Page 50 of Royal Darling
He nods appreciatively. “Not bad.”
I run a hand over my stomach. “It shows my gut too much.”
His hand slides over my stomach. “No, luv, you’ve got curves. Get that one.”
I smile uncertainly, looking down at myself. My dresses have always been chosen to hide my curves as much as possible.
He holds my chin, his gaze direct. “Trust me.”
I do. I probably trust him too much, but so far he’s been good to me. “Okay. Next outfit.” I shut the door and peel off the dress.
He whispers through the door, “After this, let’s get you some sexy lingerie.”
I smile. “Do I need to try it on for you?”
“Nope. I’ll pick it out. You just wear it.”
“What if I don’t think it suits?”
“Well, who’s going to be the one drooling over it, eh? Me or you?”
I laugh. “Right.”
I let out a happy sigh. I’ve never felt so desired, so sexy. Jackson can’t keep his hands off me. I don’t need a label for what this is when I feel this wonderful. Surely, there’s nothing to worry about.
Two weeks later, I’m floating in a sea of love, music, and sex. I have never had so much deep satisfaction in my body, heart, and soul. I wake at dawn, as usual, and slide my hand over a sleeping Jackson. He’s on his stomach, which gives me ample opportunity to trace the flames of his tattoo over his shoulder blades. He grumbles in his sleep. Maybe my touch was too light. I smooth a palm over him, sliding across his wide shoulders and down his back. He’s naked. We both are from last night.
He likes me to stay in bed with him in the morning, but since I can’t sleep past dawn, I typically lie here cuddling him and listening to music in my mind. I hear the songs he’s taught me, the songs I practice to, and the new songs he’s written. He has a new one about growing up a misfit angry at the world, fighting his way through. I love the emotion he puts into it. The chorus concludes we’re all misfits. I love that too. I have never been angry at the world, more like numb to it, but I have felt like a misfit with all the changes at home since my father died. I’m learning to be okay with not being the perfect princess anymore. I’m defying expectations. Me. Defiant. It really is a whole new Emma.
“We should get you some ink,” he says in a sleepy voice.
My hand stills on his back. I cannot add body art or piercings, except for ear piercings, as a royal. It’s considered desecration of my body, and I would not be buried in the family plot because of it.
“What should I get?” I ask because I am a rebel.
He props up on an elbow, leans over and kisses me. “My name.”
“Where?” I whisper, the idea thrilling me. He wants to keep me, to let everyone know I’m his.
He rolls me to my stomach and slides a hand to my lower back just above my bottom. “Right here. Jackson.”
I smile. “Too bad I can’t desecrate my body, because I would love that.”
His hand slides over my bottom. “Desecrate?”
“I’d be kicked out of the royal burial plot for altering my body, except for earrings. Those are acceptable.”
He groans. “Sometimes I can almost forget who you are.”
I’m proud of that. I’m dressing to please myself, exploring music for the first time, and enjoying the hell out of my first lover since I was eighteen.
He gives my bottom a light pat. “Today’s the day. Go take the test.” He means the pregnancy test. A few days after our slipup, I left denial land and wondered what if? Would Jackson stick around for a child? I know I would keep it. I’ve always wanted children. I went through the calendar on my phone, trying to jog my memory, and realized that today would mark one week late, which is a good time to test. I’m almost positive I’m late due to stress.
What if?
Okay, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses these last two weeks. There were moments, scary moments, where I imagined no Jackson in my life and a constant reminder of him through our child. In any case, today’s test should show definitive results.
He gives me a nudge. “Get up.”
