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My security team appears next to me and Liam disengages his arm from my shoulders. He smirks, slinking out of the door as I stare after him. I want to throttle him, forbid him from ever speaking about her. I want to banish him from Nord and never see his arrogant fucking face again.
But there’s truth to his words. Jazz is smarter than I am, and she’ll get bored of me. Whatever infatuation is between us will fade—especially with her in Nord and me on tour for the next eleven weeks. I have no chance with her.
Unless…
My heart starts to thump, and I follow in Liam’s footsteps to leave the bar. I slide into the royal car and get on the phone, asking Paul to organize a flight and delay the royal tour itinerary by just one day. I have engagements this week, but by next weekend I could be up in Nord beside her. One night is all I need.
I need to know how Jazz feels. I need to know if she’s thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about her. I need to go to Nord, hold her in my arms, and know if this is real.
18
Jazz
After spending two days at the hospital with my mother, she’s finally moved back to the nursing home. She’s fine, but she was confused and anxious until I got there. As soon as she gets back to her room at the home, I see the lines of her face relax, and I leave her to sleep. I go home and sleep for fourteen hours.
When I wake up to a text from Prince Silas asking how I’m doing, it’s hard not to smile. I answer, then clutch the phone to my breast and let out a sigh. When I head into work, I keep my phone close, heart jumping every time it goes off.
We don’t talk much over the next few days, but I almost feel his presence behind me. He texts me nearly every day, with the exception of one day where I see reports of his speech in front of the Farcliff media, talking about trade relations between our two kingdoms. He does well, and seeing him on television makes me smile.
My boss allows me to work half-days, and I spend every afternoon with my mother. Annie somehow refrains from asking me a hundred and one questions, probably sensing the amount of strain and heavy emotion I’m under.
But Mom is okay. She’s recovering. Every day she gets calmer and more settled in the nursing home, and her broken arm doesn’t seem to be bothering her. My heart settles, and my thoughts turn to the Prince.
On Saturday morning, three weeks after the Halloween party at the Velly watermill, Silas texts me asking me for my address. My heart flips. I expect him to have flowers delivered to me, or some other gift from him. For once, I don’t want to refuse a present. I want to be spoiled. I want to take the last week, bury it somewhere deep, and let someone else take care of me for once. I’ve never had a man treat me like this—like I’m special. Maybe I never allowed someone else to take care of me. I settled for hotel bars and dark rooms with colleagues.
When the doorbell rings a couple hours later, my heart thumps. I rush to the door, expecting to see a man in a courier’s uniform with a package. I pull the door open, and nearly fall over when I see the Prince of Nord standing on my doorstep.
His pea coat is open, hair falling around his temples. Those sinful, lush lips curl into an easy smile, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Hi, Jazz.”
I shut my mouth when I realize it’s hanging open. Blinking two or three times, I stare at the man in my doorway. “Silas.” He’s…here. At my house. He’s not sending flowers and well-wishes to me. It’s not some elegant piece of jewelry from Cochrane Jewelers.
The Prince took time off from the official royal tour and came to see me.
His smile widens, causing my stomach to tighten. The top button of his shirt is undone, and I catch a glimpse of his sprinkling of chest hair. Yum.
“May I?” Silas stares over my shoulder, and I stumble over myself to let him in. I’ll never understand how he can be so easy, so confident, and I feel like a bumbling idiot. I watch him put his briefcase down and shed his jacket, laying it over the arm of a chair in the hallway before turning to face me. “I hope you don’t mind me coming here.”
“Not at all,” I answer before I can think. Do I mind? It doesn’t feel like it, but the logical part of my brain says I should protest. He’s marching into my life like he owns it. Like any member of the elite would. Like I would never refuse.
I should be mad. I should be insulted. I’ve lived my whole life hating the way the rich treat the rest of us like peasants.
Inside me, there’s no anger. No resentment. There’s just heat, and aching, and a tingling bud of excitement at seeing the man who makes me burn.
The Prince moves toward me, sliding his hand over my hip. A part of me wants to fight my desire to melt into his arms, but that part is so, so small. Instead, I find myself laying my cheek on his chest and sighing out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“You’re in my house,” I say, voice muffled in his chest.
He chuckles, the sound warm as it buzzes through me. “I am.”
My fingers curl into his shirt as I inhale his scent, feeling more at home in his arms than I have anywhere else. Even my house feels more like home with him in it. I close my eyes and let him hold me.
How long has it been since I’ve let a man hold me like this? I don’t know if I’ve ever been comfortable with someone long enough to enjoy a hug. I’ve always kept them at arm’s length. But this…this feels natural. It feels right.
“How’s your mom?” Silas says, his hand sliding up to rest on the back of my neck.
I let out a long sigh. “She’s okay. She fell down in the middle of the night on her way to the bathroom last Saturday and the nurses only found her in the morning. So she was in a lot of pain and pretty disoriented, but she didn’t need surgery and is physically okay. I just worry about her.” I pull away from Silas and give him a sad smile, then gesture to the living room. “Coffee?”
He nods, every movement easy and confident. It used to annoy me, seeing him move like he owned the world, but now I kind of like it. There’s no awkwardness between us. Having him in my house feels good.
