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But here she was.
What was she doing here?
“You’re the kindergarten teacher?” he asked.
Esme nodded. She didn’t hold his gaze any longer. Her hands fidgeted. Smoothing her gown, her fingers streaked the fabric white with flour.
Leo took great comfort in that small act of anxiety. Esme had liked him when she thought he simply worked for the crown. Now that she knew he was the crown, she took a step back. Most women were only interested in that bit of jewelry on his head. It made him want to come near to her.
“We made a mess,” Penelope was saying. “But Ms. Pickett insists we clean it up. You always say we must heed the culture of our host, so I’m doing it her way.”
“That’s very diplomatic of you, Pea,” said Leo.
“Pea?” The smile was back on Esme’s face. “Like The Princess and the Pea?”
“No,” said Penelope. “It’s short for Penelope. Only father and Uncle Alex call me that. You may call me it as well. If you like?”
“I’d like that. Thank you, Pea.”
Esme smiled warmly down at Penelope. His daughter’s eyes practically twinkled under Esme’s shining gaze. Leo knew he had to shake himself out of it. He knew that eyes couldn’t twinkle, not really. So, why did he feel a tiny sizzle on his skin when Esme directed her sparkling gaze back at him?
“Ms. Pickett is an excellent tutor,” said Penelope. “She turned fractions into a treat. I imagine I may get a lesson out of cleaning up as well.”
Penelope ran the broom over the white powder on the floor. Her light brushes and directionless sweeps only served to make more of a mess. Leo stepped up to take the broom from his daughter.
“Here, darling,” he said. “I’ll help.”
“Oh, no,” Esme grabbed for the broom at the same time. “This is my fault ... erm, your highness.”
“He’s your majesty,” said Penelope.
“Ms. Pickett has my permission to call me by my Christian name,” Leo said.
Esme shook her head. “I couldn’t. I can’t.”
They both still had their hands on the broom handle. She gave a tug. He didn’t relent. She sighed and released her grip, but when she took a step back, it was right into the patch of flour, and she wobbled backward.
Leo sprang into action. Releasing the broom with a clatter, he caught her in his arms. For the second time today, he held this woman in his embrace.
Because it was an embrace. It had stopped being a rescue the moment he knew she’d regained her balance and her feet were sturdy beneath her. It had stopped being a rescue when his hold tightened even though she was no longer in danger of falling. It had stopped being a rescue when he realized he was perfectly content to remain this way for the rest of his night, and if he were honest, much, much longer.
Warmth spread through Leo as he continued the embrace. He felt a tingling up his spine. His eyes latched onto hers like they were magnets. Her palms came to rest on his chest. Even through the layers of fine fabric, her touch scorched him, as though her fingertips placed an invisible brand just to the right of his heart.
Esme looked down at his chest where her hands lay, and her eyes widened. “Oh, no. I’ve made a mess of your clothes again.”
Leo looked down at his dinner jacket. The brand was there, emblazoned in stark white against his dark jacket. He slowly released his hold on her, making sure that she was, in fact, steady on her own two feet. A pang of disappointment swept through him that she didn’t wobble when he left her to her own reconnaissance.
“I am so sorry, your highness. I mean, your majesty.” She lifted her hands and brushed at his coat. Due to the fact that her hands were still covered in flour, all she did was make the matter worse.
Leo did not stop her.
“I’m making things worse, aren’t I?”
She was.
The longer she stood near him, the more details he catalogued of her face. She had a smattering of light freckles across her nose. Her eyes weren’t uniformly brown, there were a few light flecks at the edge that reminded him of a Tiger’s Eye stone. And then there was that delectable, sweet scent he’d gotten a taste of that morning.
His neurotransmitters worked over time capturing the fine print of Esmeralda Pickett. The details imprinted on him. He knew this singular moment would be catalogued amongst one of the memories that would flash before his eyes on his death bed, right up there with his coronation and the birth of his daughter, as one of the pivotal moments of his life.
