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“Which means I’m right.”
“In more ways than I want to give you credit for.” I slumped against another tree. “Which wouldn’t be a problem at all, if the Sancti airport hadn’t been turned back into a jungle.”
“And now?”
Weighted sigh. “Now, I don’t know what to do. What to think…”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t what?” I countered. “Think?”
His huff held up to mine. “It’s called raw instinct, Luce. And sometimes, indulging it is better than fighting it.”
I let a sound burst out, scoffing and gagging at once. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Best way to kill a star is to let it go supernova,” he rebutted at once—my first clue that he really wasn’t kidding. “So speed up the process. Feed the explosion.”
“Fine idea, Galileo,” I cracked. “Only there’s a huge fly on the telescope, and her name is Ambyr Stratiss. Remember her? The woman who’s going to be wearing the man’s engagement ring any day now?”
“But not yet.” He sang the last word, modulating it like a celebratory aria. “Anything can happen, my darling. You know it as well as I do.” He tsked with grand emphasis. “Now aren’t you happy about all the reality TV binges?”
I raised him by a cluck, tossing in a brutal growl. “This isn’t TV, dammit.”
“Which only makes it more romantic.” He had the nerve to sigh the words. Even bigger balls to add, “True princesses start in the magic of the heart. And let’s face it. ‘Princess Lucina’ has a damn nice ring—”
“No.” I didn’t just cut him off. I snarled him into silence, using the vehemence to mask the truth crashing through me, the terror threatening to crush me.
Princess Lucina.
No fucking way.
Yeah, okay; like every little girl, I’d once dreamed of being a princess—for five seconds. That was before I grew up and realized the truth about princesses. They wore big dresses to keep the world at arm’s length. They wore white gloves because they weren’t allowed to get dirty. Palace balls were another word for scripted boredom, and castles were another word for gilded cages.
The angels hadn’t crafted me to be a princess.
I liked dirty dancing and dirtier words. Leather skirts and fingerless gloves, both in black. Ballroom floors were my playground only when I orchestrated someone else’s happy-ever-after, and that was just the way I liked it. Being on the periphery of the fairy tale meant one didn’t have to live it—or explain why their version of it started in the castle’s dungeon.
Arcadia needed a real princess, to stand at the side of its new hero—a knight with a spirit as stunning as his face, and with courage as boundless as his passion. A leader who could rely on a normal princess. A woman who—
“Lucina.”
Who didn’t turn at the sound of his voice, and instantly yearn to drop to her knees for him.
Then dream of having him drag her into the forest with him. Naked.
Then shake so badly from that desire, she dropped her phone into the dirt—and left it there. Then stood like a mute idiot, watching as he scooped the thing up and pressed it to his ear.
“Bon sonar?” Shiraz’s face warmed by just a degree. His lips—holy shit, how had I forgotten the incredible curves of his lips?—tilted up at the edges. “Ah, Mr. Lowe. It is indeed nice to speak with you again. Merderim for your concern; all is well.” The light in his eyes began to rival the sun on the waves for gleaming brilliance, especially as Ez went on longer about something. I strained to pick up even snippets of words but Shiraz kept the thing tightly pressed against his ear.
Dammit, Ezra. You’d better be sharing nothing with the man but a great recipe for guacamole.Nothing, across every chiseled inch of Shiraz’s face, told me differently. He looked like any other demigod prince shooting the shit on the phone with a friend. In the middle of a lush palm tree forest lining a postcard-perfect beach. In the wake of a rare Mediterranean hurricane. In front of the woman he’d screwed into half a dozen incredible orgasms the night before last…
The woman whose heartbeat surely registered on the decibel scale as he ended the call with Ez.
Who watched every move he made now, tongue working over her lips, as he turned off the device then secured it into a pocket of his cargo pants. Who noticed he was still wearing cargo pants instead of his high-fashion office threads, topped by a Henley in a color matching his eyes. Whose heart tripped several beats as those eyes darkened, fastening to her with deliberate intent…
Who then stammered lamely, “Uh…hey.”
He didn’t move. Just regarded me like a gorgeous hunk of coastal rock, letting my words soak around him before finally stating, “Hello, tupulai.”
