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Isadora suddenly shoots up and messes with her hair, pulling it over to the other side of her face. She is gorgeous, I broke her wall of troubles and now she’s glowing like some brand-new summer morning.
“You know what I think?”—she looks down at me—“I think men feel a lot more than they let on, but they’re afraid to express themselves, so they leave girls staying up all night wondering what they’re thinking. Such a man wouldn’t speak about whatever it is he’s thinking about, and this leaves the girl tired and cranky and unsure of everything. It complicates things, all because men can’t talk about whatever they’re feeling.” Her hand suddenly moves over and grabs my flask. I thought she was going to grab my cock again.
She takes an enormous swig, and I think she pretty much just drained everything in it. I look back at the chandelier.
“You know?” she says. She wants some type of interaction. “I mean, like right now, what are you thinking?” She drinks more of my whiskey. The woman is going to town on it.
I’m kind of hungry, but I’m not about to say that.
Think, Nathan, before you speak for a change.
“I think we’re just afraid…sometimes.” I shrug. “We like to feel like we’re in control, and if we…you know, open up…” I sit up and reach for my flask. It’s empty. She killed it. “Then we’ll feel like…vulnerable.”
“But—I mean, I know—and I appreciate you saying that, Nathan.” She reaches out and squeezes the muscle of my upper arm. “But it’s okay. Tell me about your biggest fears, I want to know.”
“Um…” fears? “Losing you.” I’m quite serious. I hope she doesn’t laugh. I mean, what is she looking for? Everyone has fears. Sharks. Bears. House fires in the middle of the night.
“I just want you…all the time. And I’m afraid that maybe, I’m not good enough. Men worry the same as women.”
She eyes me, and she’s very focused, as if I have something growing out of my face.
“Anyway, what’s your biggest fear?”
She looks at me. “Having my heart broken. Men are hard to read, like I was saying.”
“And like I was saying—we’re scared. There you go, how’s that. You want to know our fears— we’re fucking scared of everything.”
She laughs.
“Women terrify us,” I say. She laughs so hard that she snorts. It’s kind of cute.
“Oh, Nathan.” She lay down and looks up at the chandelier, still laughing.
“Well, that’s something.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, you want to know what I’m thinking now?” I ask. I’m not one to admit vulnerability unless it suits me, but with Isadora, I want to be honest. I want to be hers.
She hears the seriousness in my voice and her eyes tell me that I can tell her anything.
“I have this bad dream sometimes,” I decide to get real with her. “I’m a little boy, in the woods, and I can’t find my way home. It never would have happened, not when you’re a guarded prince. Yet, in those dreams, something is chasing me; it’s big and scary, some kind of animal, and I just know it’s going to attack me—kill me even. But when I see you, I swear I don’t feel scared. Every moment I see you, all my nightmares feel far away.”
Now I’m all sentiment and, really, with Isadora, I don’t mind going soft. I’m still hard in all the right places, but I’ll be contemplative with her if it means I can touch her soft skin.
Chapter Seven
Vincent
Every morning since we’ve come to the palace has been pretty much the same. Affairs of state rarely want to wait until we’ve had coffee, our phones buzzing constantly and our assistants trying to deal with matters. I get it. I even admire seeing how Nathan calmly deals with it. Though he’s not my favorite person in the world, I know that he’s always planning something, so the fact that he never turns his phone around, despite the multiple buzzes and dings of alerts, until he’s finished is coffee is interesting. He has coffee and a muffin every morning.
Isadora has grapefruit. I’m a bacon and eggs man.
But I’m the only person down at breakfast today and I’m not sure why. I know it is pretty illogical but my first thought is to blame Nathan. So much for appreciating him…I kind of turn into an immature jerk when I think about him, making his whole opinion of me as some meathead worse, don’t I?
The halved ruby red grapefruit seems melodramatic against the cream backdrop of the royal china, waiting for Princess Isadora to lift the royal spoon and have breakfast. I wonder why I’m thinking about grapefruits and the crown’s dishes at all, until a familiar male steps stalk into the dining room.
“Nathan.” I nod.
He looks every bit as thrilled to see me as I am to see him. I’m a little surprised that the slasher in a horror movie demeanor Nathan always seems to have seems to be curling up around the edges. “Isadora must know you’re here already, so she’s taking her time to show up.” The sneer on his face tells me that he’s bothered by just how much I obviously care for Isadora. He doesn’t sit, but reaches to grab a muffin from one of the cake stands on the enormous dining table.
