Page 48 of Twelve Nights In The Prince's Bed

‘Adrastos...’

His name was a whisper on the breeze, barely audible, but with that one word, she might as well have been pledging herself to him for life. Her heart cracked, because Adrastos didn’t want that. He’d made that clear. He’d told her why he avoided relationships, he’d told her he didn’t even care about producing the required royal heir. But that wasbefore.What if his parameters had changed too? What if the easy, rule-bound fake relationship they’d established in the beginning had morphed into something else for Adrastos too? What if he loved her back?

Hope was a soaring light within her, brighter than the snow was cold.

Inside, the countdown to midnight began, a chorus of voices, happy and joyous, with no idea that, outside, Poppy was walking a tightrope, happily ever after on one side and desperate loneliness the other. For though she’d been alone before Adrastos, it was only now, in contrast to the way she’d begun to feel when they were together, that she would know loneliness.

‘Ten—nine—’

Adrastos lifted a finger, crooked it towards himself.

‘Eight—seven—’

And despite her fear and the doubts tumbling through her like detritus in a hurricane, Poppy travelled forward, one step, and then another—

‘Six—five—’

He smelled so good, like citrus and pine needles, so masculine and so familiar, so she knew she’d never be able to walk in a forest again nor pass by an orchard in the summer without thinking of Adrastos, without wanting him.

‘Four—three—’

His hand came around her back, fingers splayed wide, pushing her forward. Their bodies melded, so perfect, so right, so blissful. His mouth lowered and the air around them sizzled and popped.

‘Two—’

Poppy held her breath, her toes curled in her elegant shoes.

‘One!’

His lips claimed hers, slowly, gently, perfectly, so the sting in her eyes gave way and a tear rolled delicately down one cheek as she tilted her head back, giving him access to all of her, kissing him back with the desperate certainty that she couldn’t wait another six days for the axe to drop. This either had to be their last night together, or it had to be a true beginning: a new year, and the start of something new for both of them—a real relationship.

Cheers and crying and clapping came from inside and the strains of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ filled the air. Adrastos lifted his head, looking down at Poppy, eyes so beautiful and all seeing, a frown forming as he recognised the tear and lifted his finger to smudge it away.

‘Happy New Year, Poppy.’

Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to say it back, but other words were more urgent, more pressing, and instead she found herself just nodding, jerking her head.

‘Adrastos—’ His name now flooded her body with a powerful, drugging need. He was her other half. The perfect love. Just as her parents had felt that happiness and completeness, she’d felt it too. Here, with Adrastos. He was a part of her. But was she a part of him? Her parents’ love had been a fairy tale because it was mutual. If Adrastos didn’t love her back, then everything she felt might as well have been a torture device.

‘Let’s go upstairs.’

To his suite. She stared at him, the floor feeling uneven beneath her feet. But the idea of disappearing into that apartment was anathema to Poppy. It was another part of the pretence, and yet it was where their relationship had begun to feel truly real for her. Before she crossed that threshold once more, she had to know: was his apartment a stage set, or the backdrop to their real-life romance?

‘I—Not just yet. I need to—’ She bit into her lower lip, frustrated with herself. ‘We need to talk.’

He was quiet, waiting for her. Not so much a ‘we need to talk’ as Poppy needing to talk to Adrastos. To ask him something important.

But how could she? Prior to the night they’d slept together, she’d had no experience with men in the bedroom, and she had even less experience with the emotional side of a relationship, with the vocabulary required to discuss feelings.

Just be honest.

Oh, how ironic, given that this was all supposedly fake.

‘This is hard,’ she said on a sigh.

‘You can tell me anything, Poppy. You can say anything.’

Sure she could. But what would it change between them? Anything? Everything?

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