Page 81 of Not Another Happily Ever After

Frog stumbles back a step, his breath hitching in his throat.

I take another step closer, and then another, until his back is flush against the carriage door.

“I believe this is the part where you sayyes,” I taunt softly, sinking my teeth into my lip.

Frog’s eyes flicker to my mouth, darkening a shade.

I have half a mind to cease the jest before it becomes something forbidden, when the pad of Frog’s thumb brushes across my bottom lip, slow enough to make my heart skip.

A shaky breath escapes me, and somehow his silence is louder than anything he could have said.

I lean into his feather-light touch, and on his thumb, bestow a gentle kiss.

Frog’s gaze falters, his dark lashes lowering as he drags in a trembling breath.

Without thinking I reach for his mask. But before I can pull it away, he stops me, gently wrapping his hand around mine and easing it from his face.

“Enjoy your bath, Miss Sunday,” he says, swallowing hard as he offers me one last heated glance. Then he opens the carriage door and steps out.

I really should have held onto a little more of that shame.

With an exaggerated sigh, I march toward the pail and begin to bathe, running the rag all over, except for where the warmth of Frog’s featherlight touch still lingers.

If I didn’t already hate the prince who owns my hand, tonight would have surely swayed me. For I cannot fathom ever being touched by another man, let alone a hollow-hearted heathen such as Thoren. Even if a life with him does mean a life under the sun.

I turn from the window, refusing to acknowledge the realm outside. The price of its beauty is far too high.

I think of Thoren’s hands on my body and scrub a little harder, paying special attention to the long tresses of my hair where the prince’s fingers once curled.

It’s the first night in a few days where I’ve truly been alone with my thoughts. No Buttons or Rhidland to soothe me.

I suppose I could call for them, but judging by the symphony of snores pouring in from outside, they’re likely already asleep.

It’s fine.

I’m fine.

It’s not like I’m on a dangerous trek through the disenchanted forest to marry the cruelest man this realm has ever had.

I lie on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the carriage ceiling when suddenly I hear something. A low, mournful thrum—the same one that had made a home within my tower.

Once was a coincidence, but twice?

Slowly, I peel myself off the carriage floor and crawl toward the window where the melody is loudest. My pulse dances beneath my skin as I peek just above the window’s lip to see?—

Frog? He’s standing with his arms folded across his chest, his brow quirked as he looks up at me.

My shoulders slump. There’s not a ghost to be seen, and the realm is once again quiet.

“You scared my ghost away.” I sigh as the hope of unmasking at least one of my mysterious men slips through my fingers.

Frog’s brows lift in question. Slowly he glances from side-to-side, humoring my madness.

“What’s this ghost look like? Perhaps I could help you find him,” he offers, but I don’t miss the amusement bracketing his eyes. “Is he well dressed? Translucent, maybe? How about feet, does he have those? Or does he just float about?”

I can’t help it, I burst into laughter.

“Frog!” I smile, tears in my eyes.