Page 51 of That Prince is Mine
This bloke was too much. And he was standing outside the lavatory, not beside the cash register, when Michel saw him. What a pompous, juvenile piece of—Emma’s laughter brought his train of thought to a halt. Was she laughing at him? With Jeremy? Something inside him curled in on itself.
“You know what would really be funny, oppa?” She examined her fingernails for a second, then looked Jeremy in the eyes. “If Michel said, ‘Well, actually, I bought the entire restaurant.’ That would be funny. Because he can.”
Michel blinked. Jeremy blinked. Sophie… snorted? Michel didn’t feel triumphant that Emma stood up for him and put the other man in his place. Instead, something warm and aching spread through his chest. He had always been protected from physical threats, but people believed him to be invulnerable to petty hurts. The equanimity and… yes, the arrogance… instilled in him stopped him from expressing his true feelings, especially soft and frivolous feelings such as hurt and disappointment.
But that wasn’t how Emma saw him. All she saw was Michel Chevalier—someone human enough to feel the dig of insults, someone human enough to deserve her protection. Gratitude and greed filled him. This. This was what he stood to lose the moment he told Emma that he was the crown prince of Rouleme.
Everything would change once he became Prince Michel to her. She might be angry at first, but he wasn’t too worried about that. She would come to understand his reasons for the secrecy soon enough. But she would never look at him the same way again. People looked at Prince Michel with fascination and calculation—a mixture of awe and avarice. They saw him as someone they could gain something from.
To Emma—at least for now—he was just Michel. A person with vulnerabilities and insecurities like everyone else. He was starved for the kind of genuine affection that she offered. He didn’t want to let this go. He wanted… no, needed… to stay Michel for as long as possible.
“What is it you Americans say?” Sophie couldn’t hold back her smirk as she held out a fist to Emma, who bumped it with relish. “Burn.”
“Ladies”—Jeremy put a theatrical hand to his chest—“you wound me.”
“Nobody likes a bully, oppa.” Emma grinned and gave his shoulder a light punch.
“Yeah, sure. Your boyfriend’s rich, and I’m just a lowly pediatrician. You sure put me in my place.” Her godbrother tousled her hair. “I apologize for flaunting my prowess at paying for dinner on the sly. I admit he was an unsuspecting opponent.”
Michel found Jeremy slightly less irritating when he took being ganged up on by the two women with good humor. But something Emma said niggled at the back of his mind. Oppa? Was that some kind of nickname she had for him? And Jeremy became thoroughly irritating again.
“What does ‘oppa’ mean?” Michel asked casually. Or attempted to. The slight arch of Sophie’s eyebrow told him that he’d failed miserably.
“It literally means ‘older brother,’ but it’s also just what you call someone who’s older than you,” Emma explained, her head quirking to the side. “Well, what a younger girl calls an older boy. But not a lot older, because then you would call him ‘ajeossi.’ Ugh. It’s a little complicated.”
“Oh? How old are you?” He assumed she was in her midtwenties, which put him squarely in the older male category—but hopefully not old enough to render him an ajeossi.
“Twenty-eight.” Suspicion narrowed her eyes.
“I’m thirty-four,” he said meaningfully.
Jeremy burst out laughing. “It’s a Korean thing, man.”
“Well, I’m learning more about your culture”—he spread his hands—“such as the honor of paying for your party’s meal, so I don’t see how this is any different.”
“You want me to call you ‘oppa’?” Mischief swiftly replaced the surprise on Emma’s face. “I’ll call you ‘oppa’ when you’re being an exasperating ass… oppa.”
“Fair enough.” Michel chuckled, jealousy at last loosening its grip on him.
“But it’ll be a shame.” She glanced up at him from underneath her lashes. “Because I like saying your name, Michel.”
His sheepish laughter died in his throat, and his mouth dried up. He was suddenly done with this meet and greet. He wanted Emma alone.
“Then I’ll take great care not to be an exasperating arse, because nothing’s sweeter than hearing you say my name,” he murmured in a low voice.
Emma’s lips parted on a quick intake of breath, and a blush blossomed on her cheeks. Their gazes locked, and their surroundings seemed to melt away. His throat worked to swallow as the urge to touch her became nearly unbearable.
“For Christ’s sake,” Jeremy hissed.
“My sentiments exactly,” Sophie said dryly.
Michel gave his head a sharp shake in an attempt to regain his composure. They were in the middle of a crowded restaurant with Jeremy and Sophie at their sides. He shouldn’t be giving serious consideration to reaching across the table to kiss Emma senseless over burning charcoal. But she held his eyes, ignoring their friends. When her lips curved into a soft smile, full of promise, Michel gave up trying to break free of her hold. It was a losing battle from the start.
With a long, heavy sigh, Sophie said, “Thank you so much for dinner, Jeremy.”
“My pleasure,” he replied with smooth charm. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“Your—” Sophie swallowed the Highness that nearly slipped and came to stand at his side. “Michel.”
