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Chapter Twenty-Nine
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“I’m wondering if I should pinch myself.”
It was an honest confession, murmured to the princess with the black curls and opaline eyes, who rewarded me with a soft giggle.
Had it been only three days since my visit to the beach in LA? 72 hours and my life had careened in a way I’d never expected—or dreamed. Ergo, the whole pinching-myself-as-a-viable-option line, enforced by a brilliant Arcadian afternoon. The sun was golden and warm, the wind salty and bold, the air fragrant with lavender, orange, and eucalyptus.
So maybe the pinching wouldn’t be happening—despite the direction I knew this dream was soon going to take.
Oh God oh God oh God.
I had no idea what I even prayed for. The guts to see the dream through…or the hope it happened like all my other weird dreams, with a pool full of chocolate, a diving board, and Henry Cavill waiting for me in the shallow end?
Only lately, Henry had taken a hike. For the last four months, it had been Shiraz in the pool.
It was Shiraz…everywhere.
Jayd squee’d in delight, joined by an equally effusive Ezra, jolting me back to the moment at hand. Their swoons blended with similar sounds from the group gathered in the private royal garden for Camellia’s baby shower. The area, usually a scene of Renaissance-inspired tranquility, had been turned into a lush jungle for the occasion, in honor of the nursery décor picked out by Evrest and Camellia for Leo, the royal firstborn on his way. A giant prop elephant helped Camellia preside over the event. An aviary of tropical birds was decorated with red and gold bunting. There was even a pair of “rhinos” peeking from the waters of the Elizabethan fountain.
The crowd’s enthusiasm was on theme too. Camellia, an image of glowing and healthy pregnancy, held up the latest item she’d unwrapped from the mountain of presents. A baby-sized safari outfit was accompanied by a jungle-themed playmobile.
“Holy shit,” Ez murmured. “Cuteness in khaki.”
“Right?” Jayd shoulder-bumped him, confirming the instant friendship I’d predicted before Ez and I even disembarked the plane yesterday.
“I’d rock that outfit.” Ez bit into a leopard-spotted cake pop. “Just sayin’.”
“That settles it.” Jayd raised her voice, announcing it to the whole group. “Everyone lock up your daughters. My nephew shall be the hottest-dressed male in the land.”
As the crowd laughed, Brooke wagged a saucy finger on the air. “But not the hottest in other arenas, sister.”
Jayd scowled. “Is this a new entry in the ew zone, B?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
The new comment made everyone twist around, slamming Brooke’s corner of the garden with a flood of feminine interest. That was what happened when one’s mountain of a husband appeared on the scene—then sidled up behind her and began nuzzling behind her ear with brazen intent.
Brooke giggled then batted at Samsyn. “All right, big guy. Behave.”
He grunted. “My ability to…behave…was not what you just bragged about, woman.”
“Okay,” Jayd interjected. “Now this is an ew.”
I would have joined in the new round of laughs at that—except for recognizing, courtesy of the dark bergamot scent on the air, that Syn hadn’t crashed the shower alone. I breathed in deeper, just to be sure—and dared a single look back, farther into the shadows of the portico behind Samsyn.
Oh God oh God oh God.
It was him.
More perfect, sleek, elegant and magnificent than even the chocolate dreams had formed of him. And dammit, despite the balmy day, he’d picked black as a fashion statement. He was breathtaking in black. His long-sleeve polo hugged his torso, more defined by the months in the field. His black fatigues were tucked into scuffed, rubber-soled black boots covering up to his calves, undone laces draped over the front of his legs. But that wasn’t the finish of the look. That came from his eyes, solemn as ink from Poe’s own pen, staring without feeling from atop his angled cheekbones.
Shit. Samsyn hadn’t been exaggerating.
Shard of glass. Midnight lake.
I dug my heels into the grass, fighting the longing to run to him.
