Page 43 of Royally Arranged

“Yesterday?” That was strange, I didn’t remember seeing him buying any jewelry.

“Speaking of,” Carmina said, rocking her chair to see past me. I twisted around. Hawthorne was striding over the close-cut grass toward me.

My heart floated up, tasting like butter in my mouth.

He was wearing cobalt-blue trousers, a matching jacket buttoned once in the middle by a metallic button. I could see the dress shirt he had on beneath—the color of cream, and probably as soft. His collar was high and drawn tight by a slim silver tie.

Though we’d had sex in the cemetery, I hadn’t seen him naked yet. He’d kept his clothes on, only unbuttoning his pants to slide out his—I shivered, hit by a wave of stability-stealing lust as I remembered his thick cock. I’d seenthattwice now.

But not the rest of him.

What would he look like on full display?

“Morning,” he said, dipping to kiss me on the cheek. Champagne bubbles of delight rose up in me. I knew I was blushing. Thorne had shown me again and again that the more time we spent together, the easier it was for him to erase my neutral calmness.

He turned me into a bumbling girl with a schoolyard crush.

The smirk on his face said he knew, and he loved it.

Playing with my dress nervously, I cleared my throat. “Morning. You look very nice.”

“I tried.” He swept me with his gaze—the stark black centers piercing me.He’s wondering if I did what he told me.Shifting from side to side, I became far too aware of how vulnerable I was between my legs.

He squinted, trying again to figure me out. Enjoying that he wasn’t positive I’d listened, I grabbed hold of that upper hand and pointed out at the gardens. “I see the photographer is waiting for us. Shall we?”

Thorne’s smirk pushed out at the corners until it was an amused smile. He curled his elbow around mine, flicking his fingers at our mothers to say goodbye. Together we walked across the grass. He was warm beside me, smelling like oranges with notes of chocolate.

Bending so his breath tickled my ear canal, he whispered, “Keep your secret. I’ll find out soon enough.” Then, as I was looking flustered, he grinned at the photographer we’d reached. “Hey there! Hawthorne, nice to meet you. Please make me look good today.” He laughed, shaking the man’s hand with both of his.

He was good at acting relaxed. It let down other people’s guards, I was realizing. That could be wonderful for social interactions ... but it could also be dangerous. Underestimated men were impossible to predict.

Thorne graced me with his intense stare. I thrilled, melting under the attention.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Definitely,” I replied.

We posed as we were told to. A hug here, a fake laugh there; we were performing so that the papers would have something to spread about the soon-to-be king being in love. It was fake love, but it was the closest to the real thing that I’d ever experienced.

If it became true love ... unfiltered, real love ... would I realize?

I often wondered, even now, if Darla was right about me. That I was some boring, broken person that no one would want. Even after everything I’d gone through to gain my bolder persona, deep down there was a tiny voice that told me I meant nothing to anyone.

Not my parents.

Not Thorne.

No one.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His onyx eyes swarmed with concern. It froze me where I was. As much as I’d wanted to be seen, it was no small feat to be stared at so intently by Hawthorne Badd.

And he looked ... worried. Actually concerned for me. I’d let my fake smile crumble as my mind had wandered. Gathering myself, I reached for his hand and grinned. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course,” I said, shoving him lightly. The camera flashed. “This is what we’re here for.”

“I just don’t want your heart to explode.”

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