The Royal and the Rebel (Royally Pitched 2)

“Illness?” Rowan asked, and she could hear the surprise in his voice.

She glanced at him then. “He was diagnosed with leukemia when he was ten.” She waved her hand. “I don’t remember much. I was pretty young. But they have been through a life-threatening disease, an assassination, and a kidnapping. After my parents died, I went to live with the queen, and they stayed in our home. There’s enough of a gap in our ages that our experiences are vastly different.” She shrugged. “Finding things in common with Jamie was a way for him to get to know me.”

“That wasn’t so terrible,” he pointed out.

Juliana sat back in the seat. He was right. It didn’t make her sound pathetic, and she didn’t feel stupid. “Plus, I liked football enough that I didn’t have to feign interest.”

“Fair enough.” Rowan bent and retrieved his crutches. “Come on,” he said.

Juliana followed him to the waiting SUV. His determined strides out of the stadium matched the fervor of his trip into it.

“What’s the hurry?” Juliana asked.

He pivoted, and the heat of his gaze surprised her. He leaned one of his crutches against the vehicle and reached for her, maneuvering her so her back was to the car. Rowan’s hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, and his thumb rubbed gently against her bottom lip.

“Open for me,” he mildly ordered before his mouth took hers in a savage kiss.

Neither of them noticed the flash.

They hadn’t said anything during the ride from the stadium. Juliana stared out the opposite window as they careened through the city, the silence cocooning them. Too stunned to speak, Juliana reached up to touch her tingling lips. Rowan’s kiss lingered, the stamp of it in the slightly swollen state of her mouth. Like the impromptu kiss at the bar, this unsolicited, unplanned kiss confused her. It wasn’t for an audience, so her stupid, stupid girlie heart was running away with it.

He couldn’t control himself. He likes me. He didn’t plan that for optimal viewing.

She tried to stop the runaway train of her thoughts, but they continued to careen toward an impossible junction. One with confetti hearts and flowers.

I am in big trouble.

Still reeling, she hardly noticed when they arrived at Nico’s house.

They stepped out to a cacophony of barking dogs.

She itched with the need to get away from Rowan, to pack up her heart with bubble wrap and stow it away. She didn’t wait for him to get his crutches under him. Walking briskly to the door, she let herself in and disabled the alarm. The dogs circled her legs, and Leia’s whines pierced the air. She finally knelt and gave each dog some attention.

“How’re the big boys?” she cooed.

Pelé and Leo leaned in, soaking up her attention.

“Poor babies aren’t used to being alone,” she said.

Leia, sick of waiting her turn, nudged her way between the two brutes, yelping as she stuck her head under Juliana’s hand.

“Foos!” Rowan bellowed.

The dogs snapped to attention as Rowan commanded them to heel and Juliana jumped.

“Braver hund!”

When Rowan released the dogs, they left Juliana and crowded around him. Juliana used his preoccupation to hurry from the room. She strode to the bathroom, washed her faced, stripped out of her clothes, and donned an oversize sweatshirt and sleep shorts. Then, she sat heavily on the bed and stared sightlessly at the room.

When she’d asked Rowan to go on a date with her for public appearances, she hadn’t envisioned such a wonderful experience. From start to finish, Rowan had been open and engaging. Even sitting in the stands, a spectator instead of a footballer, Rowan had appeared lighter than she’d ever seen him. She could imagine his hurt and fear over the loss of his career. The atmosphere of the match and the camaraderie of his teammates had to bring bittersweet feelings. He could see it, but he would never be on the inside again. There would always be a wall between him and his former team. And for a man who had spent most of his life in that world, the future must seem murky and uncertain.

She groaned with frustration. Juliana did not want to come up with reasons to feel sympathy for him. With the experience of the day behind her, she knew she needed to build walls, not open windows between them. She was in serious danger of liking him. When he teased her, she could see herself falling in love with him. And that would be a mistake from which she wouldn’t easily recover.

Reaching for her phone, she almost called Ele before she remembered Ele thought Juliana was already in love with Rowan. So, what would she say to her sister?

Hey, Ele. I think I might be in danger of falling in love with the guy you think is my fiancé.

Right, that would go over well.

Jules replaced her phone on the nightstand. Too keyed up to sleep, she listened for the telltale sounds of Rowan moving around. The man, who used to dance with a ball at his feet, now moved around like lumbering elephant trying to shimmy through a narrow passageway. When the house around her appeared quiet, she left her room.

After pouring herself a cup of tea, she moved silently down the hall toward her favorite room in the house. Even though she’d been there for over a week, it struck her as surreal to be taking up residence in the house of Sir Nicolas Ramsey.

The football legend had moved back from the States the year before, following his divorce. He’d bought this sprawling manor house fifty kilometers from the city. It was beautiful and classy, but it was also cozy and quaint. If she ever left the palace, this was the kind of home she wanted. It embodied all the parts of a traditional childhood she sometimes imagined. The old-world library housed hundreds of books in all sorts of colors. There was even a rolling ladder. Sure, there was something just like this in the palace, but instead of histories and politics and treasured first editions more for show than reading, there was a variety of novels and kids’ books and thrillers and football biographies. Alongside the big, bulky, comfortable furniture, there were boxes of Legos, a Barbie Dreamplane, and a small table outfitted with markers, paper, and crayons. It was magical.

She sank down onto the leather settee, pulled a fuzzy blanket over herself, and leaned back. She’d spent a lot of time in this room since she’d arrived. It was close enough to Rowan to be handy but far enough away to have her own space. It was the one room on the first floor untainted by her interactions with him.

But even as she sat in her Rowan-less room, she had a hard time fighting off images of him. He’d been out of it the first day. But damn did she have some funny memories of his nonsensical tirades and slurred declarations. She wished she had recorded him looking at her and saying, “Juuulllessss!” She snickered with the memory. It would have been gold. She wondered what Tristan would have done with footage like that.

Rowan Beckwith, the country’s most respected footballer, skipper, future legend. Rowan Alphonse Barrington Beckwith, holder of twenty-three titles. Either version was this untouchable, unknowable force. He was cold and distant, exacting and formidable, unbending and rude. He was not the man she’d spent the last week taking care of. That Rowan was a little goofy and fun, unpredictable and interesting, engaging and loving. Watching him with his pack of dogs was similar to looking at a snow globe. An idealized version of reality. And it was making her heart pitter-patter and her head swirl.

Fake fiancé should not equal loving feelings.

She could have dealt with the punch of lust. Because the man was fine. And the lessons, big and small, were important. It seemed silly to think Rowan was responsible for making her acknowledge consent. Who knew? And the others, the ones involving mouths and hands, fingers and tongues, she’d sign up for those any day. Before. Before she’d come here, and Rowan morphed into a human version of himself.

Now, she couldn’t, wouldn’t.

Because lust was one thing, but feelings, they were something else.