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“You’re ridiculous.”
“Just here to keep you laughing.” And anything else he—or anyone in the royal family—needs.
Even if it means being the best darn fake fiancé the world has ever seen.
thirteen
CHLOE
Like all of the shops and restaurants on Main Street, The Blackberry Muffin is just as adorable inside as out, with its checker-patterned floor tiles in black and white, its bright yellow accent wall behind the register and display case, and small yellow tables adorned with silk flowers. Music floats down from somewhere over our heads, and I can’t quite make out the lyrics, but the soft beat makes it feel like something romantic.
Patrons take up the tables, snacking on delectable-looking treats like muffins, donuts, American cookies, and more. A young woman, probably in her late teens, greets us, flashing her braces with a smile. “Welcome to The Blackberry Muffin. What can I get you?”
“Oh,” I begin. “We’re actually here to s—”
“Chloe, hi.” Marilee breezes in through the swinging door behind the cashier. “You guys can come on back here.”
I start back, Frederick on my heels, and when we reach the door, he pushes it open with one hand and places the other on my lower back. The contact burns right through the camisole I’m wearing, and I stupidly stop in my tracks and glance up at him. Our faces are much closer than I thought they’d be. “Thanks,” I whisper.
He just looks at me for a moment, something in his gaze I don’t recognize. Then he blinks and it’s gone, replaced with amusement. “It’s just a door, Princess.”
But he knows it’s more than that. He knows I’m thanking him for playing along. For not pulling the plug last night. Does he also know I’m thanking him for the chills chasing each other up my spine?
I sure hope not.
Marilee’s waiting for us at a large yellow kitchen island with three black stools. “Take a seat,” she says, a slight tremor in her voice. Given the fact Jordan had to prompt Marilee to tell us about her cake-making skills, I gather she’s nervous for our cake-testing appointment.
I fully understand, because she’s kind of our only option as far as cake-makers goes. Especially with only a week before everyone arrives.
Of course, if I don’t find a venue, none of this will matter. You can’t eat wedding cake or have a wedding without a place to get married.
But that’s a problem for another hour. Right now, let us eat cake.
I slide onto one stool, but instead of taking the other one, Frederick stands behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. Maybe he feels like he can protect me better from this angle, his eyes on the gleaming kitchen knives stuck to a metal backsplash behind Marilee. Though if he is expecting Marilee of all people to go stab-crazy on us, I might start to question his judgment.
“I’ll be right back,” Marilee says as she heads for what looks to be a walk-in refrigerator.
Meanwhile, Frederick steps closer to me, his chest pressing up against my back as he leans his hands on the counter on either side of me. Except for my front, I am completely encapsulated by him—a peninsula surrounded by the Ocean of Frederick.
It’s nearly the same position I was in with Ricky last night at the Black Hole.
But it doesnotfeel the same. At all.
“Is this okay?” he breathes into my hair, and every brain cell I have completely evaporates.
Okay? Okay? What isokay…?
“Earth to Chloe,” he teases, and it takes everything in me not to turn fully on my stool, grab his face with my hands, and kiss that saucy mouth of his into silence.
“It’s okay,” is all I can manage, my voice shaky. “Is it okay with you?”
His low chuckle reverberates in my ear, setting it on fire. “Just playing the part you assigned me. Am I doing well, Princess?”
Oh goodness, I am not responsible for my actions in this moment. It’s his fault for being impossibly sexy. “I could think of a few ways you could improve your performance.” Who even am I right now?
“Yeah? I’m all ears.”
“You sure you can take a critique?” Since when did my own voice get all throaty and—dare I say—sultry? I mean, we did talk last night about upping our game when it came to convincing everyone we are together, but I did not expect him to play so hard. Not that I’m exactly complaining. “Wouldn’t want to bruise that ego of yours.”
