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His praise.
It gives me a sense of satisfaction I never realized I needed.
And when he commends my cooking, it means even more.
While I adore hearing his gruff voice tell me how incredible I feel when I move against him, or how much he loves watching my red lips circle his cock as I take him in my mouth, Creed’s praise for my cooking hits differently.
“You like it?” I pull my lips between my teeth, pushing down the fluttering that erupts in my stomach when I see the pure ecstasy on his face as he chews the roast duck with a fig and sage glaze I’d made for our main course.
“Like it?” He dabs a napkin against his mouth. Then he grabs my hand from across the table, thumb brushing my knuckles.
It’s an innocent gesture, but feels intimate.
Everything about tonight has felt intimate.
It’s not the first time we’ve been alone together. But it’s the first time we’ve been able to take our time. To savor being in each other’s company.
What I wouldn’t give to have even more nights like this.
“It’s bloody brilliant,” he declares with a gleam in his eye. “Probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“I doubt the military set the bar too high.”
“That may be true, but don’t discredit yourself.” He squeezes my hand. “You are extremely talented, Esme. You deserve to follow this passion.”
I give him a tightlipped smile, not wanting to let reality into tonight. Because the reality is that I won’t be able to follow my passion.
Even if the royal household weren’t intent on marrying me off, I wouldn’t be allowed to do what I want. Not when my life isn’t mine to live. It never has been.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I tell him in a chipper voice, ignoring the reminder of what awaits me when tonight is over. “You’re quite handy in the kitchen yourself.”
“I could barely manage chopping the onions and garlic.”
“You did great.” I wink, digging in for another bite of duck.
I couldn’t have asked for a better way to celebrate my birthday. Not only did Creed give me a chance to cook, he stayed by my side, helping where we could, asking questions about different spices and flavors, much like I did all those years ago.
In the end, I’d prepared a salmon dill amuse-bouche, an appetizer of bacon-wrapped scallops as well as beef wellington bites, all followed with our main course of roast duck. The entire evening felt so…normal. And during the last few hours, I’ve allowed myself a taste of what it would be like if I were able to be with Creed.
Of cooking together while we indulge in a bottle of wine, and occasionally each other.
Of sharing a romantic dinner as soft jazz music plays in the background.
Of stealing sly glances over the course of the meal, every second causing the sexual tension to mount until neither one of us can stand it another minute, and he hauls me into the bedroom, where we lose ourselves in each other all night long.
Of waking up in his arms and doing it all over again.
Every day.
For the rest of my life.
Most people think I live a fairytale existence. That’s what the palace publicity team wants the world to believe. That I’m a princess in love with a pseudo-prince and we’ll live happily ever after.
But that life isn’t a real fairy tale.
This strange existence I’ve created with Creed is the closest thing to a true fairy tale I’ve ever experienced.
It’s the most real thing I’ve ever experienced, too. I hate the idea of it all ending in just a few short weeks. But what choice do I have? Do either of us have?
