Page 22 of Royal Darling
Today is my fresh start. I will seize the moment before anyone shows up to say differently. I’m not sure which of my two new outfits to go with, so I try them both on. First, the jeans. Ugh. I can’t get them past my hips. I’m shorter and curvier than Silvia. The sweater fits at least, but with no jeans to wear them with or trousers, I take it off again. I pull on the dark green dress from Anna. Wow. I am popping out of the top. Can you even wear a bra with this thing? The skirt ends mid-thigh on me, which means it must’ve been scandalously high on my five-foot-nine sister-in-law. I’m five feet three. Do I dare wear it? Will my brother laugh at me? More importantly, will Jackson like it?
I think of Jackson sleeping down the hall, used to beautiful sexually confident women throwing themselves at him. Then I think of stupid Lucas next door acting like a Victorian-era chaperone. Lucas can deal with me trying a few new things. And I will smack him if he laughs.
I put the dress back on the hanger, grab my large toiletry case, and head for the shower. Silvia did a good job, even packing all of my favorite makeup, creams, and perfume. Maybe my maid assisted her. The simple kindness touches me deeply.
An hour later, I’m completely ready, wearing the dark green dress with the only bra that could possibly be worn with the plunging neckline. It’s lace with rather open cups. I can’t go braless or I’ll be flopping all over the place. I’m eager to get started on what might be my one and only guitar lesson. Maybe it will lead to more in the quiet privacy of Jackson’s bedroom. It’s do-or-die time. I have never been so brazen in my life sneaking into a man’s bedroom, but I’ve got nothing to lose. I slip my feet into my taupe flats, open my bedroom door as quietly as possible, and stealthily make my way down the hall to Jackson’s room. My brother’s door is still shut. He’s never been an early riser.
I quietly open Jackson’s door and slip inside, shutting it behind me. He’s sprawled on his stomach on a queen-sized bed, the white comforter covering only his bottom half. He’s shirtless, his tanned muscular inked back exposed. I tiptoe closer, and my mouth goes dry. The tattoo centers on a jagged ring on his upper back with flames blazing up and across his shoulder blades. I’m dying to trace the flames with my finger, but don’t dare.
His face is turned away from me, so I walk around to the other side of the bed. “Jackson?”
No response.
I nudge his shoulder. “Jackson.”
He grumbles something unintelligible.
“Can you give me a guitar lesson before Lucas wakes up? I don’t want him as a witness. I’m sure I won’t be very good as a beginner.” I’m quite pleased with my reasoning. It doesn’t sound at all like I’m hoping for more than a lesson.
His eyes are closed. “What?”
“I don’t want Lucas to watch me learning guitar. Can we do it now?”
“Do what?”
“Guitar.”
He cracks one eye open. “What time is it?”
I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. Six thirty-five. “Nearly seven.”
His eyes close. “In the morning?”
“Yes, of course in the morning. Did you think you slept the day away?”
He puts a pillow over his head.
I take it off. “Don’t do that. You need oxygen.”
He groans. “Lock the door. Don’t want Lucas barging in giving me hell.”
I freeze, my heart pounding.Lock the door?Does that mean he’s on board? Is he naked under that comforter? Did he see my slutty dress and get the idea that I’m looking for sex? This is all so much easier than I anticipated.
I rush to the door and lock it and then rush back to the bed, kick off my flats, and slide under the covers, breathless. This is definitely stepping out of my comfort zone. And it has been so very long, much longer than I’d ever admit to him. After my relationship with Adam, I resolved to save myself for Abdul. I was technically engaged to him and thought it unfair to be seen on the prowl with other men. Not that I’ve ever prowled. I’ve been a proper princess my whole life except for the Adam year, and finally I can break free.
I snuggle closer, his body giving off heat like a furnace. It’s wonderfully toasty and he smells so good, like the sea and musky male. Except he’s not moving. Did he fall back asleep already? His face is turned the other way. I lean over him to check. His eyes are closed, lips parted, his breathing deep.
I flop back on the mattress next to him. He wasn’t tempted enough to resist the pull of sleep. I sigh. At least he didn’t kick me out. Maybe he thought that would take too much time away from his sleep and it was easier to let me stay. Or maybe he thought I’d raise a fuss and it would draw Lucas or the guards to my rescue. I did give him a fight before on the boat.
I slowly lift the cover and peek at him. Not naked. Dark blue boxer briefs. Maybe when he wakes up, he’ll be ready to do something. I roll to my side toward him and put a hand on his back. He sleeps right through it. I can relax since he’s back in a deep sleep.
“I do like some of your music,” I whisper. “The ballads. What you played at the benefit, your big hit ‘Inferno,’ was discordant to my ears. I don’t know how to explain it. Some music moves me deeply. It can lift me up, sometimes to an ecstatic spiritual experience. I’ve been brought to tears too, not that I actually cried. I just felt them threatening.”
I stroke up his back and over his shoulder blade, loving the warmth and the play of muscle under my palm. “I listen to music all the time. I love the energy of live performances and attend as many as I can. When I’m not listening to music, I hear it in my head. I haven’t played my flute since I left home for university. I’d like to bring music back into my life again. That’s why I asked you for the lessons. I do enjoy acoustic guitar. Electric would be okay, too, if it wasn’t too loud.”
I withdraw my hand and pull the covers up over his shoulders and mine. Then I just lie there with my eyes closed and drift, my mind replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours. I’d felt stuck. Why hadn’t I spoken up sooner? I suppose it was the way I was raised—duty, honor, obligation. Always the kingdom, the family, above self. Gabriel followed the same dictates, and I liked being part of that illustrious lofty way of life. He, along with my mother, the former queen, were my role models and are deeply embedded in the fabric of who I am.
“I never really explored what makes me happy,” I whisper to a sleeping Jackson. “I’m not sure I even know. Besides the occasional music that moves me. But I can’t spend my whole life just listening to music. I need to do something.”
