“Your mother…,” Anderson breathes.
“Yes. My dad told his navy buddies it was love at first sight. Unfortunately, she had a boyfriend at the time. And three young boys.”
“But they weren’t married? Your mother and this boyfriend?”
“No.” I furrow my brows. “I never figured out why. One of my dad’s navy buddies thought my mom was a romantic at heart, at least back then. That she knew her boyfriend wasn’t her soul mate. But my father was. After the funeral, they stayed in touch. Sent letters to each other, which I find extremely romantic, especially nowadays when most couples send texts asking to hook-up. Over the course of a year and dozens of letters, they fell in love. My mom left her boyfriend, married my father, and three years later, I was born.” I give him a smile.
“Wow…” Anderson blinks, seemingly surprised by this. “That sounds incredibly…sweet.”
“You didn’t expect that?”
“Based on what I know of your mother? No.”
“She wasn’t always the way she is now. She used to be…nice. Loving. It wasn’t until my father passed away that she changed. When he died, a part of her did, too. She became a different person, someone I barely recognize. And it’s only gotten worse with every man she marries and realizes he isn’t my father. Will never be my father. I think that’s why…” I trail off.
“Why what?” he presses.
I shrug sheepishly. I haven’t told him about my most recent conversation with my mother. I didn’t think it mattered. It still doesn’t.
“Remember. No secrets.”
I draw in a breath, slowly shifting my gaze toward his. “Why she accused me of doing the same thing with you after she learned of our engagement.”
“When?”
“She called me a few weeks ago.”
He forces me to stop walking and peers at me with frantic eyes. “I’d left explicit instructions with your private secretary that she was not to get through to you. I—”
I place my hand on his cheek, placating him. “She manipulated him. Made him think it was a call from the hospital about Chloe.”
He takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. “What did she say?”
“Other than being pissed about not receiving an invitation to our wedding, she claimed I’m only marrying you because of a shared traumatic experience.”
He blows out a laugh. “That’s why you shouldn’t marry me.”
“True. But the heart can’t be reasoned with. And despite it all, my heart still wants you.”
He leans down, our lips meeting in a soft kiss. “My heart will always want you.”
I link my fingers with his once more as we continue along the river, a comfortable silence between us. It reminds me of the miles we traveled together along Route 66, neither one of us saying anything, simply enjoying the serenity. I once hated silence, needed to fill it with conversation, particularly around someone I didn’t know well.
But from the beginning, I didn’t feel that way around Anderson.
He truly became the stranger I recognized, as a fortune teller predicted would be the man who owned my heart.
“How about you?” I ask after a while. “How did your parents meet?”
“My mum was jumping one of her horses at competition and my dad happened to have a polo match on the next field. When the match was over, he headed back to his car and saw my mum. Said he was mesmerized. Couldn’t look away. So he stayed. Then he found out her name and the rest of her competition dates. Made sure to be there. It was a slow-build romance, much like your parents. They started as friends, I suppose, although there was always something else there. But my father couldn’t date publicly without the media going crazy over it, even though he was second in line at the time.
“So they dated in private for a while because they both understood once they went public with their relationship, they’d be pushed toward marriage. My father knew she had strong ambitions and respected those.”
“What kind of ambitions?”
While I’ve learned quite a bit about his mother through all my princess training, they didn’t go over any personal aspects of the woman who gave Anderson life.
“She loved animals. Was studying equine science and wanted to eventually work with horses. By the time she finished her schooling, my aunt and uncle already had four kids. So my father was now sixth in line to the crown and didn’t need my grandfather’s approval to marry any longer. Regardless, he asked for it, and they were married about a year later. But despite the fact she was now a princess, she never stopped caring about her horses. Even when she became queen consort, most of her time at the palace was spent in the stables.”
“I wish I could have met her,” I say after a beat.
“She would have loved you. You have the same…attitude toward this life.”
I chuckle. “The same disregard for the rules, you mean?”
“Exactly.” He pulls me to a stop and loops an arm around my waist, yanking my body into his. “But I wouldn’t change anything about you.”
“And I wouldn’t change anything about you.”
Digging his free hand through my hair, he presses his mouth against mine, coaxing my lips apart. Even his kisses feel different in this city. More poignant. More powerful. More potent.
“What do you say to going to my absolute favorite spot in Paris?” he murmurs against my mouth.
“And what’s that?”
“The view from our suite, of course.”
While I’ve enjoyed roaming Paris with Anderson, this entire day has been one big tease, my desire for him increasing with every second. I want nothing more than to lock ourselves in our suite and never come out.
“I’d love to,” I answer.
I barely utter a single syllable before he clutches my hand in his and hurries me in the direction of our hotel.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Anderson
The door to the room doesn’t have a chance to close before I slam Nora against the wall, my mouth claiming hers. Maybe it’s this city. Maybe it’s being away from my responsibilities for the weekend. Maybe it’s just Nora. I don’t know. But an animalistic craving unlike any I’ve ever experienced overtakes me. I grind my hips against hers, my tongue plunging deeper into her mouth, an addict desperate for his next high.
“Did you bring your camera?” Nora pants when I pull away, peppering hungry kisses along her jawline, nipping at her flesh. Gripping her thigh, I force her leg around my waist.
“My camera? Why?” I tug her closer, squeezing her ass.
“Because…” She moans when I cover her nipple with my mouth through her dress and bra. “I want you to take my photo. Like you did in Santa Monica.”
My muscles tighten at the memory of snapping her photo as she slept. How a few innocent photos turned into one of the most erotic experiences of my life.
I pull back, peering down at her. “Really?”
Her sultry eyes trained on me, she nods. “Yes. But even naughtier.”
“I’d be a fool to say no to that.”
Releasing my hold on her, I stride farther into the suite. I unzip my camera bag and retrieve the body, attaching a lens to it.