Page 39 of The Royal in Room 3

“We should.” But I just needed a moment, spreading his cheeks, then rubbing my fingers between them and teasing the skin that I’d loosened up. He moaned against my neck, and I felt the curve of his lips.

“You love playing with me like that.”

“Is it a problem?” I asked, probing his skin with one finger.

“No, I like it.”

“Good. Because I haven’t had a boy like this in a long time, little prince, and I’m afraid I’m really going to enjoy thinking of you as a toy to be played with whenever I want.”

I squeezed his cheeks, spanked the left one hard enough that he gasped, then released him and stepped back with a grin.

“Let’s clean up and go home.”

14

SOREN

After a week of living with Jude, it was official.

I sucked hard.

He was patient and caring, but apparently household chores weren’t as easy as they seemed when you’d never had to do them a day in your life. I’d broken so many plates that Jude decided we would only use paper ones on the days he was too busy in the workshop to take care of the dishes. He worked long hours, and I really wanted to help lessen the burden around the house, but white towels came out of the washing machine pink, his jeans came out of the dryer shrunken, and I somehow managed to turn a saucepan black while trying to heat soup for lunch.

Every task began with confidence but ended with Jude quietly repairing whatever I had damaged. And the worst part was that he never became angry.

He would sigh, kiss my forehead, and show me how to do it properly. Again. Sometimes for the third time. His patience should have made me feel better, but instead it made the failure settle more heavily inside me. I had spent most of my life being told I was unprepared for anything outside royal duty—and not many had been confident that I could even do that with aplomb. Every ruined shirt or shattered plate seemed determined to prove everyone right.

By the end of the week, I had started dreading the sound of Jude coming in from the workshop. Not because I feared him, but because I hated seeing his eyes travel with expectancy to find whatever new disaster I had created.

So when Dean stopped by Thursday morning for a visit, I dropped to my knees and begged him to help me make Jude lunch so he didn’t have to do it himself.

Dean groaned and complained that if he’d known I would only be working him, he wouldn’t have come by, but I wore him down.

“You really have no idea how to make a grilled cheese?” he asked, staring in horror at the mess I’d made of the skillet. Almost half the loaf of bread Jude had picked up at the supermarket just yesterday was blackened, and I threw it in the garbage to hide my shame.

“It always comes out black or the cheese doesn’t melt,” I said.

“That’s because you need to reduce the fire under the skillet.”

“I tried that, but the lowest setting was still too high.”

“Because you need to turn the dial in the opposite direction, almost as if you’re turning off the stove.”

“Oh.”

He looked at me in disbelief as if I’d grown horns, and I cringed. “Well, if you’re going to make me feel bad about it, then you don’t need to help.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t know how you aren’t aware of how to turn down a stove. What, were you born into royalty or something?”

I fell silent, not knowing how to answer. If I told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe me, but at the same time, I hated feeling like such a failure all the time. If only one person could know the truth, then maybe they’d be more willing to help me instead of thinking that I was incompetent.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was?” I asked.

He snorted. “And I’m Princess Di reincarnated.”

“Can you keep a secret?” I said, reaching for my phone on the counter.

“Yes, my lips are like a bank vault unless there’s a cock involved somewhere.”