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“No, not this time.” The joke made him laugh. Sometimes, the best way to escape the palace had been to plan a party and have Yana come along, making it an “official” event to justify his presence. He didn’t want to know what she’d done with the photos she’d taken on those outings. By the end of the night, he had never been in a state worthy of being photographed. “I have another idea.”
He told her what she wanted.
“It’ll be a few days until the time is right,” she said. “But that gives us plenty of time to put together something absolutely lovely.”
Amy wasn’t altogether surprised to find that the PR work associated with the tour didn’t end when they arrived back at the castle. There were editorials to organize, follow-up calls to schedule, meetings to plan. Artur seemed excited about it all. He met her each morning wanting to know what her latest ideas were, even before she’d completely woken up. There were some nights he stayed in her room talking about those plans until it was late enough that they both fell into bed together. And yet, despite all their time together, Amy felt herself pulling away. Eventually, it would have to end. Eventually, she’d have to go home.
The days flew by, taking her closer and closer to the time when it would all be over.
One morning there was a knock at the door. She’d just stepped into her shoes and went to open it, expecting Sasha, the maid.
It was Artur, wearing a shirt unbuttoned at the top and a grin that looked almost giddy. “Come with me,” he said, offering his hand.
Her heart leaped into her throat. “Where are we going?” Visions flashed through her mind of fleeing the castle, fleeing Stolvenia, and settling somewhere nobody knew their names.
“A part of the castle I don’t think you’ve seen.”
Oh. A tour. She didn’t let her disappointment show on her face.
Artur led her through the halls until they stepped through the door into a courtyard that Amy hadn’t seen before. No one had even mentioned its presence to her, but it was...breathtaking.
“What is this place?”
“The oldest part of the castle,” Artur said, his voice low in her ear. “This is some of the original stonework.” The graceful arches in the walls were stunning at this time of the morning—something out of a storybook. And the way the sun shone through at an angle...well, it was worth being up so early. They stepped a little further in, only to be met by a woman wearing all black, carrying a camera.
She stepped forward, offering her hand. “Yana,” she said. “I’m a photographer from the royal family. Would you like to choose an outfit to begin with?”
Yana gestured to a low table behind them. It was covered in lingerie and sheer dressing gowns.
Artur led her there by the hand. “For maternity photos,” he said. “I wanted some...of us both. And then I wanted to take my own. To capture—” He broke off, his voice filled with emotion. “To capture this time in our lives.”
Amy was speechless. She hadn’t considered maternity photos, but her belly had grown even more over the last few weeks, rounding out into a shape she liked some days and detested others.
“You have things you bought or gathered to remember our trip together,” Artur coaxed. “I want something, too.”
The clothes did look beautiful. “All right,” she agreed. “I can’t argue with that.”
Amy had seemed reluctant to start the process of the shoot, but when the hairdresser and makeup artist came out of the palace and settled her in a portable chair, she relaxed. By the time they stepped back, rushing to make sure Yana had as much good light as possible, she was glowing.
Her first outfit was the most modest of the bunch, and yet she still looked so desirable in it that it nearly killed Artur to stand with her like Yana wanted, with his hands on her belly.
“Now look down at it,” the photographer called. “With your eyes, not your face.”
Amy laughed. “This is so strange.”
“Hush,” he told her. “This is wonderful.”
They moved through poses that had them close together, Artur touching only her belly, her waist, her face.
By the time Yana left, handing Artur his own camera, he couldn’t wait any longer.
He put the camera down on the table and came back to Amy, who still stood posing in front of an archway. “I thought you wanted your own photos,” she said.
“I want this.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “You’re delectable,” he said, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth. “You’re gorgeous. And I want you.”
The lingerie came off with a few tugs of his fingertips, and Amy brought her arms up to cover her breasts, cheeks flaming red. “Someone could come—”
“No one will come,” he insisted. “Except you. And me.”
