Page 57 of A Royal Promise
“What was that?” she asked, trying to make sense of why he would say that.
Drew’s body stiffened against hers. “I said, ‘Not the only one who matters.’”
She was surprised he repeated the words he’d spoken, thinking he hadn’t meant for her to hear them.
He sighed exaggeratedly. “You know how it goes. If it’s someone’s dream to marry royalty, they probably shouldn’t. I only meant I don’t thinkthe onefor me would necessarily dream of marrying me—at least until they got to know me.”
Bri huffed out a laugh.
“I’m irresistible once someone gets to know me.”
She squeezed his side, and he twisted away from her.
“More like irritating.” Bri lightly patted his stomach, only to be distracted by the flat planes of his ab muscles. When she realized she had stopped playfully hitting him and started grazing the tips of her fingers against his abdomen, she flushed and pulled her hand back immediately, sitting up. “I’m ready for some watermelon.”
She moved to the picnic blanket and got busy making a plate with a few pieces of watermelon, hoping he wouldn’t notice her hands were shaking.
“I could go for a snack.” He joined her, adding a soft pretzel and cheese sauce to his plate. “Are you sure you’re not just thirsty?” Drew poured her a glass of peach tea and extended it to her.
She set down her watermelon and took the cup from him. After taking a sip, Bri held the glass in front of her like a defensive barrier. She swallowed hard, embarrassment coursing through her veins. He totally noticed she’d been feeling his abs.
Of course he noticed. It’s practically impossible not to be aware of someone running their fingers across your stomach.
She tried to play the situation off as though it were a joke. “Why, thank you. I was parched.”
His lips cocked up to one side in his signature grin. “Next time you want to touch my abs, you only have to ask.”
Bri sputtered on her sip of tea, coughing as it went down the wrong pipe. When she finally felt like she could get a full breath again, she held a hand to her chest. “I don’t want to touch your abs.”
“You made a pretty convincing argument saying otherwise back there.” He motioned to the beanbag.
She shoved his shoulder. “You know how there are times when it’s kind to not say what you’re thinking because it could make someone else feel uncomfortable? This is one of those times.”
“Well, I guess that’s why you said I’m irritating instead of courteous.” Then he winked at her.
Bri pressed her lips together to keep from laughing as she shook her head.
“So, what would you rate them?” He tore off a piece of his pretzel and dipped it into the cheese sauce before popping it into his mouth.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I haven’t tried the pretzels yet, so I can’t really say.”
“Not the pretzels.” He smirked, looking pleased with himself. “My abs.”
She couldn’t help it; a belly laugh erupted out of her. “You want me to rateyour abs?” Bri asked between gasping breaths, still giggling. “How many abs do you think I’ve felt in my lifetimeto be able to accurately rate yours?” A blush climbed her neck. “I might need to find some more test subjects. I’ll give you a solid seven until I’ve found others to compare to yours. Maybe some of your palace guards will be amenable.”
His eyes took on a steely expression. “I don’t want your hands on any other man’s abs.”
She was caught off guard by his change of tone and how protective and jealous he seemed. Bri took a bite of watermelon before responding. “Fine, I’ll upgrade your score to a nine, but that’s my final offer. Now, enough talk about abs. Tell me about your week.”
His features lightened. “I can accept a nine.” He ate another piece of his pretzel. “My week was good. Dad had me attend a few more meetings with him. It’s interesting to see a little more behind the curtain. I’ve spent my whole life being trained for this role, but you never really know what it actually entails until you start living it.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry I haven’t asked about that lately. I can’t believe your parents want to pass the throne to you so early.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t need to apologize. I still can’t believe it myself most days. I’m twenty-three—”
“Almost twenty-four,” she piped in.
“I’malmost twenty-four, and I never imagined ruling so young. I’m worried my people and other rulers in Fenimore won’t take me seriously.”
