Page 41 of Royal Darling
I might be losing my mind to lust.
He stops in front of me, his gaze intent, his big hand coming up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
I cannot breathe. My lips part, desperately hoping for a kiss.
His voice is gruff. “I like your hair down.” He slides it loose from its neat chignon. Pins fly to the floor, the band around his finger. He shoves the band in his jeans pocket. “That’s so much better. Looser. You hide too much of yourself in a tight package.”
My mouth goes dry. “Thanks, I think.”
He dips his head, his gaze direct. “Sing with me.”
“Yes.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me to the bench seat, where he’s scribbled lyrics in a small spiral-bound notebook. His scrawl is hard to read. I see my name though, the title of a song. He wrote a song about me! It feels like a dream.
He sits next to me and smiles, a big full happy smile that lights up his handsome face. My heart flip-flops, my stomach fluttering like mad, heat rushing through me. It’s the first truly happy smile I’ve seen on him, and he gave it to me. My hand goes to my suddenly tight chest. My eyes are hot, a lump of emotion lodges in my throat, and my lower lip trembles. It’s all just so much to take in. The beauty of this moment, of Jackson creating a song just for me.
He begins to play, and I burst into tears. Happy tears, I swear. I’d be embarrassed, but I’m feeling too much joy for embarrassment to take over.
He stops playing. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just so happy, so amazed that you wrote this song for me.”
He wipes my tears with his thumbs. “Look at all this emotion you keep bottled up. The smallest thing sets it off.”
“It’s not small at all! It’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened in my life!”
He gives me a small smile. “I’ve heard how sheltered your life was. Now let all that emotion flow into the music. I heard some of it before when you sang ‘Ave Maria,’ but I think you’ve got more in you. Sing with me.”
I hold up the notebook. “I can barely read your chicken scratch.”
He laughs. “Just follow along the first time.”
And then he plays it for me.My song.About a girl who was lost and ran, and then she stopped running and found herself. Gah. I am a mess. Tears keep leaking out of my eyes. The second verse is supposed to be mine to sing, claiming my strength, my voice, finally knowing my place. I want to be that woman, to reach that point of knowing my place.
When he finishes, he meets my eyes with a tender look. “You’re something, Emma. All these tears.” He cups my head, draws me close, and kisses my forehead. “Save those feelings for the music, yeah?”
I nod, trying to hide my disappointment in the chaste kiss. He’s thrilled with me as a friend, as a fellow musician. Am I a musician now? Have I been sadly ignorant of my own potential all this time? It’s a yes to both, I realize. I am a musician, a raw beginner, but still. The revelation makes my stomach dip like I just crested the hill of a terrifying roller coaster, and I’m in a free fall. I’m exhilarated and terrified at the same time. Princess Emma Rourke of Villroy has never stepped so far out of her comfort zone, has never risked making a fool of herself with newfound passion.
He starts playing again. “You take the second verse. Mine introduces yours.”
“I know,” I whisper. I still can’t believe he wrote this incredible song for me. I listen, unable to tear my gaze from his beautiful expressive face. His eyes are closed, his expression relaxed, his fingers masterful on the guitar. It’s extraordinary.
He opens his eyes and inclines his head for me to start my verse.
I start hesitantly, keenly aware I don’t sound as natural as he does. “I lived a quiet life. I lived for you and you and you…”
He closes his eyes, playing along, seeming happy with my singing. I stare at the lyrics as I sing, building in confidence right along with the woman in the song, the music sweeping me up, my voice rising above it. I forget who I am, where I am, there’s nothing but me and the music, sailing along, free.
I suddenly realize it’s quiet. I slowly turn to meet his gaze, immediately self-conscious again.
“Yes,” he says.
“Yes?”
He laughs. “Yes!”
I laugh too. Somehow he knows where I was at, sailing along with the music. “Is that what music is like for you too? Like you leave the world behind and you’re free?”
