Page 12 of Royal Reluctance

I promised myself I’d keep my distance but now, somehow, my cheek is pressed against his shirt, and all I smell is Bo—old leather and pine, and yes, sweat, because cutting wood does cause perspiration.

But I don’t care because it smells like Bo. I breathe deep and tighten my arms around his waist, my hands fisting in the back of his shirt.

Kody nudges my knee with his chew toy, wanting attention.

Or telling me he likes what he sees. That it’s about time.

That’s when the heat in my eyes and lump in my throat gets to be too much and a sob escapes.

“Hettie… Hettie, don’t,” Bo begs as the tears begin to fall. He always hated to see me cry. The memory of this makes me choke back a laugh, which makes me cry harder, because we’ve missed so many laughs.

We’ve missed so much of everything.

Long minutes pass, Bo holding me as I cry, the kettle whistling as it boils. The sound becomes too much for the dog’s sensitive ears, and Kody lets out a sharp yip of protest.

I pull back, wiping my cheeks and wishing for a tissue. “It’s good to see you,” I manage, my throat thick with tears.

Bo pulls the kettle off the burner and turns it off before handing me a sheet of paper towel. “Yeah.”

I draw in a shaky breath. “I’m glad Kody… He hasn’t changed.” I wipe my eyes and do my best to control the sobs. “And Buck.”

“No.”

“This place has.” I look around in an attempt to settle myself.

The cabin was once one room with a basic kitchen in one corner and a bed pushed into the other. Bo’s family called it the hunting lodge, and maybe it was, but it always seemed to me that the little building in the middle of the Wabush Forest would have been perfect for a rendezvous with someone connected to the royal family.

I have no idea if Bo’s ancestors used it for that; I’m certain his father never did.

I have a flash of memory of lying in the old bed with him, his body cocooned around me.

The first time Bo brought me here, for our first time, I couldn’t help but think of other young lovers wrapped in each other in front of the fire.

It’s different now.

The bed is gone.

Bo has his back to me as he makes tea, so I take the opportunity to look around. The kitchen is a new addition, still sparse but much bigger. The living room looks like a man cave with dark walls covered in shelves, and leather couches, and a huge flat-screen television mounted on the wall. There’s a hallway where the bed used to be, possibly leading to bedrooms.

The fireplace has been expanded, enlarged, so big I could stand upright in it.

It’s all very different now.

“I added on,” Bo says needlessly, appearing with two mugs of tea. “Buck helped.”

“You’ve got lots of room now. Do they come and stay with you?”

Theybeing his brothers and sister.

“Sometimes.” He brings the mugs to the coffee table, and I follow him, taking a seat on the far side of a couch with a full cushion between us. It’s a large, long couch, because Bo is a big man. “But not for a while,” he adds. “They’re busy.”

He’s too far from me. Before, when we sat together, it was always hip to hip, me leaning against him. Bo was never fond of public displays of affection, but in private, he never stopped touching me—his fingers in my hair, his hand on my knee, my shoulder, splayed against my stomach. He was always kissing me, those lips—

That line of thought comes to a screeching halt because I’m not here to fall back into the memories of kissing Bo.

They haunted me for long enough.

“I can’t believe Kalle is getting married.” I sound remarkably chipper for someone whose eyes are still red and nose clogged from crying. “I watched the coverage of Odin’s wedding—”

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