Page 6 of That Prince is Mine
“Yes, of course.” He practically threw her hand back at her, bowed stiffly, and speed walked out of the café. Who knew androids could move so quickly?
Once he was out of sight, Emma dropped back into her seat and cradled her forehead in her palm. Her fifth matseon had gone down in a blaze of glory. She wasn’t proud of pouring lighter fluid all over it, but she just… couldn’t.
She always figured she would marry a nice, compatible man one day. “One day” just arrived sooner than she’d expected. Ideally, she wanted her culinary school to be well established before she split her attention to start her own family. But if flipping the order of her goals could secure her dream quicker, didn’t it make sense for her to get married first? Yes, it made total sense. Then what was her problem?
Am I being too picky? Am I just not ready to commit?
“These are for you.” Anne placed a trio of madeleines in front of Emma. “The gentleman at that table thought you might need some more of these.”
“What?” Emma followed her server’s line of sight, which led straight to the man who’d inspired her sugar and butter craving in the first place. At her questioning expression, he inclined his head with a hint of a smile. “Oh.”
“He also took care of your check”—Anne winked—“with a generous tip for me.”
“Oh,” Emma said again, her heart fluttering. Maybe not every bone in her body was as practical as she’d like. Maybe a part of her longed to experience romantic nonsense with a handsome stranger. Just a taste. Nothing more.
She barely heard her server say, “Let me know if you need anything else.”
When she looked across the café again, the man was absorbed in whatever he was doing on his laptop. It was just an act of kindness. He felt bad for her because her “date” had ditched her without paying for their drinks. He obviously didn’t want anything in return.
It was probably that last part that made Emma walk up to him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Michel stared at the PowerPoint slides for his next lecture without registering a single thing. His heart created an undignified ruckus in his chest, and his hairline grew damp with sweat. How did people do this kind of stuff? Or did they? Maybe he’d made an utter fool of himself by paying for the woman’s check.
But it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Her companion was well dressed and irritatingly good looking, but he had atrocious manners underneath the shiny veneer. The man abandoned her in the middle of their meeting and left without paying—not even for his own drink—which was abominably rude. Sure, the woman had deliberately chased him away by pretending to blow her nose in a cloth napkin, but it would not have been difficult to place a twenty on the table before leaving in a huff.
He forced himself to keep his gaze on his laptop screen. Her wide-eyed surprise at his gesture had been so lovely that he wanted to spend the rest of the evening stealing glances at her. But he didn’t want to make her think he’d paid for her check expecting something in return. It certainly wasn’t a part of any plan to woo her. He’d come up blank on how to go about doing that. He had just acted out of instinct. She deserved to be treated with respect—not unceremoniously dumped by some ill-mannered pretty boy.
“Um… hello.”
Michel jerked his head up at the hesitant greeting. Her voice was lower and huskier than he’d imagined, sending a jolt of awareness down his spine. The woman stood close enough for him to smell the citrus and floral notes of her perfume—crisp yet sweet. When he continued gaping at her without saying a word, she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, a pink blush staining her cheeks. Christ, she was beautiful.
“Hello.” He shook himself out of his stupor.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said at what must seem like his lukewarm welcome.
“Please,” Michel said loudly enough to draw sideways glances from the other customers, and shot to his feet. Gabriel would laugh his arse off when he heard about this. “Please. Have a seat. If you’d like, that is.”
“Yes.” She met his gaze with bright, intelligent eyes, and he braced himself against the sensation of falling into them. “I’d like that.”
So the first time hadn’t been a fluke. When their eyes met across the café earlier, his stomach had swooped as though he’d bungee jumped off a bridge. The world around them seemed to disappear—like time and place held no meaning—which he found profoundly disconcerting.
He never forgot where he was, who he was, why he was. He was Prince Michel, the future king of Rouleme. He always carried the responsibility—and yes, the privilege—with him, even when it felt like a heavy winter coat in the peak of summer. But when she looked at him, he could remember nothing but the fact that he was a man. While he tried and failed to swallow, she sat down across from him.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, tilting her chin up.
“Do what?” He gingerly lowered himself back into his seat, his knees not as steady as he’d like. He couldn’t decide if this was a friendly visit or not, but it thrilled him to finally speak with her.
“The check.” She arched a graceful eyebrow.
“Ah, that.” He ran his hand down the back of his head. Had it been presumptuous of him? God, he was so out of his depth here.
“Yes, that.” Amusement danced in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have minded paying for it myself.”
“Should I also not have sent those madeleines?” He wasn’t sure whether he owed her an apology for that as well.
“Who in their right mind refuses dessert?” She smiled, a tiny but deep dimple blinking at one corner of her mouth. “And I never said you shouldn’t have paid for my check. I said you didn’t have to.”
