Page 64 of A Princess for Christmas

“Anyway,” Marie said, “if I agree, they suggest a trip to their center in Copenhagen to highlight their mission to create alternatives to camps with—are you ready for this?—Jessalina Angelo!” She turned to Leo. “She was one of my mother’s favorite celebrities. She always wanted to meet her, but it never worked out. I know I shouldn’t be focused on that aspect of things, because that’s completely not the point of this work, but I can’t help but be a little starstruck.”

It was funny to think of Marie, an honest-to-God princess, being starstruck by the Hollywood action-star-turned-do-gooder.

“Ooh!” Gabby exclaimed. “She played the evil queen in that movie! So you could be like the good princess and she could be the...” She was overtaken by a huge yawn. She was so tired. It was late to be eating dinner—it was late, period.

“I’m sorry,” Leo said, speaking only to Marie. “I think we’re gonna have to bail on the rest of dinner. It’s really late and Gabby needs to get to bed.” He was tired, too. Exhausted, really. Lunch at the pub seemed like a lifetime ago. And in the interim, there had been waltzing lessons and the clearing and... making out with Marie in the clearing.

Thinking about the last item on that list suddenly had him feeling significantly less tired.

“Of course,” Marie said. “We’ll eat earlier tomorrow evening.” When her father sniffed, she turned to him. “You needn’t join us, Father.”

“But Leo—” Gabby swallowed her protest when Leo shot her a withering look. She had probably been going to object to missing dessert, but it seemed to him that Gabby had Frau Lehman wrapped around her little finger—he took some comfort in the fact that it wasn’t just him—so probably a quick in-room bedtime snack of the sweet variety could be arranged. Or there would probably be some nonsoapy chocolates in her room.

After Leo had gotten Gabby to bed and retreated to his own room, it was almost eleven. Too late to text the princess, probably. They hadn’t had a moment alone since they’d returned to the palace. He was a little relieved. He wasn’t sure what the post-orgasm-in-the-woods protocol was. Hell, he didn’t even know which fork he was supposed to use.

He had the vague idea that you were supposed to call the next day.

But that was assuming you and the woman in question went to your separate houses. It didn’t account for what to do when you were staying at the woman’s house.

And for when that house was a palace.

Well, whatever. He would worry about it tomorrow. For now he was going to... what?

He looked around, almost guiltily, at his posh surroundings. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth and turned back his covers. There was a tiny, foil-wrapped chocolate resting in the exact center of the pillow closest to the nightstand.

He knew what he wanted to do, but it didn’t seem right.

Well, fuck it. He unwrapped the chocolate and after tentatively prodding it with his tongue just to make sure itwaschocolate, he popped it into his mouth. It was dark and bitter and shot through with a mint flavor so intense it made his eyes water.

He shed his clothing and flopped down on the ridiculously cushy bed.

Stuck a hand down the front of his boxers and groaned in relief. It had been a very long evening.

He tried not to do it. Tried to turn his mind to something else—anything else. Anyoneelse. Jennifer Lopez. So shoot him. JLo was from the Bronx. She was gorgeous. She did it for him.

Usually.

He could tell, though, that tonight there was only one thing that was going to work.

One image.

He could only hope he wouldn’t be haunted by it for the rest of his miserable life.

He tightened his grip and let himself feel her breath on his cheek. The rush of it as she exhaled her surprise—and pleasure—as he whispered dirty nothings in her ear.

He let himself see her. Flushed and emboldened by her own power. Her Royal Highness Marie Joséphine Annagret Elena, Princess of Eldovia, making herself come as she ground all over his leg.

He muffled his shout by turning his head into that ridiculously fluffy pillow.

“You could at least try to be nice,” Marie said quietly to her father after bidding the Riccis good night.

He whipped his head up from where he’d been refilling his wineglass—they’d kept up her mother’s tradition of dining without servants hovering over them.

He was shocked. Marie had learned not to speak to him like this. After he’d sent her back to school and made clear that there would be no shared father-daughter grief, no strengthened emotional bond as the silver lining of her mother’s death, there didn’t seem to be any point in trying to say anything real to him. So she never corrected him or suggested that his behavior was anything less than impeccable or that his whims were anything less than gospel. It was easier to go along with what he wanted. It was almost never worth starting a row.

But that was before he started being cruel to her friends.

It hurt her, to see him like this. She’d told Leo that her mother had always tempered her father. Softened him. She was realizing now how much she had always believed that eventually, he would thaw. That things would get better between them. That beneath her father’s gruff exterior, there was still a good man.

---