Prince of my Panties (Royal Package 2)

I shrug. “I listen to a lot of political podcasts while I sew. The Gallantian ones are better than ours. Again, better funding for public radio. So, why is your reform party so eager to shake things up. Your family’s reign has left them better off than most countries in the world, democratically led or otherwise.”

“I think people want to see power and influence earned by hard work, not bestowed by birth. They’re tired of people like my family cheating their way to the top.” He pulls the lid off the pot of rice on the back burner, releasing an aromatic puff of warm, jasmine-scented air. “One more minute, maybe two, and we’ll be ready to plate up.”

“Thank God.” I press a hand to my grumbling stomach. “I’m so hungry. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”

“You haven’t,” he says, amusement in his eyes. “You were asleep for an entire day, remember? And you were too sick for more than juice and broth the day before.”

I blink. “You’re right. No wonder I’m having a hard time focusing. I want to talk more about earning power and influence, but I’m so starved I feel like a wolf in the old cartoons. The ones that follow the chickens around the barnyard, drooling and imagining them all roasted up and ready to eat.”

Jeffrey laughs. “Can’t say I’ve seen any of those. I wasn’t allowed to watch television as a kid, only movies, and I’ve been too busy as an adult to catch up. I’ve still never seen a single episode of The Simpsons.”

“Wow,” I say, crossing my arms over my continually growling stomach. “Even I’ve seen The Simpsons, and I’ve been mostly a radio-listener only since I was a teenager.”

“Yeah, my brother Nick says I’m missing out on satiric brilliance.”

“It can be really good,” I say. “But it’s just television. It’s not like you’re missing out on something important.”

He pulls the rice from the heat and turns off the back burner, but he doesn’t reach for the serving spoon.

When I look up at him, he’s watching me with an uncertain expression.

“What?” I arch a brow. “You look constipated.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I do not.”

“How do you know? Do you look in the mirror when you’re constipated?” I ask, and he rolls his eyes. “Exactly. So you don’t know. I bet you look just like that.”

“I was thinking about missing out on important things,” he says. “And about what you said.”

“What I said about what?” I ask. “About only eating curry twice in my life?”

“That,” he says. “And…about being a virgin. I’m curious, but I don’t want to step where I shouldn’t.”

“I propositioned you while I was completely naked, Jeffrey,” I say, my cheeks getting hot again at the memory. “It’s silly to be shy at this point. I’m not shy about it,” I lie with bravado that sounds fairly convincing.

But then, maybe it isn’t a lie. I’m a little embarrassed that he turned me down, yes, but I’m not shy or ashamed.

I don’t feel ashamed when I’m with Jeffrey. I feel…accepted. Taken for who I am. Even when he disagrees with me or thinks I’m crazy or ridiculous.

“So, which part are you curious about?” I ask, my stomach snarling so loudly I wince in apology. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I should apologize for chatting while you’re starving to death.” He ladles rice onto two plates and then covers each with a generous helping of curry. “I’m hungry, too. And I don’t like to talk about sex with my mouth full.”

“Well, no matter what we talk about, I’m doing it with my mouth full.” I cross to the table and pull out a chair for him before settling into the one across from it. “Once I start in on this curry, I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to stop.”

“What if it uses its safe word?” he says, setting a plate down in front of me.

“I don’t believe in safe words. Or BDSM, really.”

He frowns. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Decide you don’t believe in something that empirically exists. It’s like I said before, that’s not the way reality works. Whether you believe in safe words or not, they do exist.”

“Ha.” I point my fork at him. “Exactly. Thank you for proving my point.”

“Proving your point?” He grunts. “You mean about your curse?”

“Yes.” I dig in, lifting a steaming piece of chicken to my mouth and taking my first bite, moaning as spice and citrus thrust against my tongue. “Oh my God. This is so good. So, so good. I don’t ever want to stop eating this meal. Never ever…”

He makes a pained sound, but when I glance his way, his attention is fixed on his plate. “So, the curse… I’ve been thinking about it, and I might have a solution.”

My brows shoot up. “Are you a wizard?” I ask, spearing a bite of perfectly tender cauliflower with curry sauce hiding in every delectable nook and cranny.