Her alarm flared at the intensity of his stare, until she demanded, “What?”
He grinned. “Breakfast.”
Frankie emerged from his bathroom and suspected she finally understood why people went to day spas. She was used to handsy shower curtains and a vanity mirror that refused to show her head and torso at the same time, but Kris’s vast, cream-tiled bathroom offered every luxury. The showerhead had the circumference of a patio table, a silver lever had brought water cascading down a glass wall in a gushing waterfall and a small sweep of tiled steps descended to a pool the size of his palatial bed. She’d run her toes over the surface, vowing to put it to good use later, and dried herself with a towel as soft as powdered sugar. Lush indoor plants grew green in large pots and dripped from high tiled ledges, while the lighting was the holy grail of illumination, displaying her skin at its healthiest in the full-length mirror. There were no bags or blemishes in sight, and she decided she was happy to be fooled by such clever visual trickery.
Kris waited for her beside the bed, dressed in jeans and a green plaid shirt.
She froze at what he was holding.
“For you.” He quirked a brow and held the folded clothes out to her.
She didn’t move. “What’s that?”
“Your uniform.”
“Interesting.” She defaulted to an easy defense even though he’d see right through it. “Is it kink or a power trip to make me exhibit my lower status now that you’ve dominated me?”
Features tightening, he said, “Don’t even try it.”
She crossed her arms against the alarm pounding in her chest.
“You’ve never thought much of yourself, Frankie,” he said. “After everything you told me last night, I understand why. But it’s time to move on. You’re worthy of your title. You grew up scamming the streets, sure, but you earned this position. You’re head of personal security to my family and it’s time you accepted that. This uniform won’t push you further beneath me. It’ll bring you closer.” He extended it toward her again. “Wear it.”
The folded navy trousers and shirt had gold-edged seams. It would mark her as an official employee of the crown—signal her status above her team and most other palace staff. It would prove that she’d done what she’d dreamed of after graduating high school. Found a better life—become something good.
“It’s not part of a con,” Kris said. “It’s not a costume. You won’t be deceiving anyone. It’s you.”
She rolled her lips together and hated that she couldn’t stop staring at the neatly folded clothes. She wanted them so badly.
“You deserve to be here.” He didn’t move closer, but she sensed he wanted to. “Not just with me, or because of me. You deserve this in your own right. If we’d never met, you’d still deserve to work here, doing what you do.”
It was a nice blue. Bold and respectable. A dignified blue.
“I trust you,” he said. “Now you need to trust me.”
Her pulse skipped. This prince trusted her to protect him.
“Take them, for God’s sake,” he said. “I’m hungry.”
It was the prompt she needed. Avoiding his stare, she snatched the pile from him, not sure how else to handle the significance of finally possessing her worth.
“Good,” he said quietly.
The fabric was cool, sturdy. Her finger moved along the bottom fold of the trousers, out of sight, stroking the weave in both caution and disbelief.
Then Kris held out an empty palm.
Her gut fell. This uniform would lead her forward—and he was making sure no one could look back the way she’d come.
With her uniform pressed to her chest, she found her bag from the night before. Returned to his side.
And handed him her brass knuckles.
His fingers closed over the cut of metal and the spiked tips seemed to cut into her lungs.
“You won’t regret this,” he murmured.
Throat tight, she nodded.
“Get changed.” His gaze was soft with understanding. “Let’s see who you really are.”
12
Kris settled on a satisfied grin when Frankie stepped into his sitting room, tugging self-consciously at her top shirt button. Better to not make a big deal about how she was made for that uniform. The cut of the trousers, the crisp-edged collar, the status symbol of the gold thread. When she stopped fiddling, it would tap into her air of command and send it skyrocketing.
“That’s just how top buttons feel,” he said, and stood. “Ready?”
Hand lowering, she glanced around. “Where’s this breakfast you promised?”
“In the blue parlor,” he said. “Where I eat breakfast every morning.”
Unease flashed in her eyes. “I thought we’d eat here together.”
“No. We’ll eat there together.”
She swallowed. “In front of people?”
“You’re the one who told the guards about us.” He gestured for her to lead the way out, mainly to ensure she didn’t try to hide under the bed. “I won’t touch you outside of this room. To anyone who doesn’t know, I’m just a prince walking with a member of the royal guard. Nothing suspicious about that.”
She looked wary, but jerked her chin up and strode across the room. He followed, and as she reached for the door handle, it hit him that this was their first day as a couple. Him and Frankie. When they went their separate ways after breakfast, they’d still be together. His heart swelled so big that he reached around her to hold the door shut, sliding his other arm around her stomach, stealing one last moment of contact.
She shot a look up at him over her shoulder and muttered, “I really should expect this by now. What?”
“I love you.”
He was allowed to say it—allowed to watch the words seep into her like sunlight.
Every trace of strain left her face and she smiled, cheeks pink, and gave a little nod. Unable to stop himself, he angled his head and kissed her, and for a while, all he knew was her taste.
“Alright, I get it,” she said, pushing him off and looking flustered.
Laughing, he drew back so she could open the door. The first awkward moment—for Frankie—happened immediately, when she emerged to find Peter and Hanna standing guard. The pair bowed as Kris stepped out behind her, pretending not to notice that their superior had spent the night with their prince.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” Peter greeted, straightening. “Ma’am.”
“Morning,” he said. “We’re off to breakfast.”
Frankie’s face was bright red. She looked mortified and ready to bolt.
“I’ve heard it’s pancakes this morning,” Hanna said politely.
“Great.” His stomach rumbled. “Frankie loves pancakes. Don’t you?”
She flung a desperate I-don’t-know-if-I-can-do-this glance at him.
He casually slid his thumb into his front pocket and waited.
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth.
He smiled. There—she’d contributed to the conversation. The first step toward a future where she’d walk out his door and greet his guards in her stride.