“Which is exactly how I feel about Jake.” Alex grinned at me as the car turned onto the grounds of Kensington Palace and made its way to her door. “Here’s my stop. I’m glad we had this time together today, Kyra. Let’s plan something soon—with Daisy, too.”
“Definitely.” I leaned toward my sister-in-law for one of the careful hugs that was routine in this family I’d married into. I’d come to realize that the formal gestures which seemed so foreign to me were genuine marks of affection in the Windsor clan. They meant as much as the exuberant embraces and smacking kisses that were hallmarks of my own more tactile family.
After the car door closed, I watched the graceful, elegant princess who was my sister-in-law disappear into her lovely home before the driver eased away from the curb, making the short trip to my own cozy cottage. I felt a twinge of envy that Alex was going home to her husband, while my house was empty for another day.
But I knew I’d survive being alone. I was my own woman, strong and capable even when I was ga-ga in love with my own handsome prince. Then, once Nicky was back with me, we had a promising weekend in the country ahead of us ... and that was definitely something I’d enjoy anticipating.
“WHAT HAVE WE HERE?I thought I’d married Cinderella, but maybe I was wrong. It seems Sleeping Beauty is in my bed, instead.”
Gladness surged through me as I rolled over, tugging the covers from where they’d tangled around my hips and blinking. “Nicky! You’re home.”
He bent over me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I am. Prince Charming, come to wake the sleeping princess.”
My forehead wrinkled. “Pretty sure Charming is the love interest of Snow White. Sleeping Beauty’s OTL is Prince Philip.”
Nicky nudged me over and sat on the edge of the bed. “First of all, dare I ask, what is OTL?”
I smiled smugly, my eyes still heavy. “One True Love. Duh.”
“Ahhhh, yes, how stupid of me. Second, you realize Prince Philip is my grandfather, right? I love Grandpa, but I don’t think any of us want him being your—uhh, OTL.”
“Ugh, no. You’re right. But there’s no Prince Nicky in the fairy tales. Not even in Cinderella’s story.”
He brushed my messy hair away from my face. “Who’s Cinderella’s fellow? Remind me.”
My brow furrowed as my sleep-addled brain tried to recall. “I don’t think he has a name. He’s just the Prince.”
“I see.” My husband eased the sheet down my body slightly, his eyes widening as he took in the expanse of my skin revealed. “Ah, well, didn’t you once tell me that you’re the anti-Cinderella? So I must be the anti-Prince.”
I stretched up my arms to wind them around his neck and tug his face down close to mine. “Whoever you are, I’m just so happy you’re home. I missed you.”
“Missed you, too, my love.” Nicky’s lips covered mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth until I opened for him. His kiss was languid, exploring and soft. I melted into his embrace.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep.” I spoke up when he paused to catch his breath. “I meant to wait up for you, but I was reading, and the next thing I knew, here you were.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I turned out to be a bit later than I’d planned.” He straightened up and traced a fingertip over my cheekbone. “I’m glad you got some rest.”
Now that I was more awake, I noticed the shadows under Nicky’s eyes and the scruff on his jaw. I liked that last improvement—I’d always found him extra sexy when he’d foregone shaving for a few days—but I knew that little bit of whisker-growth was frowned upon by the royal establishment. I had a sense that something was going on.
“I’d ask you how the conference went, but from the look in your eyes, I’m going to guess it didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.” My gaze steady on his face, I laced my fingers with his.
Nicky heaved out a long breath. “Yeah, you could say that. Actually, the meetings themselves were productive. It was what was happening outside the hotel that was ... disappointing. There were people marching each day, protesting the conference. Or rather, why it was held.”
“What exactly were they protesting?” The meeting hadn’t involved anything that seemed controversial or extreme to me; it was a symposium to discuss the impact of climate change.
“The very fact of us, apparently. From the signs I saw, it seems these were the groups who deny the existence of global warming. It’s hardly new, but they got a lot of coverage there, and they were a fucking nuisance. We had to be rerouted several times in order to get into the conference halls. And they’re obnoxious.” He ran one hand through his hair, drawing a deep breath. “I can support people who have a genuine cause. The environmental world has always had to make a bit of noise to be heard, so I’m used to that sort of thing. But these people were angry because we want to make the world better. They’d rather that we go back to polluting the air and the oceans. God forbid our efforts for clean soil and healthy food should impact their all-important lifestyle.”
It was rare that I heard that note of bitterness in my husband’s voice. “I’m sorry, Nicky. I know it’s hard when you’re working to make the world better, and it seems that so much of that world is working against you.” I hesitated for a minute, trying to figure out how to say what I was thinking. “You know that I’m on the same side you are, sweetheart, and you know how passionately I feel about what we’re trying to do. But these protestors ... some of them just don’t understand. When it comes to people like you and me, all they see is privilege. They assume that we’re out to change things so radically that their jobs, their very ways of life, could be destroyed. It’s fear driving those protests.”
“Maybe.” His skepticism was evident. “But that’s part of what we’re trying to do—to eliminate that kind of ignorance. The sort of willful burying one’s head in the sand that slows down our progress and means thousands of people will continue to go hungry, all so that these companies can continue to make their millions.” He snorted. “And those protestors think we’re operating from a position of privilege.”
“Hey.” I touched his chin. “It’s late. You’ve been away for three days. Take off your clothes and get into bed. I’ll help you take your mind off protestors and conferences.”
“Yeah, okay.” He stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re not wrong there. I’m glad to be home.”
“Your enthusiasm for my offer to distract you is overwhelming, Nicky.” I folded my pillow in half and sat up a little, yawning. “Please, please, calm down. Don’t rush into bed to jump my bones.”
His shoulders slumped, and his lips tightened. “Ky, I’m not—it’s not you. I’m just tired and pissed off and—”
