Page 21 of Royal Darling
“Emma, Emma, Emma, your innocence will be your downfall. Don’t you know his reputation with women? He will use you and drop you without a backward glance.” He shakes his head. “Guitar lessons.Please.He’s trying to seduce you.”
“The guitar lessons were my idea! And he’s not even interested in me. He treats me like an annoying little sister, teasing and whatnot.”
“That’s how it starts. He’s disarming you and then bam! He’s a manwhore, and I mean that in the uncomplimentary way.”
“How could that ever sound like a compliment?”
He leans close. “Listen, you’re in way over your head. I don’t know how you possibly became friends with him—”
“We met at a charity event. His band was playing there and I was the emcee.”
“And then what? You kept in touch?”
“No. But fate intervened and landed me on his boat.”
“Fate.” He snorts. “Wake up! He wants a royal trophy, nail the princess. He was probably just waiting for you to leave your fiancé—”
“It was nothing like that!” I cross my arms and lift my chin. “And stop lecturing me. I can handle myself.”
His voice gentles. “You’ve been engaged since you were sixteen. You have so little experience with men of any kind, let alone his kind. I’m worried about you.”
I uncross my arms, softening with his real concern. “Don’t worry, okay? I promise I know what I’m doing. I just need a break to learn guitar and breathe.” I grimace. “For however long that is.”
He leans down and kisses my cheek. “I understand. I enjoy breathing too.”
I laugh a little.
“And I’ll be here as long as he is.”
“Lucas!”
He turns and goes into the bedroom next door. Argh!
6
Emma
I’m eager to get my pajamas and toothbrush out, so the first thing I do is haul the large suitcase onto the extremely comfortable-looking king-sized bed. I unzip it and find a folded note on top of my neatly packed clothes.
Emma,
I know you’re a couple of inches shorter than me, but I couldn’t bear to send a rebel bride off with your sad collection of wannabe Mother dresses. Did you let her pick out your entire wardrobe? Hope my contribution to the cause fits. Anna threw in one of her favorite dresses she can’t wear anymore “due to the cleavage factor.” Tough to be the queen. Ha. She says it barely covers her ass, so it should be knee-length on you.
Love,
Silvia
P.S. Please visit me in the US. I miss my big sister.
Gah. What is with the waterworks? I wipe my leaky eyes. Just because I made one impulsive spontaneous decision suddenly I’m losing control of my emotions. I was raised to be stoic, to keep messy feelings buried deep inside. Already some of that is loosening up for me. I should be glad, but it’s more uncomfortable than I thought it would be.
I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. Maybe trying to break free of my strict constraints means I’ll completely lose control, and everything will pour out of me. Next thing you know I’ll be touchy-feely, spontaneously hugging everyone like my sister-in-law, Anna, does. It’s already happening! I impulsively hugged Jackson when he showed up on the dock to save me from that mob of people. This isn’t who I thought I would be. I wanted to be happy, but in control of myself.
I head to the en suite bathroom, grab a tissue, and blow my nose. One look in the mirror at my watery eyes and drawn expression has me straightening my spine. Rourke women are not soft.
I march back to the suitcase and get to work, pulling out the things I need. Then I can’t help but peek at the new things Silvia packed. I set my modest pastel long-sleeved dresses on the bed and pull out Silvia’s contribution—black skinny jeans and a red V-neck sweater. Not cashmere, but it’s soft. It’s a very American-looking outfit. I guess that makes sense since she’s been living there for years now. For shoes, I have my usual sensible flats in black, navy, and taupe. Anna sent me a dark green dress with a plunging neckline, cinched waist, and short skirt. It’s made of some soft clingy material. Do I dare wear a dress like this? Well, I did want a fresh start. Tomorrow. Now I need sleep.
I hang the dresses in the walk-in closet, get ready for bed, and conk out the moment my head hits the pillow. I spring out of bed at my usual time, five thirty a.m. Would I like to be one of those people who can sleep in? Yes, I would. The problem is, no matter what time I go to bed, I’m up at five thirty like I have an internal alarm clock. This is why I stick to a strict nine-thirty p.m. bedtime.
