Page 37 of Heavy Crown

“I couldn’t get the taste of your cream tea out of my head.” I gesture behind her. “May I come in?”

“Oh God. Yes. Come in. It’s basically your place, isn’t it? Are you officially my landlord or is that your dad?”

I scratch the back of my head. “The estate sort of functions as its own entity. Technically, every member of the royal family over the age of eighteen can make decisions about tenants and other equally boring things.” Vanilla, butter, and sugar hit me as though she’s spent the day baking delicious things. Do these scents seep into her skin like a natural perfume? If I ran my lips across her skin, would she taste like the world’s best dessert? I can’t remember what she smelled like when I held her in my arms, but if I close my eyes, I can recall the weight and shape of her cradled there.

“I doubt I could ever find any of it boring.” Rory takes the scones out of a container and removes the jam and clotted cream from the fridge. “The last one, Your Highness.” She presents it to me on a plate with a mock flourish.

I shrug off my suit jacket and roll up my sleeves. “Desmond will be devastated.”

Rory chuckles. “He’s warming up to me, or maybe he’s just warming up to my cream tea. In any event, he seems to like me better when I’m feeding him.”

“How are you feeling?” I’ve been scanning her face for any sign of pain since I arrived, but she has more color in her face, and her expression doesn’t have the tightness it did the last time I saw her. Without the dull veneer of discomfort coating her, her youthfulness is startling.

“Much better. I went to the Concussion Clinic today with Dr. Bennett, and they’re confident I’ll be feeling good in two weeks if I follow the guidelines. You’ll be happy to know the only things I’ve read in the last few days were text messages.”

“Isn’t there an app to have them read to you?”

“So you want me to read through a list of apps to find one that’ll read my texts to me?” She raises her eyebrows.

My lips twitch with holding back a smile. I grab my plate and head to the couch. She drops onto the other end so we’re facing each other. At the first bite, I remember why I had to leave so quickly last time. These are delicious, but more than that, there’s an ease between us I want to sink into. Two days ago I was intent on fighting our connection, and now I’m here, unwilling to resist her pull.

“Were you still working?” she asks, drawing her knees into her chest. She digs her toes into the space between the cushions and rests her temple on the back of the couch.

“I had a late meeting.” The rest of the truth goes down my throat with my scone. Could I trust Rory with royal secrets? Despite the draw I have to her, we’ve known each other a few days.

The Crown has no intention of revealing why I’ll marry. A wedding will happen so a coronation can happen. The press and the public can make their assumptions and draw their conclusions. The only people, as with most aspects of royal business, who’ll ever know the truth will be immediate family and employees involved in the process. Rory isn’t in either of those categories, and confiding in her is a risk I can’t take.

“You had late meetings, and I baked brownies.” She glances over her shoulder at another container on the counter. “They’re actually a brownie and a cookie combined. I was messing around in the kitchen today because not working is boring.” She purses her lips. “Working too much is also boring.”

“Are you trying to imply I’m boring?” I take another bite of scone and eye her across the space between us on the couch.

She laughs. “No—maybe that you work too much. You’re practically running a country, so I guess that’s a dumb thing to say. I’m probably extra sensitive given everything that’s happened with Derrick and his family and my family.”

“Tell me about it,” I say.

She takes my empty plate and goes to the kitchen. “Brownie?”

I pat my stomach and wonder whether Desmond and I will be sporting pastry bellies by the time Rory is done with us. Guess I should follow Nick’s lead and schedule workouts into my days. “I’ll try one.” She must have an amazing metabolism to be so slight with all these calories at her disposal.

She plucks a square off the top for her and me and then reseals the container. “Do you really want to know about me and Derrick and his family?”

“Yes,” I say.

She passes me my dessert and settles into the couch across from me. Without further prompting, she opens her life as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to tell the Prince of Bellerive her secrets.

Her words flow over me, some hitting harder than others, but the whole time she’s speaking, I can’t take my gaze off her expressive face. Every emotion she feels is writ large. She must be a terrible high-stakes game player. Her happiness, sadness, and frustration flit across her features unguarded.

“You haven’t spoken to your parents in almost a year?” I take another bite of brownie and suppress a groan. This chocolate chip-brownie concoction is sinful.

“My mom sent me a text after my accident.” The corners of her mouth turn down, and her chin trembles. “Better than nothing, right?”

My parents, constantly in a tug-of-war with their role as monarchs, would have flown across the world and slain literal dragons for me if I was in serious trouble. Rory almost goes over a cliff and she gets a text message? The surge of protectiveness comes again unbidden.

“Nothing from your father?” I raise my eyebrows. While I’m tempted to point out how deeply flawed her parents are for being so obstinate in the face of her almost death, we don’t know each other well enough for that. Also, by the wobble in her chin and the thickness of her voice, I suspect she’s aware her parents are shitty.

“No.” She shakes her head and avoids meeting my gaze.

Rather than digging deeper, I take the hint she’s done discussing them. “Derrick thinks he can win you back?”