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nine
CHLOE
Well,thatwas one of the worst nights of sleep I’ve ever had.
Groaning, I blink up at the ceiling, my eyes roaming over the smooth white surface that’s now flooded with light coming in through the window behind me. My hair is strewn in every which direction and I quickly push up with my elbows so I can finger comb the strands back into submission. Then I run my hands over my lips and chin, breathing a sigh of relief when I don’t find any drool there.
Because Frederick might only see melike a sister(as he reminded me last night), but I would still like to disabuse him of the notion. I mean, I’m not asking for him to love me the way I love him, but come on. He could at least see me as a woman.
I thought, for a moment last night, perhaps he did. When he saw me in my PJs, and averted his eyes … but likely that was simply a sign of respect.
Whatever the case, his reaction was in direct contrast to mine, when his shirt lifted, and I couldn’t help but freeze up like a person under hypnosis after glimpsing the tan sliver of skin and the glorious physique Frederick’s hours in the gym have most certainly honed. As my American friends might say—Holy abs, Batman!
It was only for mere seconds, but I feel forever changed by the experience. Makes me wonder what else he’s hiding under that shirt.
Ugh, I need to get a handle on my emotions, considering he’s lying on the floor just a few meters away. But when I lean across the bed to see whether he’s also awake, I simply see a neatly folded blanket topped by two pillows—one that was thrown at him. I grin at the memory.
At least I have my Freddy back—the joking, teasing version, not the stoic, silent grump I was subjected to for much of yesterday.
Hopefully that’s who I’ll see today as well.
I purse my lips together and glance over at the restroom, but the door is wide open, and no one is inside. That’s when I notice a note stuck to the shade of my lamp. It says,Running out to get some proper tea and breakfast. Please do not leave the room. I’m counting on you to BEHAVE.
His message is followed with a winking smiley face and his sign-off: Muscles.
Snatching the note up, I place it against my beating heart and sink back into my pillow like a lovesick lunatic.Oh, girl, you’re in trouble, my mind baits me.
Don’t I know it. I’ve been in trouble for years. But I’ve never been in such close proximity to him—and alone, at that—for such a long period of time.
At that moment, the door opens, and I scramble to stick the note onto my side table before sitting up in bed and watching Frederick slide inside, a tray with two lidded cups and a green bag featuring The White Mocha logo in his hands.
The scent that’s all him—woodsy with twists of verbena and cinnamon—wafts into the room, and mmm, he looks as good as he smells. His jaw is shaven clean, and a black Henley stretches across his broad shoulders, hugging his biceps and chest, leaving nothing to the imagination (okay, probably some things still). His medium-washed jeans sit low on his hips, and he’s got trainers on his feet.
Back home when he’s in protection mode, he wears a suit. And even though he looks smashing in that, I much prefer the casual look. It makes me want to stand up, round the bed, slip right into his arms, and find a home there.
He smiles when he sees me. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
Oh, yay. My Freddy just might be here to stay. I flip my hair in an exaggerated manner. “Why, hello, good sir. Have you procured me my breakfast?”
“Indeed I have, fair princess.” His eyes sparking, he maneuvers around the bed and hands me the pastry bag, which is warm from whatever’s inside. “Though if you don’t eat it soon, it will be lunch.”
What? My eyes shoot to my phone, which tells me it’s currently two minutes till eleven. “You should have woken me.” I still have so many things on my to-do list for this wedding. Yesterday we didn’t even begin to make a dent. And besides all that, we’ve a venue to find with no viable leads.
“You looked far too peaceful for that.” He sets the drink carrier down on the side table and takes a cup in hand. “Besides, my job is far easier when you’re asleep. Can’t get into any trouble that way.”
I stick my tongue out at him—a habit my father abhors—and then dig into the bag, pulling out a few sandwiches wrapped in foil-lined paper. Unwrapping the first, I peel back the thick white bread and find four slices of bacon. The smell alone is enough to make me sigh with pleasure, but when I see the bread is slathered with butter and ketchup, I squeal. “How in the world did you find a bacon butty on a menu in America?”
“I didn’t.” Frederick takes a quick sip of his drink. “In fact, the cashier thought I was barmy when I described it to him, but the cook said he’d be happy to try making it.”
“Well, if it tastes anywhere near as good as it smells, I’m a fan for life.” I scoot my legs back a bit so he can take a seat on the end of the bed, since it’s that or the floor.
After a moment of hesitation, he sits with one leg pulled up, one flat on the ground. Taking out the second sandwich, I pull the wrapping halfway down before handing it to him. He balances his drink on the flat square post on the footboard of the bed before taking the sandwich from me. “Thanks.”
“What inspired you to ask for this?” Does he know it’s my favorite breakfast in the world? He’s observant, but surely he doesn’t knowthatabout me.
He shrugs. “Traveling is wonderful, but I thought we could both use a little taste of home.” His voice is wistful, and his eyes are looking out the window behind my side table. What’s he thinking about now?
As I take a bite, I highly agree with his assessment and likely communicate that fact with the low moan in my throat. “Oh my goodness, I think this rivals the ones Chef makes at the palace.” Grabbing a napkin from the bag, I wipe the edges of my mouth. “Just don’t tell her I said so.”
