picking her up off the floor in the process. “Merry Christmas, kiddo.” His voice was raspy, and Marie’s throat thickened. It was seeing them together—the easy love between them. But also seeing how little it took to make Gabby, who had lost so much, so happy.

“Should we eat in front of the tree?” Daniela suggested when the siblings separated.

“We stuck apple slices in the sandwiches!” Gabby exclaimed. “Dani said that would class them up.”

Leo made a face, and Gabby wrinkled her nose at him. It was like they had a secret, nonverbal language. Marie didn’t have that with anyone. Not anymore. She and her mother used to do that. Maman would hold up DVDs when they were trying to decide what to watch and Marie would opine on them with merely her facial expressions. She’d forgotten about that. The memory made her smile.

“I don’t understand why a thing can’t just be what it is,” Leo said as he helped Dani set the coffee table. “Why do you have to put apples in a perfectly good grilled cheese sandwich? Why do you have to put candy in ice cream? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Gabby rolled her eyes at Marie as she set a plate in front of her. It was a small, private display, meant just for Marie—like Marie was in on the joke. It was more thrilling than it should have been. “My brother has such simple tastes,” Gabby said. “Do you know that his favorite kind of ice cream isvanilla? Plain vanilla!”

“Maybe it’s not simple taste so much as classic taste,” Marie said. “A well-made vanilla is subtle, but if you’re paying attention, hard to beat.”

“Thank you.” Leo plopped down next to her on the sofa, andoh, she was in trouble, because he was looking at her with an almost violent sort of intensity. Like she was the world’s tastiest vanilla ice cream that he alone appreciated.

It only lasted a moment, and he was on to making sure everyone was situated around the coffee table.

But the effect of that look lingered. Leo had moved on, but Marie had not. She wanted to kiss him again, and wasn’tthatinteresting?

He scooted closer to her to make room for Gabby. He wasalmostbut not quite touching her, which was somehow worse—better?—than actual contact would have been. There was perhaps an inch of space between the edge of her skirt and his jeans-clad thigh. He’d taken off the ubiquitous flannel shirt and wore only a short-sleeve T-shirt, which meant his arm was bare all the way up to the middle of his upper arm. That was... a lot of arm. She let her eyes slide over the familiar forearm with its veins and muscles. He’d worn his flannel shirt rolled up while he’d driven her around, so she’d spent a lot of time looking at his forearms. But because it was winter, upper arms were uncharted territory. His were, unsurprisingly, as nice as his forearms. They were...

And, oh. Oh no. She didn’t just want to kiss Leo again, she wanted that arm. To have it draped casually over her shoulders, like it belonged there. Or, worse, to pick it up and arrange herself beneath it, to burrow under it and hide from the world, like she had the right to do that.

Her ears were on fire. Her whole face was on fire. She was hyperaware of every inch of her skin. Of the boundary between her body and the world. The hole in her tights that her big toe was making worse. The spot where the tag of her dress rubbed againstthe back of her neck. It didn’t hurt or itch. It was just . . . there. A small sensation suddenly magnified a thousandfold.

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