Without skipping a beat, he puts his hands on my waist, pulls me close, and kisses me full on the mouth. His lips feel hot and pliable against mine; his grasp on my waist feels so intimate that I blush furiously. I blink, trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is even happening.
Lars Love is kissing me.
It’s only something I’ve imagined a thousand times over. It’s better than the fantasy though.
So, so much better.
Inside, I start to melt.
It takes me a solid fifteen seconds to realize I need to kiss him back. So I reach up timidly, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and open my mouth to him.
As soon as I do, though, he pulls back with a quizzical gaze. I bite my lower lip, feeling embarrassed that I got so wrapped up in everything.
Lars clears his throat, steps back from me, and takes my hand. Only then do I realize that there are still reporters shouting our names and flash bulbs going off.
He pulls me along the street. I shiver, waiting for a break in the reporters shouting at us. But no, as we move along, the crowd’s yammer never dies down. I look at Lars, making a face at him. But he just shrugs and continues down the early-morning Copenhagen street.
By the time we reach the jeweler on High Street, I’ve gone from feeling overwhelmed by the noise of the reporters to being irritated by it. I know I signed myself up for this, but… I’m already over it.
Lars stops at a glass storefront, looking up. It’s a high-end jeweler with a few tasteful pieces of jewelry displayed at the front window, diamonds and sapphires, gleaming white gold and titanium.
Lars surprises me by opening the door for me. He never does that; I’ve actually only seen him open doors for the girls he dates. I arch a brow at him as I step through.
A sarcastic comment is on the tip of my tongue. But it is swept away when a short, balding man dressed in head to toe black approaches us.
“Your royal highness,” he says, bowing low. He has a French accent. “Welcome to my shop. I am Etienne.”
I curtsy. “Bonjour, Etienne.”
Lars just nods and gives a curt smile. “The royal press office said that you were the jeweler to come see.”
“Oui, monsieur. Please, come right this way…”
Lars puts his hand on my lower back, gently nudging me forward. My eyes widen at his touch.
He usually doesn’t touch me, even casually. Etienne shows us into a back room, which is well-appointed with a pair of heavy, dark wood couches and several tall, thin mahogany chests of drawers.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Etienne waves to the couches. “Would you like something to drink? Water, coffee, a latte…”
“No, thank you.” My answer is automatic.
Lars slides me a look. “You don’t want coffee?”
My cheeks turn pink. I do want coffee, but I don’t want to put Etienne out. So I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
Etienne purses his lips. “Very well. If you’ll both have a seat, we can get started.”
Running a hand over my dress, I find a seat on the couch. Lars does too, unbuttoning his suit jacket and leaning back, throwing his arm over the back. He looks like he owns the place, which makes my mouth turn down just a hair.
Etienne picks up a black velvet-lined tray, walking over to us and displaying his wares. I’m not sure what I expected to see. Maybe a selection of new and untouched rings in the latest styles or something.
But instead, Etienne holds a tray of gleaming antique-looking rings, varying in precious metal and stone. They are, on the whole, not especially stunning. When I think of a jaw-dropping engagement ring, I think of some huge, sparkly diamond.
These are much smaller stones, much less glittery than I had imagined. My surprise must be written on my face when I look up, because Etienne offers me a smile.
“Her royal highness, the former Queen Ida, suggested that you might like to choose a ring that is already in the family.”
I lick my lips, darting a glance at Lars.
“I see.” I don’t know quite what else to say.
Lars frowns at the selection of rings. “These are all hideous. Do you have something…” He squints.
“A little more modern, perhaps,” I suggest.
Etienne bows his head. “But of course.”
With that, he takes the tray back to the dresser, swapping it out. When he presents the new selection, I arch a brow. These