Lone Prince (Royally Unexpected #7) - Lilian Monroe Page 0,82

say, looking at the bird tilt its head as it looks through the window.

“It’s very far north for a wren, even this time of year,” Wolfe says, watching the bird.

We exchange a glance, smile, and understand each other.

“You know male wrens build a number of nests, waiting for a female to choose one?” Wolfe says, hooking his arm around my shoulder.

I run my fingers through Wren’s thin, newborn hair, smiling. “Do they?”

“Uh-huh.” Wolfe nods. “Kind of feels like what I’ve been doing. Waiting for you.”

“Except I’m the one who designed our nest.” I grin.

“You want to stay at the Summer Palace?” Wolfe’s eyebrows jump. “I assumed you’d want to be in the city.”

“The Summer Palace is the first place that’s felt like home,” I say, laying a soft kiss on Wren’s head. I can’t stop kissing him and running my hands over his soft newborn skin.

Wolfe lets out a low growl, pulling me into his chest. I know what that growl means—it means I’ve just made him very happy. I’ve chosen a nest—the Summer Palace, with Wolfe by my side.

We marry in a quiet ceremony a month later, only releasing a few pictures to the media. I’m exhausted, but happy, still sore from the birth and running on too little sleep. Tucked away at the Summer Palace, we insulate ourselves from any gossip and articles, caring only about each other and our son.

It’s not a problem. The few snippets of news I see are mostly positive, congratulating us and praising the Prince for overcoming his grief. The opening of the visitor’s cottage museum helps the public image, and I see it as my first offering to Nord. Hopefully, in my life, I’ll be able to offer much, much more to the land that made me feel complete.

Grandma stays with us, cooing over Wren and smiling at me every chance she gets. Vikki falls in love with the baby, too, volunteering to babysit any chance she gets. She sings to Wren and puts him to sleep faster than I ever can, and I’m grateful for her help.

On one cool autumn day, when the sky is clear and the air is crisp, Wolfe asks Vikki to take care of the baby. He takes me by the hand and brings me to the garages, a grin teasing his lips. My heart flips, and I know I’ll never tire of seeing him smile. My husband—husband!—hops into a truck, clicking his fingers for Chief to jump in the back.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, smiling.

“Shh,” Wolfe says. “Just enjoy it.”

I use his help to get in the passenger seat—my body still feels weak, even months after my operation. I let the drive lull me to a shallow sleep, only opening my eyes when Wolfe stops the car.

We’re in front of the new museum, which is dark apart from a single light above the front door. Wolfe grins at me, then takes me by the hand and leads me inside. Chief’s nails clack on the hard tile as we walk through the silent building, past the new reception desk, and through the back to the old studio.

Candles are lit everywhere, bathing the room in a soft glow. The painting that inspired the palace design hangs in a place of honor at the end of the room, and a small round table is set up in the center. A waiter bows to the two of us, pulling out a chair for me and laying a cloth napkin across my lap.

My heart grows. Wolfe holds my hand across the table, tells me he loves me, then asks me to enjoy the meal he’s organized here, where our romance first began. “One year ago today,” he finally says, clinking a wine glass against mine.

My eyes widen. I do some mental math and realize he’s right—a year ago today, we kissed in this room and sealed our fate.

Wolfe laughs. “I remember you telling me you’d regret kissing me.”

“The only thing I regret is leaving you when I did.” I smile sadly at him, but Wolfe’s eyes soften. He’s already forgiven me for that, and I know our time apart gave me time to heal and realize what mattered. Love. Love is what matters. Love is what makes life worth living. Love is what makes independence feel sweet and safe and warm.

“You did a fantastic job on this design, Rowan,” Wolfe says, nodding to a waiter in the corner. The waiter approaches with a black binder, bowing and handing it