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She hasn’t mentioned the part of the fantasy that’s got me the most enthralled—the two of us together. So maybe that means I’ve misjudged her feelings. I hope I have, honestly. I’d much rather carry this burden alone. It would be that much harder knowing that she might be hurt when we inevitably can’t be together.
Pushing thoughts of that aside, I prepare to do what a friend would—gently challenge her. “Princess, I think it’s a fine idea. You’d be brilliant if that’s what you wanted to do, and I know you’d find a way to do it.”
“Thanks, Freddy.” She studies me. “I sense abut.”
“You always do.” I chuckle. “Here goes. You say that you feel more sure of yourself, and that’s wonderful. But the fact that you’re even talking about what others might think of your preferred career choice is an indication that perhaps you still need to let go of that worry a bit.”
“I can see that. I think part of the problem is that, deep down, I wonder if the things I’m good at are not what are most valuable in this world. And I do long to contribute. I am royal, after all, and I want the blessing of my birth to mean something. I want to bless the world, the people in it, with my talents. But … I’m just not really sure my talents are worth much.”
Oh, Chloe. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I like to read travel memoirs and things like that in my free time.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That sounds fascinating. And right in line with what I know about your love of travel.”
I nod. “Well, in one memoir, the author quoted this famous theologian who had inspired him to journey around the world. And the quote really stood out to me.” I pause. “I think it might help you too.”
“What is it?”
I call up the exact memory. “It says, ‘Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.’” I reach my hand forward and touch a piece of Chloe’s hair, rubbing it gently between my thumb and forefinger. It’s spun silk, just like her—soft and giving. “If planning parties is what makes you come alive, Princess, then that’s what you should do. Because you make the world a better place just by being you.”
“Freddy …” She reaches for my hand. “You are, without a doubt, the best man I know.”
She cannot say that, especially not here when I’m mere centimeters, mere seconds from reaching for her and pulling her into yet another kiss. I need to move, need to break this spell she has over me. “You should get to know more men, then, Princess.”
Laughing, she swats at me, then shifts so she’s lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I meant what I said, Muscles.”
Her words harken back to what I said to her in the dress shop. I laugh and move to my back, shifting a hand behind my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I do try.” A yawn slips out from her, inspiring my own. Finally. We lie quiet and still as a cloud obscures the moonlight outside.
Blessed sleep is almost here.
Then she asks one final question of me. “So I’ve been an open book.” Another yawn. “What about you? What makes Frederick Shaw come alive? Travel? Work? Or … something else?”
You.
It’s on the tip of my tongue and it’s all I can do to shove it back into my throat. “Ah, well …”
“Well?”
“It’s different for me,” I say. “Whenever I get what I want, someone gets hurt.” First Matthew, and Mum and Dad as a result. Then Topher. And I’ll be darned if Chloe joins the ranks. “But I have a good life. After all, I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
Then, before she asks me any more questions, I slip from the dream back to reality, and return to my bed on the ground. “Good night, Princess.”
She must be asleep, because she doesn’t reply.
And that’s just as well, anyhow.
seventeen
CHLOE
I’m beginning to think that perhaps I was wrong.
And riding in Jordan’s Jeep with Marilee, Ryder, Jordan’s dog, and Frederick toward the destination for our Sunday hike is giving me lots of opportunity to replay last night—or early this morning, whatever you want to call it—in my mind.
To consider that maybe Lucy was right after all.
Okay, maybe Frederick doesn’tloveme, but my gut tells me he feels a heck of a lot more than mere attraction. The man keeps such a tight lid on his emotions, but as we huddled together in my bed not eight hours ago, I got a peek behind the curtain. When he held me, every nerve ending in my body was on fire, but not in the way that burned. More in the way that sugar caramelizes under a blowtorch or a marshmallow cooks from the inside out at the end of a roasting spit.
