Page 87 of The Royal Art of Revenge

I blush again. “Thank you.”

Beatrix takes my hands and squeezes. “Don’t worry so, my darling girl. You aren’t alone anymore.”

Ah.

I look down at where the hem of my dress glides against the floor, smiling slightly.

Not alone.

What a strange feeling… to not be alone, yet to be so lonely.

CHAPTER NINETEEN – HATTIE

Three knocks sound at the door, and I turn towards it, dragging my gaze away from the mirror.

“It’s me.” Finn’s voice is slightly muffled by the door. “Are you ready?”

“No,” I call back, pressing my hands to my stomach.

He chuckles lightly. “Can I come in?”

“I suppose.”

The creak of the door fills the room, and the moment I lay eyes on him, it’s almost as if everything else around us ceases to exist. He’s not wearing the full ceremonial wear he was in our photoshoot, but rather a sharp, tailored black tux with a pocket square that matches the hue of my dress perfectly, along with some Royal Orders.

It hugs every taut muscle on his body, just begging me to roam my gaze over every inch of him to drink it in. And I do. I look him up and down, soaking in every inch of his strong body in that perfectly tailored suit of his.

Good grief, he’s handsome.

And there’s a little part of me that just wants to rip it off him and leave it in a heap on the floor.

I drag my gaze upwards to his face. He’s barely moved from his position a few steps inside the door, and he’s completely fixated on me. All he’s doing is staring at me, unashamedly, unabashedly, like there’s nothing else at all in this room other than me.

Heat prickles across my skin, and I dip my chin, feeling the warmth spread up my neck to my cheeks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Finn opens his mouth, and his lips move, but no words come out. Just a weird, almost gargling noise that seems to get caught in his throat.

“What’s that noise for?” I mutter, gathering my skirt so I can step back down from this stupid pedestal.

He rushes over and holds out his hand before I can. I hesitate for a second, then rest my hand on top of his. His fingers curl around mine, and he helps me step off it, his eyes never leaving me the whole time.

I peer up at him. “Are you going to say anything? Or are you going to keep staring at me like this?”

He brings his closed fist to his mouth, turns his head, and coughs into it. There’s an almost light pink sheen to his cheeks, and I narrow my eyes.

Is he... blushing?

That’s new.

“Shit,” he whispers into his fist, still holding my hand. “You... I can’t... Fuck.”

“Why, Your Royal Highness,” I say teasingly. “Do I look that beautiful that you’re rendered speechless?”

His blue gaze latches on to mine, and despite my tone, there’s no hint of playfulness in his. Just a deep, dark seriousness that makes my stomach flip.

“If ‘beautiful’ were an adequate word to describe how you look right now, I’d have used it,” he says, his voice low. “So, forgive me for squawking like an imbecile, but I truly do not believe there’s anything I can say that would do you justice.”

“You could have just said ‘yes,’” I mumble, turning my face away from his. If I don’t, he’s going to see just how badly those words have affected me.