“Perfect,” I reply and lead the way.
Plopping down on the stool, I let Jackson get the popcorn and prepare it. Once he has it spinning inside the microwave, I ask, “What were you doing outside?”
“Just walking the perimeter and touching base with the agents,” he replies.
I grimace. “Is that really necessary? It’s freezing, and I feel horrible they have to stay out there.”
“First, it’s not freezing. It’s only about forty, which I suppose is freezing to you,” he chides gently. “But they’re paid to stand out there, and they’re paid well, so don’t feel too bad for them.”
“I suppose my life on a tropical island has me a bit spoiled.” I sigh. While I love the cold and the snow and skiing, I only like it for limited periods. I wouldn’t want to be out in it for twelve hours.
“You’re actually one of the least spoiled women I know,” Jackson says, and my chin involuntary pulls inward, I’m so surprised to hear this from him. He’s never come right out and said it, but I know his initial impressions of me were far different. I could tell by the way he talked to me.
By the way he “handled” me.
I feel the need to point out. “I am a princess, in case you forgot. I have my every whim catered to. My family has more money than God. I have my own private jet, and you don’t think I’m spoiled?”
Jackson shakes his head. “And yet you were sneaking downstairs to raid the pantry for food rather than call for help. You gave up precious vacation time to let me come here to see my dad. You’re forgoing luxury hotels to stay in this old farmhouse.”
“This old farmhouse is gorgeous. Just the kind of house I’d want if… well, if I could have my own house.”
“See,” Jackson says, pointing a finger at me, “it takes more than money in your pocket to make you spoiled. Look at how wealthy you are, and you can’t even have your own house. It’s all relative.”
I wrinkle my nose at the reminder. The palace is the only home I’ve known and ever will know.
“That bothers you,” Jackson surmises aloud, apparently reading my expression all too well. The microwave dings, and he reaches in to grab the popcorn. “You hate that you have to live in the palace for the rest of your life.”
I shrug. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s just … a choice I don’t really have. Who knows, given the choice, I might gladly want to live there, but I’ll never know because my destiny is set.”
Jackson grabs a bowl from the cabinet, opens the bag without getting burned by the steam, and pours the buttery popcorn. He comes around the island and pulls out the stool beside me and sits, setting the bowl between us.
“Your path is what you want it to be,” he informs me, as if I’d never thought of that myself.
“Yes, I know that. I could easily choose to abdicate and go venture off to live my own life.”
“But you’ll never do that because you have too much loyalty to your people and too much love for your father.”
“Does that make me unambitious?” I query before placing a single piece of popcorn in my mouth. It’s so good and exactly what I was looking for in a snack. I reach in and grab another handful.
Jackson laughs and sticks his hand in the bowl when I remove mine. “Unambitious?” He snorts. “I thought you’d be a princess who attended fancy luncheons every day, shopped in the mornings, and dozed by the pool in the afternoon. I never realized being Princess Camille is actually not only a full-time job, it’s a career. You have a tremendous amount of responsibility on your shoulders. The mere fact you meet it tells me you have more ambition in your little finger than most people have in their entire bodies.”
“Wow,” I murmur, still holding the handful of popcorn as I’d been so focused on what he just said. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.”
Jackson makes a sound of disbelief. “People say nice stuff about you all the time.”
“Most of them are paid to,” I retort with a laugh. “But what you said was genuine.”
“I meant it.” He shrugs as he tosses popcorn into his mouth.
It’s a nice mouth too. His lips are full and look soft, but you know they’d be commanding. I really shouldn’t be staring at them.
“I want to thank you again,” Jackson says and my eyes jerk up to his.
“For what?” I shove more popcorn into my mouth.
“For handling my dad at the hospital tonight.” Jackson’s gaze falls a moment to the kitchen counter, as if he’s collecting his thoughts. When he again meets my eyes, he says, “You defused what could have been a tense situation. He would’ve said something shitty about my career, and I would’ve gotten pissed. There would’ve been this whole big argument, and it would’ve been very awkward.”