Page 28 of Stolen Princess

He smiles, and it’s not a friendly or charming smile. It’s one that says I shouldn’t fuck with him, and I take that threat seriously. He doesn’t need weapons, though he’s got the gun, and I have the knife. He’s not a small man, and I have no illusions that if he wanted to, he could overpower me.

Moreover, that shouldn’t make my blood surge through my veins, but it does.

Despite his bullshit ploy yesterday, he doesn’t want me that way, and while most of me is grateful and appreciative of that, the almost twenty-three-year-old virgin who’s never been kissed, let alone touched, has other thoughts and desires.

“Can I ask you something?” It comes out as a whisper, but I’m curious, and I want to know.

“What’s that?” he asks absently as he searches up and down the street.

“Don’t take this the wrong way because I don’t want to change it, and I’m not asking for compliments or anything. It’s simply that I have no frame of reference⁠—”

He shifts in front of me. “What? Just ask.”

It’s a lot harder to ask with his handsome face giving me his full attention. “You said I’m far from your type.”

He tilts his head. “Is that your question?”

“No. I mean, why am I not? Am I ugly? I don’t think I am, but I was told that men take what they want, and you haven’t tried anything. Not for real. It’s just that I don’t know how this works, and one day I’d like to. Obviously not with you, but one day, and—” I cut off my rambling. He got the point. I fold my arms and shift my weight, more than a little humiliated that I asked.

A smile sweeps across his face, and he emits a small chuckle. “Fuck, you’re unexpected. We’re sharing a bed tonight. I’m not sure you want my real answer.”

I don’t know what that means other than I shouldn’t have asked.

“Forget it. Dumb question.”

I start to walk away when he catches my hand and spins me back to him. His other hand cups my chin, and his thumb rests on my bottom lip. My breath hitches, and his smile grows as his green eyes flitter around my face.

“You’re beautiful. Honestly, you’re stunning. Way too good for someone like me. That’s what I meant when I said you’re not my type. Some men take what they want regardless of whether it was offered to them. I do the same with many things, but sex isn’t one of them. Okay?”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and his thumb drags my bottom lip before swiping down my chin. I manage a nod, and he releases me.

“Let’s find some food. I think we both need a breather.”

He’s right. Being here is completely insane. Yet I can’t deny how liberating and exhilarating it is. This is the real world, and so far, no one has tried to kidnap me. Then again, it’s not exactly the safest place to be, and I know he’s aware of that, though he doesn’t seem bothered, just cautious and on alert.

Regardless, I can’t help but people-watch. This is so surreal.

He drags me up the block, still holding my hand. It’s likely because he’s afraid I’ll run off, but he’s holding my hand, and I’m letting him because no one has ever held my hand before, and I know I shouldn’t, but I love it. It tickles my insides like a feather.

I’m trying very hard to hate him and heed his warnings, but I’m not all that good at it.

“I can buy lunch,” I offer. “Or is it dinnertime?”

“Something in between, but I don’t care about definitions. I’m bloody starving. There’s a pub up the road we passed. It was dark and smelled of beer and grease.”

He gives me a hard tug in the direction of the pub he mentioned. Matty’s Irish Pub, it reads, which makes me giggle slightly. We’re in Messalina, somewhere near Italy. I know because my mother only speaks Italian to me, yet people are speaking French around here too. And instead of Italian or French food, he picked this one.

There are six people total in here, and all of them are at the bar drinking by themselves. There’s no music playing, no talking. Barely any lights. The wood tables appear to have the same film covering them as the windows. No one glances up as we enter, and Rhys sighs in contentment.

“Perfect.”

I guess this is what pubs are like? Somehow, I had something different pictured in my head.

I’m hauled up to the bar and shoved onto a stool.

“What will you have?” the bartender asks, his accent Italian even as she speaks in French, which I don’t fully understand. Maybe the national language of Messalina is French? Maybe we’re closer to France than I ever knew? So many things I don’t know, and I hate that feeling.

I look at Rhys. I have no clue, but how great is this?