Page 56 of The Thing About My Prince
“Lexi.” His hand slides inward from my shoulder and up the side of my neck till his thumb tips my face up to look at him.
And his eyes do that thing again, that thing where they look into mine and fireworks pop inside my chest in a burst of sparkles and stardust.
“I do trust you,” he says. “I don’t know why. I can’t figure it out. But even though you’re a reporter through and through, I trust you.”
His touch, along with what, from him, is a compliment of monumental proportions, brings a warmth to my belly that flows lower.
“And I won’t ever betray that,” I tell him.
He makes the tiniest of nods and leans his head down toward mine.
I allow my eyes to close this time, allow myself to sink into this feeling of mutual trust, of our futures being dependent on one another, of us having each other’s backs, of his thumb sliding up my chin and brushing just the very edge of my lower lip.
The ear-piercing honk of a car horn right behind me makes my heart slam into my ribs, and my feet leave the ground.
Oliver’s arms lock around me and pull me to the side of the road as the speeding vehicle hurtles around the horse and rider, who are now almost upon us.
Oliver holds me tight against his strong chest, keeping me safe.
As the car swerves to miss us, it plows through a puddle—a large, dirty puddle—sending the water arcing into the air and landing with a splat on the side of my face.
“Wanker!” the woman on the horse shouts after the vehicle. “You two okay?” she asks as she reaches us. “Oh, I mean, Your Royal Highness. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Oliver says. “And we’re fine, thanks, yes.”
My startled heart isn’t entirely sure it’s fine. Startled not only by having lost my grip on reality so much that I was oblivious to the car until it was just feet from us, but also from being fairly sure that, for the second time in two days, I almost kissed a prince.
I look at that very prince to find him taking in my dirt-splattered face and biting his top lip while his shoulders shake, betraying every attempt he’s making to not laugh.
Jesus, he’s gorgeous.
I wipe my hand down my cheek to get off the thick of the mud, then reach up to smear it on his.
He ducks away like a boxer avoiding a punch. “Oh no, you don’t. Security! Security!”
I reach for him again, and he runs backward across the road to avoid me.
“This is a joke, right, sir?” Cole asks after sprinting up to reach us. “You don’t actually want us to remove the lady, do you?”
Oliver looks at me with a big silly grin. “No. I don’t want you to remove her at all.”
And we all head back toward the castle, where I need to take my second de-mudding shower of the day.
This had better not be an omen.
CHAPTER TWENTY
OLIVER
It was another awkward evening around the dinner table, during which Lexi was particularly quiet.
But thankfully, most of the conversation was taken up by my sister trying to convince my parents to open the Glenwither gardens and the conservatory for weddings as an additional source of income. Mum and Dad resisted the idea with a certain degree of disgust.
After dessert, I suggested Lexi go up to our room ahead of me. That seemed to work well last night and made for the least embarrassing way of dealing with what could be an incredibly awkward getting-ready-for-bed situation.
Now, I ease the door open to find the room in darkness. Part of me is relieved, but also part of me kind of wanted her to be awake so we could chat and laugh about Dad’s outraged assertion that holding weddings on the property would “be the thin end of the wedge and before you know it there’d be a roller coaster, and a waxworks, and a bloody Starbucks.”
But it looks like she’s all tucked up and asleep again. Or atleast pretending to be, as part of her effort to avoid the awkwardness too.
