The Bossy Prince - Rugged and Royal

And that’s unacceptable. I haven’t spent the last decade holding my sisters at arm’s length so some shortsighted idiot can endanger their lives.

“Sorry, Nick,” I whisper.

But I’m not.

I’m not the least bit sorry, and if I see an opportunity to take him out of the spy game, I won’t hesitate to seize it.

Chapter Seven

Nickolas

Christmas Day passes in a warm, hot-chocolate-and-mulled-wine-flavored haze. We unwrap presents around the tree, enjoy a late breakfast together, and then scatter to the four winds to enjoy our day off as we see fit.

I watch a movie in the castle theater with Sabrina and Andrew, take afternoon tea with Lizzy and Jeffrey in the library—they’re the only people in the world who can make reading side by side look like an illicit sexual activity—and end my day walking with my mother under the nearly full moon through the freshly fallen snow.

“Are you sure you won’t stay a few more days before you go sun-hunting?” she asks, giving my arm a squeeze. “It’s been so nice having everyone here together.”

“Even Vivian and Charles?” I ask, arching a brow.

Zan’s parents aren’t bad people, per se, but they are decidedly odd and more than a little old-fashioned. My mother, the first in the royal family to obtain a divorce and a pediatric heart surgeon who eagerly passed the crown to my older brother after Grandfather’s death, is neither.

She smiles. “Yes, actually. They remind me of my mother and father—mildly annoyed with each other most of the time but keeping the love alive, regardless.”

I grunt. “Makes sense, I suppose. They’re closer to Grandfather’s age than yours. Though, I don’t know about the keeping love alive part. I don’t think I’ve seen them touch once since they arrived.”

“People love in different ways,” Mother says. “But I see it there. Charles always fetches a glass of water for each of them before he heads to bed, and Vivian keeps his sketchbook and watercolors in her purse so he’s ready to draw the moment inspiration strikes.”

“And that’s love?” I muse.

Seems fairly pedestrian, but what do I know? I’m not sure I’ve ever been in love, not the kind people write epic poetry about, anyway, and I’ve certainly never made love last for decades.

I’m lucky to make it six months before something goes hideously awry.

“It’s part of it,” she says. “A big part, I think. A hundred daily acts of thoughtfulness trump a big romantic gesture every time.” Mom tilts her head, gazing up at the moon as we turn back toward the castle. “So, keep that in mind, my darling. Chemistry is all well and good, but at the end of the day, you need a partner you can live with. And hopefully, one who will make that living easier and better than it is without them.”

“Wise words,” I say, before adding with a grin, “though I think I’ll take chemistry for now.”

She laughs. “Understandable. You’re young.” She squeezes my arm again. “But just so we’re clear, if you break Zan’s fragile little heart, I might disown you, at least for a month or two.”

I stop and face her, surprised—though, I suppose I shouldn’t be.

Not many things slip past my mother’s eagle eye unnoticed, and no matter how careful I’ve been—keeping my distance from Zan when possible and aiming for a “just friends” vibe with her when it’s not—there have been charged moments between us the past few days.

Apparently, my mother has noticed.

“Nothing is going on between Zan and me.” I lie to her with a clear conscience. Yes, we’re about to jump on a plane in the morning and spend a week and a half pretending to be in love, but that’s business, and lying about business is how I keep my family safe. “I promise.”

My mother arches a challenging brow. “Not yet. But I’ve seen the way you look at her, Nick, and the way she looks at you when she’s sure you aren’t looking. I think she might have a little crush.”

I snort, genuinely amused.

Maybe mother’s eagle-eyed gaze is failing her, after all.

“No way. There’s chemistry, but it’s nothing more, I assure you. Zan finds me irritating in the extreme.”

“I think you’re wrong about that,” Mother counters. “And I think she’s more tender and vulnerable than she lets on. Believe me, I know what it’s like to be a strong woman, perfectly capable of taking care of herself and her family and career, and still desperately want to be loved. To feel special to someone who couldn’t imagine replacing her with anyone else.”

Her words send a pang through my chest. “And you should be loved that way. You’re the best person I know. Not to mention gorgeous and successful and kind and funny, to boot.”

She laughs as she reaches up to cup my face. “Oh, my baby boy. If only the whole world saw fifty-something women through your sweet eyes.”