Another giggle. “Well we didn’t learn any of that in literature class.”
“That’s because it’s chemistry,” Katie said. Then she laughed and I felt the vibration all the way to my nuts.
As interesting as this all was, I wasn’t going to continue eavesdropping until I got caught by Mrs. Fletcher. The last thing I needed was one of her grandmotherly lectures. Besides, there was that force again, tugging me through the doorway, urging me to be near her. “Pardon the interruption, ladies.”
I said pardon. Shit. Rule number bullshit-hundred-fuckery-seven in the royal handbook: No apologies. No pardons. No excuses.
Grape Girl curtsied at the sight of me. I should’ve asked her name, but I didn’t give a shit. Not at the moment anyway. Katie was perched on top of the large kitchen island with an open book in her lap. Her dress had ridden up her thighs, exposing her flesh damn near all the way to where her ass met the granite. Somebody just fucking shoot me in the dick.
Never mind. Bad idea. I would need it later… when I was in my bed jacking off to the thought of shooting my load all over her tits and reminding her why wearing shit like that in public was a bad idea. I was hard just thinking about it, along with anyone with a penis who saw her today. Damn her. The first chance I got, I was burning that goddamn dress.
I took slow, deliberate steps toward the island, stopping so close that my hip brushed her calf. Then I slid the next month’s dinner menu across the island top. “I’m dropping this off for my mother.” I offered no explanation. No one needed to know why. Without moving an inch, I turned my attention to Katie. “Don’t let me stop you. By all means, keep going.”
Grape Girl took the menu. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”
Katie parted her lips and held my gaze. Her chest rose with her deep breath. Fuck. If her smart mouth wasn’t the death of me, those tits would be. If we weren’t sharing the kitchen with a girl who probably thought rim jobs were something you gave your car, I would adjust the hard-on currently painfully pressed against my zipper. Katie straightened her posture and glanced back at her book, then back at me before narrowing her eyes. “My apologies, Your Highness, but I’m afraid the content might offend you.”
Erotic poetry? I read steamier text messages than that.
I hated the way she spoke to me—prim, proper, and formal. Like she hadn’t had my dick in her hand less than twenty-four hours ago. Then again, I did make her feel like shit for doing it, so there’s that. I hated the words but loved the defiance behind them. At this rate, I was surprised neither one of us had whiplash.
“Try me,” I said.
She huffed a quiet laugh that said I did, and you ran... then tattled on me like a little bitch. She was right. Even though I might have paraphrased her thoughts a bit.
Katie cleared her throat and without looking back at the book, continued. “If a hand is touched by a hand, which is moved as though fingers touch a girl’s breast lightly… Do you believe in always?”
She stopped before the end, leaving me to finish. “I am too busy with my flowers to believe, the rain answered.”
“And here I was thinking you didn’t like the library,” Katie replied.
I smirked. “That book didn’t come from our library.”
“Well then…” She slid off the countertop, her sandals slapping the floor when she landed. Her breasts bounced, and I mentally cursed my hands for wanting to reach out and grab them. “I guess you’re just full of surprises.”
“You have no idea,” I called after her as she walked out of the kitchen.
I hadn’t been in the East Wing since I helped Mama set up her office. The East Wing was for the royals, which meant I stayed away. Right now, the only royal I wanted distance from was downstairs in the kitchen. The fact that I had a gift for my mama was even more reason to put as much space between me and Sutton Thorne as possible.
After last night, I had no idea what to expect from him. When the guard at the gate called Sutton to let me in, it was like watching Dr. Jekyll arm wrestle Mr. Hyde. His tone was so light at first, almost teasing. For a split second I thought he might even have been trying to joke. Then he turned ice cold. His clipped words made me feel like a chore he didn’t want to be bothered with, but his gaze told another story. The heat of it burned right through me. Then in the kitchen he managed to act semi-normal. And he knew Cummings. I gave him points for that at least. I hated the twisted confusion that churned in my gut every time I heard his voice or saw his face. He shouldn’t affect me. I couldn’t let him affect me.
Mama stood at the window behind her desk, deeply focused on the world outside the castle walls. The door to her office was open, but I still knocked.
“Katarina,” she said when she spotted me in the doorway.
My mother was the only person who ever called me by my given name. As far back as I could remember, Dad had always called me Katie. Mama would say, “If I’d wanted her to be called Katie, I would’ve named her Katie.” Dad just laughed. She’d get so flustered with him, and he’d always just laugh.
I missed that laugh.
“Hey, Mama.”
Her eyes were glossed over and her nose red as though she’d been about to cry. I felt an instant pang in my gut for coming here. Timing was never my friend.
“I brought you something.” I held a plastic container full of strawberries in front of me. “They’re from the farm.”
“Katarina—”
“I know. It’s not our farm anymore. I just…” I cleared my throat and regrouped. “I just thought it would be nice to have them.” I set the container on her desk then met her at the window and took her hand in mine. “I talked to the new owner. He has a produce stand at the farmer’s market. He says the farm is doing well and that he’d love for me to come by sometime. He wants me to see it.” I paused. “I’m happy for him. Dad would be happy too. Don’t you think?”
Mama squeezed my hand. “Of course.”
There was so much weight in those two words, so many things left unspoken. Of course the farm is doing well. Of course you should go see it. Of course your father would be happy. Of course I think it’s time to let it go.
Maybe that’s what she was doing when I walked in—letting it go—but I couldn’t. I had too many questions.
We stared out the window in silence, hand in hand. I laid my head on her shoulder. Her window overlooked the East Garden, as I supposed all the windows in this wing did. The South Garden, my garden, was beautiful by all rights, but the East Garden took my breath away. There was color everywhere. From the manicured hedges to the perfectly displayed beds of peonies and lilacs, no detail was left unattended. There were statues and fountains. And ducks—beautiful gray ducks with bright green heads.
“Why?” I lifted my head and met Mama’s eyes. “Why didn’t you fight?”
It was one question—one of a million. Surely that wasn’t too much.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Then she dropped my hand and walked toward her desk. Mama’s office was immaculate, just like her. In the middle of the room, a wool rug full of jewel-toned colors covered the hardwood floor. One wall was lined with bookshelves while another displayed timeless artwork. Her desk looked like it had been sculpted from wood by Michelangelo himself. There was so much detail carved into each one of the legs. If this were Mama’s office, I could only imagine what the queen’s must have looked like.