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The queen bent and scooped Georgie up under the belly. Cuddling him close to her chest, she smiled. “We’d be delighted if he’d be interested in taking the position.”
“Oh, I think he’d like that very much. We’ll have to arrange transport, though.”
She scratched Georgie’s head. “He can fly with us.”
“Will the airline allow it?”
“I’m quite certain it will be all right.” She glanced up at Gordon. “After all, I own the plane.”
Of course she did.
“Right. I’ll go pack, then.”
He headed up the stairs, his mind going a mile a minute. He needed to pack, get on the plane, and after that…he needed a plan. A good one. One that would show Belle he’d been trying to do the right thing when he’d hurt her, and that he never wanted to hurt her again. One that would make her give him a second chance before she saw the news.
If he had any luck, she’d forgive him. If he had any luck, she wouldn’t be angry he’d let her mother blast news of their “marriage” all over hell and back, before she said yes. And if he had any luck, she’d fall in love with him…
Because he was most definitely falling for her.
Chapter Seventeen
Isabelle stretched out on the massage table, which had been set up in her bedroom for privacy’s sake, and closed her eyes. George had apparently decided to send her here as a special gift to his “wonderful” fiancée, and she hadn’t had much choice in the matter when it came to accepting. They were probably on tenuous ground as it was, what with her rejecting his proposal and all, so she didn’t want to offend him. Didn’t want to risk losing everything for her people.
She’d already lost what she’d wanted. Happiness.
Truth be told, she was starting to think happy endings were more of a fairytale than actual fairytales. A myth, not to be taken seriously.
Not when it came to relationships, anyway.
Princesses don’t pout.
The door cracked open, and she faced downward. She didn’t want to see the person who would be running his or her hands all over her. It was embarrassing enough that she was stripped naked on a table with nothing more than a sheet covering her lady parts. With two guards watching over her.
Princesses don’t blush.
There were some hushed whispers, and then it sounded as if someone left. She hesitated, the hair on the back of her neck rising up. Her heart sped up, too, which was weird. Strong hands lowered on her back. She bit down on her lip. “Hello?”
“Shh,” the man whispered. “Let’s get you relaxed, hm?”
His voice sounded a heck of a lot like Gordon’s, but it had to be her mind playing tricks on her.
She curled her hands into fists. “Thank you.”
He made a reassuring sound, then starting rubbing her shoulders. Something in her stomach fluttered to life, something that only Gordon had ever awakened, and she clenched her jaw. So…her mind thought the voice was Gordon’s, and her body agreed.
Fabulous.
He kneaded her shoulders just like Gordon had all those nights ago, and she bit back a groan. God, this was going to be torture, if her body kept reacting this way. Princesses don’t come on the massage table. Okay, sure, her mother hadn’t told her that—but it had to be a rule.
It would be very undignified.
When he trailed his finger over her spine almost tenderly, she stiffened. “Um…” His touch moved lower, massaging her lower back, and her stomach did a flip-flop. “Mm.”
His hands paused. “That good, Princess Isabelle?”
“Y-Yes.” She gripped the massage table. “Thank you.”
“Mmhm.”
