Page 71 of Tabloid Princess

“Just one?”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, Leia, but your thoughts are all over your face.”

I cringed, my cheeks burning, trying to ignore the way my name sounded coming out of his mouth. “It’s been mentioned. Occasionally.”

“Only occasionally? You surprise me.”

Without thinking, I flicked my hand out to bat him lightly on the stomach and we both paused. Did I just hit the future King of England? I did. I did.

“Why don’t you have any security here? Aren’t you worried? Like, I know you want your privacy, but surely your safety is just as important. There are nutters everywhere.”

He stilled while he mulled over my question. “This place is important to me. And yes, there is security. It’s guarded front and back while I’m here. But, if someone knew; if the press turned up one night, or the privacy I crave was encroached, then I’d move on. I’d find somewhere else. At the end of the day they are just four walls.”

“Why do you risk it then?” We hadn’t moved from the door. I could still turn around and leave. I think he let me hover there on purpose, so I could turn and go if I wanted to.

“Because I get to be myself here.”

My mouth opened slightly. His gaze fell to my parted lips. “Oh.”

Who was he when he was himself?

Was he the man in the car, stiff and formal, his words battling to express themselves?

Was he the man on the balcony, his hands able to control me with just a simple touch?

Or was he the man in front of me, his body relaxed, his smile more natural than I’d ever seen it. So natural and so breathtaking it made my chest squeeze.

Maybe he was all three. A diamond with three sides, each facet catching the light as and when he needed.

“Are you staying?” This was the final time he’d ask. I knew it. He knew it.

Turn around. Turn around. My brain screamed its survival instruction at me. But my body, and my heart wanted something else.

“Yes.”

Fifteen

“So, when do you go to the palace to do ‘princey things?’”

We stood in the middle of the large living space, my tour now effectively over. I’d stood mesmerised by a Grand piano when he’d told me it was his to play.

Now, his face lit with a wide smirk and he lifted an eyebrow. “I tend to do ‘princey things’ most of the day and then only come here once my official engagements are over.”

“Do you get hand ache or ligament damage from shaking so many hands all day long?”

“Leia! I do other things than just shake hands.” Chuckling, he motioned me over to the kitchen area, where he picked up a bottle of wine with a French label and showed it to me. “Is red okay? Or I’ve got some beers in the fridge.”

He made it all sound so normal.

He seemed so normal.

The stiff man in his smart clothes, his expression torn, was nowhere in sight.

He’d made a decision. I could sense the finality in the way he moved.

“Sure. Red is fine.” I nodded my agreement and avidly watched him as he pulled a corkscrew from a small drawer and went about twisting it into the top of the bottle. My eyes refused to stop staring at his muscles under his T-shirt. “So what do you do if it’s not just shaking hands?” I asked.