Page 11 of Big, Burly Bodyguard

“That sounds ominous.”

She laughs softly. “It is. Every minute is planned. Every movement observed. I can’t leave my wing without notifying at least three people.”

I whistle low. “That would drive me insane.”

“It does,” she says, then brightens. “That’s why I have a list.”

“A list,” I repeat.

“My American bucket list.”

I glance at her again. “You’re serious.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“All right,” I say. “Hit me.”

She straightens in her seat like she’s been waiting for this. “Okay. First—I want to walk barefoot.”

I blink. “Anywhere?”

“Yes.” She hesitates. “Well, not anywhere. Not like on broken glass or hot coals. Just some soft grass, maybe.”

“…you haven’t?”

“Not outside,” she says. “Not without permission. Or shoes chosen for me. Or someone panicking about tetanus.”

“That’s a little ridiculous,” I mutter.

She grins. “I think so too.”

“What else?”

“I want to hug dogs.”

I laugh. “Dogs specifically?”

“All animals, really. But dogs seem very… hug-friendly.”

“You’ve never hugged a dog?”

“Absolutely not. Fur is considered unsanitary. The only animals we have on palace grounds are peacocks and swans. Neither of which are particularly snuggly.”

I shake my head. “This keeps getting worse.”

She’s smiling now, relaxed. “I also want to wear a swimsuit in public.”

I choke on a laugh. “You what?”

She shrugs. “Apparently Americans do that.”

“They do,” I confirm. “Frequently.”

She sighs dreamily. “Imagine. Just… walking to a pool without a robe, an escort, and a briefing.”

I glance at her again. “You’re killing me.”

“Oh, I’m not done,” she says. “I want to take a shower.”