Page 32 of Twelve Nights In The Prince's Bed

Eleanor laughed and shook her head, suddenly herself again. ‘I can just imagine how my big brother would enjoy that. No, thank you. I’ll be your third wheel another time. Go, have fun.’ She turned to Adrastos. ‘Take care of her.’

‘I intend to.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

THECARPULLEDout from the palace and, as expected, flashbulbs erupted. Despite his having made the arrangements to assure the utmost secrecy, the palace was being watched even more closely than normal in light of the ‘news’ of Adrastos’s latest fling. Of their own volition, his eyes slid across to Poppy, in the seat beside him, her lips compressed, her hands clasped tight in her lap.

‘This is not supposed to feel like torture.’

‘It doesn’t,’ she reacted quickly, apology in the little grimace she offered him. ‘It’s just...a little overwhelming.’

His hands tightened on the wheel.

Of course it would seem overwhelming to Poppy. She had no experience with dating anyone, let alone someone who brought this level of scrutiny. In the rear-vision mirror, he saw a motorbike give chase and expelled a rough sound of impatience, then quickly muted it when he noticed Poppy’s flinch.

‘You get used to it.’ It was a throwaway comment he immediately regretted, because it somehow implied he wantedherto get used to it, which might almost suggest he wanted her to stick around, beyond the terms of their fake relationship, and of course he didn’t. Adrastos couldn’t wait to get through this and find a satisfying way to ‘end it’ for his family’s benefit, so he could get back to his real life.

And go back to only seeing Poppy a couple of times a year, he tacked on mentally, for good measure, the vow an important one to make to himself.

Poppy turned in the seat, angling to face him, and all he could focus on was her slender thighs, exposed by the way her dress had crept up as she’d taken her seat. ‘Do you?’

Her eyes pinned him in place earnestly. He forced himself to keep his attention on the road. ‘Eventually.’ The word was given as a grudging concession to the fact it had taken him quite some time to accept this level of scrutiny. And he certainly didn’t enjoy it.

‘Do you mind?’

‘I accept it comes with the position.’

She frowned. ‘But you don’t like it?’

‘Who would like it?’ He responded quickly, turning the car down a side street, away from the embassies that were in the suburbs closest to the palace, leading them to a fashionable precinct with streets of restaurants.

‘Lots of people, I suppose,’ she said with a lift of those incredible shoulders. He really should have used a chauffeur but, for some reason, he’d railed against that. With Poppy, he wanted to be completely in charge. He wanted to call the shots, to run the show. He wanted to be answerable for everything that happened between them. Besides, it was harder to speak frankly with the presence of staff, and he liked being honest and open with her. As she was basically a member of his family, he could trust her implicitly. ‘Celebrity has become a level of attainment in and of itself.’

He grunted his agreement with that, but it was something Adrastos had never personally felt. ‘There are many good things about the position of privilege I occupy. Having my every waking move dissected by the press is not one of them.’

‘Of course not.’

‘You must have experienced this with Eleanor.’

‘It’s different. She isn’t followed like you are.’

‘For that, I am supremely grateful.’

‘She lives a mostly normal life,’ Poppy continued thoughtfully. ‘I mean, there are photographers. There’s interest in her, of course. She’s adored. And reported on. But not to this extent. When we were at university, we were just like any other eighteen-year-olds.’

‘I’m sure there are a great many secrets you could tell me about my sister,’ he said, surprising them both with a grin.

Poppy blinked, a study in wide-eyed innocence. ‘You must know I could never tell you anything that Ellie had told me in confidence.’

The fact she thought he’d even ask was one of the strongest indictments of his character he’d ever known. He focussed on the road. ‘I would never ask you to.’

She breathed out. ‘Sorry. I’m nervous.’

‘You don’t have to be. I’m not really a big bad wolf.’

‘Aren’t you?’ she asked, then pressed a hand to her lips. ‘I’m sorry again. That just came out. Sometimes, when I’m with you, I find it just far too easy to say the wrong thing.’

‘Why is it the wrong thing, if it’s what you really think?’

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