Page 68 of Fit for a King

There was a knock on the door just after eight, and I gave myself one last quick look in the mirror before answering.

“Come in.”

Noah stepped inside, my dry cleaning on a hanger in one hand and my tablet under his arm.

“Your Majesty, I have your outfit for tomorrow, and Gilbert asked that this be placed on your desk for the morning.”

“Thank you.”

He was still in full work mode, a switch we’d both been able to flip on and off when we needed to, though I couldn’t stop myself from admiring him as he placed my suit in the closet. He always caught me, though, just like now, and he winked at me as he crossed over to place the tablet on the desk.

Then his eyes went to the open balcony doors and the small table, complete with white candles in the center.

“Eating outside tonight, sir?” he said, smiling at me. “It’s a nice night for it.”

“Yes, it is.” I put my hands in the pockets of my slacks, drawing Noah’s eyes. “And yes, we are.”

His brows knitted together as he took in the casual outfit I wore—well, casual for me, considering I lived in a suit—and then looked back out at the table. “I don’t understand.”

I moved to the table and pulled out one of the chairs. “Join me. Please.”

His lips parted in surprise. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No one knows I ordered for two, they just think I ordered too much.”

“Ah. So you’re ravenous this evening.”

“Extremely.” I nodded toward the chair. “So please, share this meal with me, Noah.”

The look he gave me told me he wanted to do just that, but he glanced back at the door.

“Tomorrow we won’t get a chance to see each other alone,” I said. “And I would like to spend as much time with you tonight as I can.”

He held my gaze and, after a long moment, exhaled.

“All right.”

My relief was immense, and I held the chair for him as he sat, though it looked like it took everything in him to let me. But I wanted this, for us to be on the same level, just Noah and Nicholas.

I lifted the cloche from his plate, then mine, and set them aside.

When I took the seat across from him, he was still watching me.

“What?” I asked.

“I… I’m not used to being served.” He shook his head. “I feel like I should be placing a serviette in your lap, not mine.”

“Well, if you want to touch my lap, you can,” I teased. “I won’t stop you.”

He gave a small smile as I offered him the bread bowl. He took one off the top and set it beside the warm bowl of mutton stew that was a favorite of my family during our visits, even though it was usually a winter dish.

“Is this all right? It’s lamb,” I said when he dipped his spoon into the bowl and stirred it around.

“Oh, I know.” He took a deep inhale and closed his eyes briefly. “I could smell it being prepared.” Then he brought a spoonful up to his mouth and I watched, waiting to see what he’d think. Noah didn’t disappoint, moaning as he swallowed. “Even better than I imagined.”

That made me smile…even as I felt a flicker of sadness that he was surrounded every day by the incredible food prepared by the best chefs in the country, but never got to partake. It wasn’t right. Noah deserved so much more, in every aspect of his life, and it was a glaring reminder of how different the worlds we’d been raised in were.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it in the stew. “It was my parents’ favorite whenever we’d visit.”