Page 49 of Kissing for Keeps
“Jack, how in the world would I know who—” I stop, staring at him.
He nods.
“Oh my gosh. Philippe?”
“His royal highness himself.”
I cover my mouth, but it’s an exercise in futility, and the snort of laughter comes through loud and clear.
“See the sacrifices I make for you?” He shakes his head and gets back to his bow. It’s really endearing to watch him play with it and tweak it—and how it’s still not centered.
“Thatisa major sacrifice, Jack.” I rub his arm patronizingly, then go back to cutting another ribbon. “What in the world did you talk about on the drive?”
“Oh, you know, the usual stuff. Kingdom politics, royal drama, whether he should ask you out, the state of the succession…”
My head whips up. “What?”
“Yeah,” he says, putting a jar offoie grasin a new bag, “the peasants are trying to stage an uprising, so it’s been really stre—”
“Jack,” I interrupt. “He really asked you if he should ask me out?”
“Sure did.” He grabs five almonds and drops them into the bag.
“And?” I don’t even need to ask, honestly. “You told him I’m a nun or something, didn’t you?”
“Of course not. I told him to go for it.”
Why my heart is in my stomach, I couldn’t tell you. I should be glad he didn’t interfere like I assumed he would.
He’s looking at me with a quizzical expression. “I did the right thing, right?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean, it can’t do any harm. Not that I really have time.”
“You shouldmaketime, then. You can’t work all day, every day, Sheppard.” He shoots me a teasing smile. “Especially not when owning a chateau hangs in the balance.”
Adjusting my fingers so the scissors aren’t rubbing on the skin that’s getting tender, I cut the ribbon at a diagonal. “Don’t be ridiculous. Philippe is just like any guy.”
“Yeah, ifany guyowns a medieval chateau-slash-hotel.”
“No, I mean, he’s not serious. He knows I’m leaving. He’s probably got dates lined up with every other single young woman staying here.”
“And that bothers you?”
“It’s just predictable.”
“Because guys are the worst?”
I laugh at his reference to what I said yesterday as I wrap the ribbon around the bag I’m working on. “Exactly. Whatisit with guys and wanting a bunch of women? You reallyareDraculas, sucking the life out of each woman before you move on to the next.”
“Ouch.”
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, if you really do think that’s the truth.”
“I have yet to be proven wrong.” I wince as I tie the bow. Pretty as it is, the ribbon isn’t exactly soft, and after cutting and tying countless bows with sweaty hands, my fingers are sore. I rub them together and reach for the next jar.
“I think we need a break,” Jack says, his eyes on my hands.
