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“She also asked if you had time to bake the cake.” Jordan eases back in his seat as his eyes find Marilee. His gaze is soft around the edges even as his voice presents a gentle challenge.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Marilee takes a quick sip of her dark soda, her cheeks pinking. “That’s Marla’s specialty.”
“And she’s left you in charge of the bakery for the next few weeks.” He pokes Marilee’s upper arm. “You’re totally capable, Mar.” Jordan turns to us. “The cake she made for Ryder’s birthday was out of this world awesome.” Grabbing his phone off the table, he flips his thumb across the screen and then turns it to us, revealing a photo of a cake in the shape of a wooden pirate ship. There are three masts with sails, a ship’s wheel, and kraken legs coming up out of the blue water and wrapping around the body and foremast of the ship.
“It’s incredible. The detailing—wow,” I say. So many people out there have amazing talents, ways they contribute to and make the world a better place. And while I wish I had something equally beautiful to give, I am choosing in this moment to be grateful just to witness others’ beauty. “It looks like it belongs on one of those ‘is it cake’ television shows. Completely brilliant.”
Jordan sets his mobile down and nudges Marilee. “See?”
My heart dances at this revelation. “I was hoping to stop by the bakery today—The Blackberry Muffin, right? So you work there?” Maybe the dust on her cheeks is flour. That’s adorable.
Marilee nods shyly. “I’m the assistant baker. Marla, the owner, is simply wonderful to work for and has taught me what she knows. I’m not as good as her, but I do my best.”
“And your best is amazing.” There goes Jordan again, gushing over his woman’s accomplishments. It’s clear the chap is mad about Marilee.
And then there’s Frederick next to me, who has abandoned his menu and is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest. His brow is furrowed. It’s the look he’s normally got when on duty—the look I’ve dreamed of wiping off his face when he’s standing against a palace wall. How many times I’ve thought of approaching him and seeing if I can get him to break character, but like the guards at Buckingham Palace, he’s too much of a professional. Especially if my father is anywhere in the vicinity.
I know Frederick feels like he needs to prove himself extra to my father after his own was first accused and then acquitted of treason. I don’t know everything that happened back then, but I do know it changed Frederick. He can still be the most charming, silly guy at times, but there’s an extra weight he’s carrying.
I want him to know that while I respect what he does—devoting himself to defending the crown—he’s not invisible. He’s notjusta bodyguard. Not to me.
I want to see him smile, laugh. Let loose.
But maybe that’s expecting too much from him right now, when he’s being subjected to his best mate’s little sister’s schemes. He’s made it clear that, if he had a choice, I’d simply let him do his job, let him fade into the background until Topher and everyone else arrive.
And yet. If I allow that, then these people are going to see right through our farce and wonder whose wedding we are in fact planning.
I can’t let that happen, so I do something about it. Reaching down, I take Frederick’s hand and loop it around my shoulders, then pinch his knee. His fingers press my shoulder, not a friendlyhey theresqueeze but awhat are you doingsqueeze. I pinch his knee again and hear him hiss through his teeth.
Before Marilee and Jordan can say anything about our strange behavior, I continue the conversation right where Jordan left off, addressing Marilee. “I’d love to hire you to do the wedding cake if you’ve got time. We don’t need anything as complicated as a pirate ship,” I assure her. “Could we schedule a cake testing sometime soon?”
“Um.” Shifting in her seat, Marilee tucks a free strand of hair back into her bun. “Sure, yeah. How about Friday? Say, around two?”
“Sounds great. Right, Muscles?”
Frederick grunts. “Yeah, thanks.” He lifts a hand and rubs at his temple. Oh no. Poor guy. Does he have a headache? That could explain his strange behavior. His migraines have plagued him for years and the silly man won’t even take medication for them. Says he doesn’t want anything to dull his senses even a smidgen. And I believe him. I don’t think it’s about appearing weak. He truly doesn’t want to let Topher down. Being a bodyguard is, to my knowledge, the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.
If only there weren’t that ridiculous Kentonian law preventing bodyguards from marrying. Not that that would keep my father from his disapproval. Or keep Frederick himself from viewing me as anything but the little sister he never had—and that’s a direct quote, thank you very much.
An internal groan passes through me again. I can only pray he sees the necessity of what we are doing here, that he wants to protect my brother and sister-in-law’s privacy as much as I do. Because the thought that he might believe I’m using these circumstances to hit on him is … well, frankly, mortifying.
Lucy returns with waters for me and Frederick and takes our order before flitting back to the kitchen. A few more customers have been seated around the deck—I guess we aren’t the only tourists with an appetite at this time of day—and one of them exclaims when Ryder trips.
Jordan immediately jumps out of his seat and goes to the boy, who stands right back up and starts running again. But now that there are others here, Jordan hauls him up and over his shoulder. “Hey, Mar, I’m going to take him down to the sand to run around for a few. Text me when the food’s here?”
“Absolutely,” she says with a wave, watching them go with the hint of a smile on her lips.
They are the absolute cutest, and my stomach twists with happiness for them—finding each other in this vast world—and sadness for myself.
Knowing I can never have what they have.
Because I’m destined to marry some prince or dignitary. Sure, my father has given me my time here in America, but when I do return home for Topher’s (official) wedding in Kentonia next month, the king’s sure to resume his attempts at matchmaking.
Eventually, I’ll have to do my duty and give in.
I mean, to be honest, I’m not even sure I want children. Not if they’re going to be subjected to the media like I was. It would be so hard to protect them from that. And I’ve seen how devastating it can be on a person’s psyche. Maybe I’d be more open to the idea if I could establish some sort of normal life. But that’s about as likely as my bodyguard here falling in love with me.
So yeah. Not worth focusing on.
