I bite my lip. “Technically it’s eleven fifty-three.”
I close my eyes for one brief, mortified second, and remind myself that I have been a model employee for five whole days. Politegood morningsand yes-ma’ams and never voicing an opinion when one wasn’t asked for. I have beenmeasured andcontained.My entire life I’ve been told I’m a bit much, that Isay things I shouldn’t, especially to people I shouldn’t say things to, and I’m trying to do better.
I open my eyes, fully prepared for my new employer to already be annoyed with me. But his lips— His lips justtwitched.I see it happen. Just the smallest pull at the corner of his mouth, gone before I can be sure it was real. He’samused?
The Crown Prince steps fully into the kitchen. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s giving me time to flee. He stops on the other side of the island.
“Viktor,” he says.
“Hmm?”
“My name.”
“Oh.” I blink. “I mean—Your Highness? Sir? I genuinely have not figured out the right honorific. Madam Petrova just calls youHis Highness. I’ve been practicing the curtsy, but I haven’t really nailed it yet?—”
He shakes his head. “I want none of that from you. You may to call me Viktor.”
My brow furrows. “Just Viktor?”
“For now.”
For now?For now what?I open my mouth to ask. I close it. I open it again. I close it again. I am a fish. How can I possibly call the Crown Prince by his first name? He has to know that’s impossible.
His eyes drop just for a second, down the length of me—the pajamas, the slippers, the bare legs—and back up to my face.
My cheeks heat up. I shift on my feet, trying to relieve the insistent heat that’s growing between my thighs.
He inhales. Slow. Deep. His jaw goes tight.
I have absolutely no idea what’s happening, but something is happening, and I can feel it in the soles of my fuzzy white slippers. It feels wonderful and yet dangerous at the same time.I’m finally meeting the Dark Prince and he’s everything I’d imagined, and more.
“You’re eating my pastries,” he says.
“Yes.”
“At midnight.”
“Eleven fifty-four now, I think.”
His lips twitch again.
I am going to combust.
“I have a contract,” I tell him, more for my own benefit than his. “It includes meals and snacks. I’m allowed to eat. I just wanted to clarify that, in case?—”
“You think I’m going to fire you over a pastry.”
“…Maybe?”
“No.”
I exhale.
“You wear that to bed?” he questions with a rough voice.
I glance down at my skimpy pajamas. “Yes? It’s summer. The estate is warm. I—” I gesture helplessly. “I didn’t think anyone would see me.”
He grunts. “You didn’t think anyone would see you.”
