Exactly as planned.
Piper plucks an olive from the little charcuterie box and squints at me over the top of her sunglasses, like she’s trying to decide if I’m edible. “So, Your Highness, are you going to stare at me all day, or are you going to eat something before you faint and leave me with your security detail for company?”
“That depends.” I tilt my head. “Is this brie pasteurized, or are you trying to assassinate me?”
She grins, dimples flashing. “I wouldn’t need brie. Just a smile and a camera.” Her gaze lingers on me for a moment, and I can practically hear the click of the shutter in her head, capturing this moment for later dissection.
Nolan, standing about fifty meters away with arms folded and sunglasses on, looks like a redwood tree that’s learned to walk and now deeply regrets it. Elliot is closer, seated on a bench with a paperback open and a gaze that never leaves my periphery. Somewhere, another team from Ravenwood Shield is blending in with the families and joggers, all on high alert for anyone who wants to make international headlines at the expense of a famous pop star and a royal embarrassment.
For the record: it’s working. I let my posture loosen just enough to pick up a strawberry and bite into it.
Piper shifts so that the sun picks up the pink streaks in her hair. “I thought this would be a lot more awkward.”
“You should see me at actual dates,” I protest. “The last time, I spent the first half hour talking about how yeast is technicallyalive and the rest apologizing for being a nerdy baker, which is incredibly not prince-like.”
She tilts her chin, amused. “Let me guess, you ended up baking them sourdough?”
“Worse,” I admit. “Croissants. It was a three-day process and it turned into a hostage situation. But she enjoyed them in the end.”
She laughs, bright and sharp, and then drops her voice. “Do you really think they’re getting enough photos from over there?”
I don’t need to look. I can feel the press, a low-frequency hum just behind the tree line. “If you want, we could move a little closer and really give them a show.”
She fixed me with a suddenly serious look. “I want to give them something, but not a show. I’m not... This isn’t a performance to me, Kellen.” Her hand finds my wrist, thumb gently tracing the bone. “I… am starting to like this.”
There it is again. The dangerous sense of comfort, the steady collapse of the wall I’ve built up over twenty-seven years of being The Prince. Not Kellen. Not the weird kid in culinary school or the guy who failed out of fencing twice. Just The Prince. Piper looks at me and sees through all of it, and it’s terrifying.
She sees through it just like Elliot always has.
The way Nolan is learning to, too.
I reach into the grass and pull up a violet, its petals so vivid they look painted. I twirl it once between my fingers and then offer it to her. “You know, my grandmother had a theory that every flower has a meaning. Violets mean loyalty, or so she claimed. She also believed in ghosts, so take it with a grain of salt.”
Piper takes the flower and tucks it behind her ear. “Maybe your grandmother knew a thing or two.” She folds her legs and leans in closer, conspiratorial. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Ask away. Worst case, I have diplomatic immunity.”
Her nose crinkles with her smile. “Is this hard for you? Not the fake-dating part, I mean. The royal thing. The always-being-seen thing. Does it ever get easier?”
I consider this. The answer, of course, is no. But I also think about the fact that for the first time in a long time, I’m not faking anything—no matter what a contract might say. “I thought it would. But today is the first time I haven’t minded so much. Maybe because I’m with someone who actually sees me, not just the headline.”
A faint pink rises in her cheeks. She looks down at her lap. “That—okay, you don’t get to say stuff like that. You’re supposed to be the reserved one.”
“It’s my day off. I left my reserve at home.”
She laughs again, quieter, and then glances up at the cameras. “We should do something to really drive them crazy.”
“Like what, Ms. Sumner?”
She bites her lower lip in thought, then leans in. “You game for a little improv?”
“My entire life is improv.”And duty, and rules. But mostly just making it up along the way between those strict pillars.
Piper takes out her phone, opens the camera, and holds it up so the screen catches us both in perfect golden light. “I want it to look real,” she whispers, breath tickling my ear. My heartbeat thuds quickly.
I have no idea what to do with my hands. I settle on her jaw, fingers gentle. She leans in and I do, too. The most we’ve done in public so far is hold hands and give quick hugs.Thisis different. And while this is mostly for show, I want it to mean more.
So I cup her jaw with my palm and graze my thumb along the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flutter closed as I lean in, close enough to feel her breath catch. The world narrows to this—her cherry omega scent mixing with flowers, the warmth of her skin,and the impossible distance that shrinks to nothing as our lips finally meet.
