The Millionaire's Royal Rescue
“What are you thinking about?” Annabelle sent him a smile as though she could read his mind.
He cleared his throat. “I was just thinking some more about the note.”
She nodded, but her eyes said she didn’t believe him. “Well, you better get some rest. We’re going to be very busy tomorrow.”
“I’d be better off here, working on deciphering the note.”
“And I think you need to get out and experience a bit of Mirraccino. After all, the contract isn’t signed yet. I still need to give you a good impression of our nation.”
His gaze strayed to her lips before returning to her eyes. “I have a very good impression already.”
“Why Grayson, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were flirting with me.” She sent him a teasing smile. “I must be more tired than I thought. Good night.” And with that she went into her room and closed the door.
He stood there for a moment taking stock of what just happened. He’d been soundly turned down. That had never happened to him. In fact, he was normally the one who turned away women.
Annabelle was most certainly different. And it had nothing to do with her noble birthright. It was something deep within her that set her apart from the other women who’d crossed his life.
* * *
“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
The next morning, Grayson stood in the middle of the road. He hunched over at the starting line of the chariot race. His hands wrapped around the handles of the wooden cart. Why exactly had he agreed to this? And then he recalled Annabelle’s sunny smile and the twinkle of merriment in her eyes. That had done in all of his common sense.
And now he was the horse and she was the driver. Go figure. What part of not being athletic didn’t Annabelle get? And worst of all, the king was in attendance. Grayson could feel the man’s inquisitive gaze following him.
“What did you say?” Annabelle asked. “I can’t hear you from back here.”
Before he could answer a horn was blown.
“Hold on!” Grayson yelled and then he lifted the front of the wooden chariot and set off.
Annabelle of course got to stand in the rustic chariot. He could hear her back there shouting encouragements. It wasn’t helping. Why did people find getting all hot and sweaty so exhilarating? He jogged each morning, but that was for the health benefits, not because he enjoyed it. His favorite part of running was when it was over. He was more than fine with a tall cold drink and his laptop.
Lucky for him Annabelle didn’t weigh much. He kept his gaze on the finish line. He’d told Annabelle not to get her hopes up for winning. He was definitely not a sprinter, but now that the race was under way, his competitive streak prodded him onward.
He looked to his right. They’d passed that team, leaving only one other team in this heat. He quickly glanced to the left to find two guys. They were slightly ahead.
“Go, Grayson!” Annabelle cheered. In his mind’s eye he could see her smiling. “We can do this!”
She was right, he could catch them. Adrenaline flooded his veins.
He just had to push harder. This wasn’t so bad. In fact, he kind of liked it.
“Grayson, straighten up.”
He glanced forward and realized that he’d listed to the left. Oops. But it wasn’t such an egregious error that it couldn’t be fixed. He just had to stay focused. The further they went, the heavier his load became. His leg muscles burned, but he refused to slow down. Annabelle was counting on him.
His breathing came in huffs. He really needed to take his running more seriously in the future. Who knew when the next chariot race would pop up? He’d laugh, but he was too tired.
He was running out of energy. Still, he kept putting one foot in front of the other. The finish line was just a little farther. Keep going. Just a little farther.
He.
Could.
Do.
It.