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His mouth curves, and his eyes rake over me, chilling my skin. “Driver, pull over. We’re going to buy cake.”
I smile at him. Okay. I guess we’re stopping for cake.
Letting the bodyguards, footmen, and drivers hash out the details, we exit the vehicle and walk the short distance to Lidl. Whoever would have thought I’d be shopping for groceries in my wedding gown? But again, why not?
In the store, Etienne pushes a cart with one hand and holds my hand with the other. I try not to let this slight, sweet touch warm the cockles of my heart. One: he’s drunk. Two: this hand-holding is for the cameras.
The store is minutes from closing for the night, yet Etienne takes his time, perusing the bakery case.
Here, it occurs to me that we could have asked the wedding coordinators to send leftover cake to the hotel. We could have had any cake in the country delivered to the hotel, probably free of charge. But I have to admit, this is immeasurably cuter. I squeeze his hand.
“Carrot cake? Vanilla? What is it you want, Kala?”
I want you to keep saying my name like that. What I want is for you to keep pretending you care this much about me, until you do care sincerely.
“Black forest,” I say. I’ve always preferred rich and decadent over the average white wedding cake, so why not?
He squints. “What kind is that again?”
I point to the one with the cream and the cherries nestled between dark chocolate layers.
His throat bobs.
“Yes,” he says, with a rough edge to his voice. “Perfect.”
That’s not the response I was expecting. This night gets more and more head-spinning by the moment.
We pay for two mini cakes, then leave the store, and I feel like such an overprivileged asshole for blocking the streets for dessert.
Tucked in the car’s back seat, we laugh like schoolchildren while feeding each other. I knew Etienne could be fun, but I’d never seen this endearing side of him before. This is a good sign. I’ll take this over awkward silence any day.
Etienne watches me take bite after bite, his gaze trained on my mouth. For an all-too-brief moment, I think he might feel something akin to attraction.
At one point, he forks a bite of cake into my mouth, then licks his lips as he watches me eat it.
“Wait, you have some cream right there…”
Lick it off, lick it off, lick it off, you silly, disgustingly hot prince!
Just as his thumb reaches for my chin, the car hits a bump in the road, and that thumb goes directly into my eye.
“Oh shit! Sorry!”
I laugh and wave off his apology. “I’m fine!”
“Let me see.”
There’s no point in fighting him as he takes my face in his hands and inspects my eye. “Look up.”
I blink and look up at the ceiling. “I promise, I’m perfectly fine,” I say softly.
His hands slip from my face, and I turn my gaze back to his.
That’s when I notice his whole body is sort of drooping, his elbow propped against the headrest as he faces me. “I always thought you were stuck up, but you’re a pretty fun girl.”
My emotions flip-flop as I try to decide how I feel about that.
I don’t have to decide. In fact, I don’t even have to respond.
