The Bossy Prince (Rugged and Royal #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,15

again.

The extra inches aren’t worth losing a toe to frostbite.

The torture continued this morning over a ceremonial Christmas Eve breakfast, during which the press was invited to the castle to snap photos of the royal family dining with the recipients of this year’s Extraordinary Community Service Awards. Afterward, we spent hours handing out presents to needy children bussed in for a cookie-making party.

I respect people who give back to their communities, and all children—especially the needy ones—deserve a bright and festive holiday, but I hate the spotlight. I always have, long before my cousin Beatrice was mortified in the tabloids for her many romantic mistakes, or Sabrina was called a “lying hussy” for tricking Andrew into thinking she was Lizzy when they first re-met. It’s the reason I pestered my parents to send me to boarding school when I was barely out of diapers. I did nothing to deserve all this attention, and I’d rather be invisible than rewarded for nothing more than the circumstances of my birth.

Though, honestly, the “rewards” of being royal often feel like punishments.

Like now, for instance…

I would never choose to sing in public, not even to celebrate the merriest night of the year.

“Am I mad, or were you just mouthing the words to ‘Joy to the World’?” Nick asks as we tromp through the lightly falling snow to the next mansion on the historic city block, trailed by photographers and royal security and a crowd of curious onlookers who are unfortunately not joining in the caroling.

If they did, it would be easier to hide the fact that my voice isn’t raised in song.

“I can’t speak to your mental state,” I mutter, “but yes.”

“Why? Don’t you want to wish the world a joyful Christmas Eve?”

“The world is happier without my voice in it. Believe me.”

Sabrina stops beneath a sprig of mistletoe tied to an antique lamppost, and I hang back as Andrew goes in for a kiss that has every camera in the vicinity flashing and the crowd cooing with approval.

Ugh. So gross.

I love my sister desperately, but her penchant for public displays of affection is troubling. Seeing her make out with her boyfriend at a bar in our village when we were teenagers was bad enough, and it’s not any better watching her suck face in front of people who will send pictures of the tongue-tangling to gossip sites all around the world.

“I doubt that. Every voice has its own unique beauty,” Nick says, so close that when I turn to face him, his breath warms my forehead.

Ignoring the way my nose prickles at his clove and cedar scent, I grunt, “I’m tone-deaf.”

He drives me crazy, but he really does smell incredible. More often than I’d like, I fantasize about resting my cheek on his chest and enjoying a long, lingering encounter with his Nick scent.

But I’m not that girl—never have been.

Those few months with Gerg, when snuggling was a thing I actually enjoyed, were an anomaly. One that ended in betrayal. And I don’t need to learn a hard lesson more than once.

From now on, my guard is staying up.

I’ll whisk a man back to my apartment for a quickie, but no spooning after. No reading the paper in bed together the next morning. No sitting on his lap after dinner, watching a movie while he rubs my back until my perpetually knotted muscles finally relax.

Relaxing is no longer on my agenda.

I shift my weight to my back foot, casually putting more distance between myself and this divine-smelling human, and add, “So, it’s in everyone’s best interest if I keep my song to myself.”

Nick smiles, a gentle curve of his full lips that emphasizes the symmetry of his features. Even his dimples match, for God’s sake. It’s obnoxious. “No way. I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. I made my nanny’s parrot weep during music class.”

“I didn’t realize parrots could cry.”

“Only in the most horrific auditory circumstances.”

“Aw, you’re too hard on yourself, I bet.” He nudges my shoulder with his as we begin walking again. Lizzy and Jeffrey, thankfully, give the mistletoe lamp a wide berth, as do Nick and I. “I like your speaking voice. Quite a lot, actually.”

I frown up at him.

“I do,” he says, seeming sincere. “When you’re with someone you care for, it’s very sweet and gentle. Same with children. You were good with the kids this morning.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I was,” he says, still with that warm grin. “Pleasantly so. Probably a good thing we’re off in two days. If we spend