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I don’t bother telling him it’s not necessary for him to bow. Or continue to address me as “Your Highness” past the first one of the day. He’ll figure that out soon enough once he starts learning all the rules and traditions that accompany being part of the royal family.
“I told you.” He steps closer. “Call me Jameson.”
“Of course. Jameson.” I pinch my lips into a tight smile. “What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you.”
My eyes widen. “Me? How did you know—”
“Your love of horses,” he declares, everything about his demeanor put-together and confident. “I figured you might have come out here for some…clarity.”
“Because you read about it in that binder?” I snip out.
“No,” he chuckles, his blue eyes shining in amusement. “Although I’m certain it’s covered quite extensively in that dossier. Truth be told, I’ve learned a few things about myself I didn’t know, thanks to their disconcerting invasion of privacy.”
My lips part, his response surprising me. I’d assumed he was on board with this asinine plan, but his snide remarks make me question his motives. Perhaps he’s as much a victim of circumstance as I am. He may not be royalty, but his family is one of the wealthiest in all of Europe. It’s possible he’s being pressured to marry to increase his family’s social standing even more. And there’s no higher to go than the royal family.
It’s not the first time this kind of arrangement was struck.
And it won’t be the last.
“If you didn’t read about it, how did you—”
“You’d mentioned it at the King’s Day Gala last year. Sure, you spoke about a lot of things, but when someone brought up horses, your eyes lit up. Like the mere idea of your horses breathed life into you. So with the way that meeting was going, I took a chance you might be out here.”
How do I even respond to this? I can’t remember a single conversation I had at that gala, let alone a brief one about my love of horses.
But Jameson does.
Maybe he isn’t that bad of a guy. Not like the picture I painted in my head based on my assumption he wasn’t opposed to my grandmother’s plan. Perhaps I need to form my own opinion of him before rushing to judgment.
I’m about to respond when I sense a motion behind me. A reminder we’re not alone.
Turning, I meet Creed’s eyes, his jaw ticking as he stares at Jameson. Although I’m not sure stare is the correct word. It’s more akin to a glower. But he has no reason to glower. After all, he turned me down.
“Creed Lawson.” Squaring my shoulders, I address him as if he were just another acquaintance. No one special. “May I introduce you to Mr. Jameson Gates.” I step closer to Jameson. “Jameson, this is Lieutenant Creed Lawson. He’s a dear friend of my brother’s.”
Jameson smiles that same charismatic smile I’ve seen plastered all over magazines and gossip websites, teeth white against his tanned skin. “Pleasure to meet you.” He extends his hand.
Creed glares at it, several tense seconds passing before he finally takes it. “Likewise,” he growls.
My gaze pingpongs between the two men, both seeming to size up one another.
While Jameson is tall and built, he’s no match for Creed’s impressive physique. And the longer Creed shakes Jameson’s hand, the firmer his grip becomes, to the point Jameson winces.
“Well, then…” I jump between them before Creed rips Jameson’s balls off with his bare hands.
A few minutes ago, he insisted Jameson was a great guy. But now, he’s on the verge of breaking every bone in his hand. His behavior gives me whiplash.
“I’m sure my brother’s waiting for you,” I direct at Creed. “Weren’t you saying you had plans to do manly stuff at the range?”
“The range?” Jameson repeats, interest piqued.
“Gun range,” Creed explains curtly.
“That sounds like fun. Perhaps one of these days, I can join you. I’d like to get to know Esme’s friends. And family.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders.
If looks could kill, the venomous stare Creed gives Jameson’s hand on my body would incinerate him.
