Page 39 of Royal Agenda

Grandma considered it. “Well, it can’t make it worse.”

Grace threw her head back and laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

Grandma huffed a chuckle. “Go! Your date is waiting.” She glanced over her.

Grace stepped back and struck a pose. “Do I look alright?” She held her breath. She’d refreshed her curls and makeup. She’d contemplated changing, but the dress she had on this afternoon was casual and yet date-worthy, and she didn’t want to change and look like she was trying too hard. Although she was trying hard not to overthink any of this.

Grandma frowned. “Do you have a shorter skirt? You should work those legs.”

“Grandma–I’m scandalized.” She grabbed her skirt and flicked the ends out. Grandma laughed and flapped a hand at her. Grace blew her a kiss and slipped through the magnolia bushes to the beach. From Grandma’s back door, it was a short walk to the boardwalk. She took off her sandals and let her feet soak up the last of the sun, gracing the top layer of sand.

Movement on her left drew her eye, and she quickly did a double take. Rosa and her husband threw shrimp to four flamingos. The birds drew closer and closer still, trying to be the first to get a morsel.

“Paul! You share with Ringo!” Rosa admonished them.

Paul grabbed his shrimp and took off into some brush.

Her husband pointed after the retreating, pink-flame of a bird. “Maybe he’s feeding Baby Jude?”

Rosa gasped. “Santa Maria! He better not be. Jude’s still way too young for shrimp.” She caught Grace watching and stopped to wave. “Tu es bonita. Doesn’t she look beautiful, Horace?

“Yes, muy guapa.” Horace smiled at her. Grace felt beautiful with the hem of her skirt brushing her thighs.

“Gracias!” she called back. One of the flamingos ducked his head and sneaked closer to the bag of shrimp dangling from Rosa’s hand. “Watch out!”

Rosa jerked but it was too late, the bird took off with the shrimp, his buddies running after him. “No, John! Ack! You never have patience.” She threw up her hands and went after the now empty bag laying on the beach, Horace in tow. The flamingos preened and one licked his beak. None of them acted as if they were guilty of any wrong doing despite Rosa’s continued lecture.

Grace chuckled to herself. So far, the evening was full of surprises.

As she got closer to the pier, she spied Ryker leaning against the first post, one leg propped up behind him. He stared out across the Atlantic with a contemplative look on his handsome face. In the fading light, his skin took on a golden hue, bronzing him. He wore a pair of clean navy shorts and a white polo shirt that hugged his well-formed chest. He looked so yummy, her stomach filled with butterflies.

As if he could hear their wings beating inside of her, he turned her direction and her breath caught. One side of his mouth lifted in a grin that was as hot as Arizona sun in August. He pushed off the post and strode to her, his arms out. “La mia sirena.” My siren.

She couldn’t help but smile as he took her shoulders and pressed a kiss to both of her cheeks. It’d been a while since she’d been greeted in such a friendly fashion and she relished the tradition that went back for ages.

It didn’t hurt that it brought Ryker up close and personal. He smelled of aftershave and soap and all things manly.

“Sei bellissima,” you’re beautiful. He caught the ends of her hair in his fingers. “You smell of, miele,” honey, “e gardino,” and gardenias.

“Grandma had a gift basket of honey products in the guest room. They feel amazing.” She ran her hand up her arm where she’d slathered the lotion, and it soaked into her skin. His eyes followed the movement, and she heated to a new temperature. The European men she’d dated before were very touchy, and she hoped that was the case with Ryker. She wanted to be close to him. “Shall we?” she managed to squeak out.

“Si.” He took her hand, lacing their fingers together, and she silently squealed with delight. Whatever she’d done in her life to deserve this moment, she didn’t know–but she wanted to do it again and again.

At the edge of the sand, he stopped to remove his shoes. “You have the right idea, sí?”

As soon as his shoes dangled from his fingertips, his socks tucked into the toes, he took her hand again, and they started off. His grip was strong, his hands calloused but tender.

The last of the sun disappeared, and a breeze lifted her hair off her shoulders. The flamingos had bedded down for the night, and Rosa was long gone. A few other couples were on the walkway, but they had the sand to themselves.

Ryker’s hand was warm, and she leaned into him as they walked.

“You are very good at your job, sí?” He nudged her. “Everyone in class will know their roots back to Adam.”

She chuckled. “Well, once you tie into the Bible, it’s not that hard.”

He stopped in shock. “You have done this?”

“Weeeelll.” She stooped to pick up a shell. “In the Middle Ages, royal families would validate their claim to the throne by tracing their genealogy back to Adam and Eve, but there aren’t any true pedigree charts that go back that far.” She held up the shell. “Not a moonshell.”

---