Page 95 of That Prince is Mine
“I’ve had worse.” She grabbed her side, fighting for her breath. “You have to grow a thick skin when you have Jeremy for a godbrother.”
With a wry shake of his head, Michel led Emma toward the main entrance. She shivered when they stepped out into the night, and he ran his hand up and down her bare arm. He wanted to get her out of the cold, but he was equally impatient to get her alone. He mentally recalled the combination to the safe in his bedroom that held his mother’s ring. He’d felt like an optimistic fool bringing the ring with him, but now he was relieved he had it with him. He couldn’t propose to Emma without it.
“My prince,” Sophie said in a low voice, materializing at his side. “I have some news—”
“Not now.” He cringed at how terse that came out. “Sorry, Sophie. We’ll talk later.”
“But…” His friend sighed. “Of course. I had the car brought over. Right this way.”
He had no idea how Sophie had known when they would be out, but he was grateful for the waiting car. He ushered Emma in first, then got in beside her. He tugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her. She watched with exasperated affection as he buckled her seat belt for her.
“You don’t need to coddle me, Michel,” she admonished with a small smile.
“Let me.” He held her gaze and ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “I want to.”
Once Michel secured his own seat belt, Sophie pulled smoothly away from the curb and glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “Where to?”
“Do you mind coming over to the hotel for a short while?” He swallowed. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Oh?” Her eyes went wide with curiosity. “What about?”
“I’ll tell you when we’re alone.” His voice came out in a husky croak.
“Ah.” Her lips curved into a knowing smile that shot straight to his groin. For once, that wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, but he couldn’t say it was far behind. “I’m looking forward to our talk.”
Even though Sophie had probably heard everything, he belatedly answered her question, “To the hotel, please.”
He thought his friend muttered something under her breath. But when he shot a questioning glance at her, she merely said, “Of course, Your Highness.”
Michel’s brows furrowed at her terse response, and he had an unwelcome premonition that the night might not go as he’d planned.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Emma loved that Michel was more relaxed and easygoing in her presence, but he was still buttoned-up and proper in public—which made complete sense since he was a prince who’d been groomed to be king one day. Well, she still floundered with the fact that he was a prince, but it did help her understand him a little better.
But tonight, as they walked through the hotel lobby, he was positively brimming with tension, his hand gripping hers tightly. Sophie tried to get his attention a few times, looking uncharacteristically flustered, but he remained lost in thought. Emma studied him silently, hoping to figure out what was bothering him.
When they got off the elevator, Sophie didn’t head to her suite for an evening of across-the-foyer surveillance. She hovered nearby, going as far as to wring her hands once or twice. Michel seemed to notice none of it. Clicking her tongue, the royal guard finally pulled him aside by his arm and whispered something in his ear.
“She’s here?” He pointed to his suite. “Now?”
“Yes,” Sophie said tightly. “That is what I needed to speak to you about.”
With a long sigh, Michel unlocked his door and held it open for Emma. Before she could walk in, he quietly informed her, “I’m sorry, but it seems I have a guest tonight.”
“Cousin Michel,” a high, childlike voice declared from the living room. “You’re here at last.”
He had a smile on his face as he strode toward the raven-haired beauty and Gabriel, who sat on one of the settees with his head in his hand.
“Marion,” Michel said smoothly, “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“If I may.” Gabriel raised his hand. “I am apparently a party pooper. My suggestion that she spend the night in San Francisco and fly down tomorrow morning was deemed asinine by my dear sister. So she helicoptered in like a spoiled brat—”
“Hey.” Marion—who apparently was Gabriel’s sister—pouted her pillowy pink lips. “You know I hate being called that. It was much more reasonable for me to join you sooner than to spend a night alone in a strange city. Wouldn’t you agree, Sophie? For my safety and all that?”
“Yes.” Sophie’s voice was as dry as an overcooked Thanksgiving turkey. “So very reasonable. I’m sure your security team was thrilled you needed to rush here to feel safe.”
“See?” Marion beamed at Michel, completely missing the other woman’s sarcasm.
