Page 101 of That Prince is Mine
“Right.” She nodded hesitantly, not knowing where he was going with this. “A fling implies something purely physical. I don’t think we’re capable of that.”
“No, we’re not.” He linked his fingers through hers and glanced down at their hands. “I never wanted this to be temporary either.”
Her heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird, but she kept her mind carefully blank. She sat up on the bed and tucked her legs beneath her. “What are you saying, Michel?”
“Yes, whatever am I saying? I’m not doing a very good job of it, am I?” He dragged his free hand through his hair and huffed out a nervous laugh. After a deep breath, he met her eyes with his face stark and vulnerable. “I love you, Emma.”
“Oh, Michel,” she whispered and pressed her trembling fingers to her lips.
She wanted to tell him that she loved him, too. More than anything. But what did any of this mean when they couldn’t be together? It would only make things harder when it came time for him to leave. Why was he doing this?
“I… I can’t tell if you’re upset or happy.” His voice dipped nervously as his hand tightened around hers.
“Both. I’m both.” Her eyes filled up with tears and the words she’d kept hidden deep inside tumbled out of her. “I fell in love with you despite my best intentions. I fell in love with you knowing that I could never have you.”
“No, no, no.” Michel reached out to cup her face with both his hands. “Emma, you can have me. All of me. I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
“I don’t understand.” She blinked in confusion. “You would move to LA?”
“And leave Rouleme?” He drew back, startled. “No, I can’t leave my people. I am to be their king.”
“Then… what?” Fear and confusion sharpened her words. “What are you saying, Michel?”
“Marry me.” The words rushed out of him like he’d been holding them back for a long time. “I want you to be my wife.”
Emma nodded slowly like she understood the words coming out of his mouth, then scooted past him to get off the bed. She walked over to the bathroom and calmly locked herself inside. She pressed both her hands to her mouth as a warbled sound rose to her throat. It could’ve been a laugh or a sob. She couldn’t tell for sure.
She stood in front of the sink, gripping the cold marble of the counter until her knuckles turned white. A future with Michel. The words resonated in her soul. She wanted it. So much that she couldn’t breathe. She had wanted it desperately ever since she realized she loved him. She’d just never allowed herself to admit it. But in her heart of hearts, she’d wanted to sink to her knees and beg someone to let her please have a lifetime with him. She hadn’t wanted to think about what it would cost her. She didn’t want to think about it now. But how could she not?
Michel was a prince. There was no avoiding that fact. And she knew next to nothing about being a princess. Me? A princess? Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her but faded away just as quickly. Why not? Why can’t I be a princess?
She was a hard worker, and she could adapt to any situation life threw her way. She could learn to be a princess—a damn good one if she put her mind to it. Etiquette and decorum were her jam. Fashion? Forget about it. But more importantly, caring for people came naturally for her. She could learn to love the people of Rouleme as much as Michel loved them.
Emma had become a culinary instructor because she wanted to touch people’s lives and make a difference. She loved cooking and teaching, but her passion lay in helping others nurture happiness in their lives. Couldn’t she make a greater difference at Michel’s side as a princess… as a queen?
But there was so much more than that. What about her dad? Auntie Soo? What about… everything?
Emma stared at herself in the mirror—at her dark hair, dark eyes, and the other features that made her decidedly not white. She didn’t know much about Rouleme, but she was fairly certain that its people had never envisioned someone who looked like her as their princess… their future queen.
Even living in Los Angeles, she was no stranger to racism—from blatant slurs to constant microaggressions. Her favorite was when people asked her where she was really from. Because she couldn’t really be from LA even though she was born and raised here. It was like they wanted to force her to acknowledge that she didn’t belong in the US with the real Americans. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be Asian and American in Rouleme, with no claim to their heritage or history, especially as their princess.
What could Michel possibly be thinking? Dating a young professor in LA was one thing. But marrying a prince in Rouleme was something else entirely. Did he know what he was asking of her? Did he expect her to leave everything behind to face an uncertain future with him? Someone who was different from her in so many ways? After everything she’d done to secure a safe, stable future? Her brain couldn’t even process all the other impossibilities that stood between them.
“Emma?” There was a soft knock at the door. “Are you… are you all right?”
Oh no. She glanced frantically around the luxurious bathroom. What was she doing? Looking for an exit? Someplace to hide? The enormous clawfoot bathtub seemed like a good place. She scrunched her eyes shut. Get a grip, Emma.
“I have to pee,” she yelled to buy herself time.
“Yes, of course.” Michel sounded as though he wasn’t sure whether he believed her. “My apologies for the intrusion.”
She hated lying, so she sat down on the toilet. It was always a good idea to pee after sex anyway. She wouldn’t want to deal with a UTI on top of this mess. Once she was done, she washed her hands for twenty seconds, humming a nursery tune under her breath. Even when she ran out of ways to stall, she couldn’t make herself go out and face Michel. Especially since what she wanted more than anything was to throw herself into his arms and say, Yes, yes, yes. But that would be beyond unwise.
“Emma,” he said in a soft, gentle voice after a few minutes had passed. “Emma, please come out.”
“No, thank you,” she said, facing the door with her palm pressed against it. She wanted to run to him… run from him.
“I don’t think I handled that very well.” He sighed. “I didn’t even take out the ring.”
