She might find them endearing rather than overwhelming, and I can’t risk it. I have to keep Elizabeth un-endeared and undo the damage caused by the stupid parachute.
It’s not too late to get Operation Prince Charmless back on track.
It can’t be.
Pouring on the speed, I leap a particularly large patch of nettles and touch down unharmed on the other side, deciding to take that as a sign that luck is on my side.
Chapter Eight
Sabrina
I’ve barely passed the slowing blades of the helicopter and dared to stand up straight on the sun-warmed tarmac when Andrew races into view, bursting from the trees half a dozen yards away with a strained smile on his face.
“There you are!” he pants, so out of breath, he must have sprinted here from wherever he touched down. He thrusts an arm my way. “Come, then, breakfast awaits. I’m famished, aren’t you?”
He takes my hand, tugging me to the left, away from the broad paved pathway, which presumably leads to the castle and his family, who Lizzy assured me would be here to greet me when I touched down.
Apparently, she’s been in touch with Andrew’s mother via email. They’ve become friendly and made plans to sculpt together before the wedding.
Considering everything I sculpt ends up looking like an animal took a dump on an ashtray, I plan to avoid artsy bonding time at all costs. But I should at least say hello and thank Queen Felicity for all the planning and bill-footing she’s done.
Lord knows my parents have done nothing to organize or fund the festivities.
I glance back over my shoulder as Andrew guides me down a narrow dirt path. “But your family. Shouldn’t we—”
“My family is terribly busy. Too busy to say hello this morning, sadly, but they’ll be around later.” He releases my hand and snakes his arm around my waist, practically carrying me now as he hustles around the trees, making the tingly part of me viscerally aware of how strong he is.
I don’t usually get weak in the knees over silly things like muscles—good conversation and a sense of humor are my weaknesses—but so far, there’s nothing “usual” about the way this man affects me.
“Besides, they wouldn’t want our coffee to get cold,” Andrew adds. “Nothing worse than cold coffee. Except for cold eggs, maybe.” We’re so close that when he shudders in disgust, I do, too, making him laugh as he glances my way. “Glad we agree on cold eggs.”
“Complete agreement, but I can walk.” I bring a hand to his shoulder, applying pressure until he relaxes his hold on my waist and my feet touch the ground again. I tug my skirt down and stuff my shirt in, but the fussing does nothing to stop the zing and prickle of excitement across my skin. “I feel like a sausage,” I mutter.
“You want sausage?” Andrew asks, his brows lifting. “I ordered bacon, but I can call my assistant and have sausage delivered to the garden.”
“Oh no, it’s fine,” I say, waving a hand.
“Really, it’s no trouble at all.” He reaches into the back pocket of his pants for his cell. “I want you to enjoy your first meal.”
“I’m sure I will,” I say. My breath rushes out as I confess, “I’m just not used to dressing up. This skirt is so tight it makes me feel like a sausage. That’s what I said.”
His gaze skims up and down my frame, a lightning-quick, detached assessment that still makes my cheeks uncomfortably warm. “Well, you don’t look like a sausage. You look…very beautiful.” He clears his throat, a little nervously, I think, which only increases his charm. “But you’d look just as lovely in comfortable clothes. We should both change after breakfast and put on something we can go walking in, then I’ll give you a tour of the grounds.”
“I’d like that, thank you,” I say with a smile. “And thank you for the message on the parachute. That was sweet.” I incline my head. “I mean, in the future, I’d rather you avoid unnecessary risks to your life, but the spirit of the gesture was appreciated. And charming.”
His eyes meet mine, something flickering in his unguarded gaze that I can’t quite read. “You’re not stuttering,” he murmurs.
I pull in a breath and let it out with a shake of my head. Lizzy gave me clearance to ditch the stutter with Andrew if I had to, understanding how hard it would be to fake that with someone I’ll be spending so much time with one on one. I didn’t expect to feel the need this soon, but I didn’t expect to be the focus of Andrew’s unrelenting attention right off the bat, either.
“No, I’m not,” I say. “This isn’t as scary as I thought it would be.”
“No, it isn’t,” he says, a wrinkle appearing between his finely shaped brows. Even his eyebrows are beautiful, worthy of being captured on one of my father’s canvases.