Page 94 of That Prince is Mine
“Yes?” He wasn’t quite sure how to interpret her reaction. Then she squealed and threw herself into his arms. He sighed with relief as he held her tightly against him. “Surprise.”
Her round eyes bounced around the exterior of the Victorian mansion as he guided her toward the entrance. Emma was tickled pink to say the magic words that granted them entry to the exclusive club.
“Open sesame,” she said with gusto. She promptly dissolved into giggles as the doors opened for them.
Dark wood panels and black carpet with gold brocade greeted them as they stepped inside. A dizzying amount of artwork and photos decorated the walls, nearly obscuring the burgundy wallpaper of the corridor. The decor felt like a cross between the glamour of old Hollywood and the opulence of the Titanic with generous sprinklings of the outlandish.
“This is so fun.” She tugged him along by his hand with a manic gleam in her eyes. “We have to see every nook and cranny. Watch every show. Try all the bars. We’re having dinner here, right?” At his indulgent nod—he would give her anything she asked for—she continued, “We might have to find a broom closet to hide in later so they won’t kick us out when it’s closing time.”
“Anything for you, darling Emma,” he said, cupping her face.
“Thank you for tonight.” She leaned into his hand, her eyes soft with affection. Before he could steal a kiss from her, she straightened and clapped her hands twice. “Okay. We have to hustle now.”
Even as they watched shows that defied logic as well as the laws of physics, he couldn’t look away from her. She was radiant. It made him unbelievably proud he put that smile on her face.
“Watch.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You’re going to miss it.”
The magic of the illusionists and mentalists sucked him in at last—he was simultaneously enthralled and a little alarmed—and the evening flew by in a blur. The cocktails they had consumed at the various bars probably contributed to the whirlwind effect.
“How do you think she made that—”
“Shh.” Emma pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t try to analyze it. Just believe.”
With a chuckle, he captured her hand in his and led her to the restaurant for their dinner reservation. The plentiful and hearty meal of beef Wellington and prime rib—they shared everything, of course—was a welcome reprieve, but brief, thanks to the efficient, well-oiled service.
“Would you like some dessert?” Michel suggested to linger a bit longer. “Or a digestif?”
“Ordinarily, you know I would never pass up dessert.” She folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “But tonight is extraordinary. We have too many things left to see.”
“I thought we watched all the featured shows.” His brows drew down.
“We did, but there are so many side shows. There are literally magicians in every corner.” She stood and tugged at his arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Unable to deny her anything, he followed her out of the restaurant. Michel was relieved when the crowd thinned out as the evening drew to a close. He had to get Emma alone. He had to tell her he loved her or his heart might explode. He’d waited long enough. No more second-guessing. No more being cautious. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. This would be the night he made her his.
Before he could coax her out of the castle, a portion of the wall seemed to split open, and a staff member stepped outside with a broom and a dustpan. They had passed by the seamless hidden panel in the corridor throughout the evening, none the wiser.
“Oh my gosh. The broom closet,” Emma whispered, squirming with excitement beside him. When the member of staff rounded the corner, she shoved Michel inside the clean but spartan storage closet and clicked the door shut.
“Emma,” he said, unable to hide his alarm, “you don’t truly intend to hide in here until everyone leaves?”
“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve just been wanting to do this all night.”
Then she launched herself at him hard enough to make him stumble into a metal shelf. But even the clattering of falling objects didn’t deter him from kissing her back with abandon, his arms circling her waist to hold her close to him. The shelving dug into his back and arse, but he couldn’t have cared less. God. The feel of her… the taste of her… He couldn’t get enough.
The gold sequins of her dress felt cold against his hands, and he growled in frustration. He needed to touch her skin—her silken, bare skin. But he had a sliver of rational thought left in his head to know that this wasn’t the place. Still, he couldn’t stop kissing her.
“Ahhh!” someone yelped from the doorway. “I’m sorry. I mean, you shouldn’t be in here. But… ugh.”
“It seems we took a wrong turn.” Michel pushed Emma behind him and arched a cool brow at the flustered staff member with the broom and dustpan. “Would you be so kind as to point us toward the front entrance?”
The staff member sighed with resignation. “Go all the way down this corridor and hook a left.”
Michel nodded with more dignity than he felt and rushed past the poor man with Emma tucked to his side. They were halfway down the corridor when he heard the staff member mutter, “Why is it always the broom closet?”
As soon as they turned left at the corner, they burst out laughing hard enough to need to lean on the wall for support.
“That”—he wiped the corner of his eyes with his knuckle—“was not my finest moment.”
