Secrets of a Prince (The Princes of New Sargasso #3) - Carol Moncado Page 0,32
others did with different readers at different points and brainstorming friends. Only RealJ1955 - sometimes.
Joss pushed off the wall and rested a hand on her shoulder before leaning down and kissing her forehead. “I hope you have a good rest of the night. I’m probably going straight to bed. Sleep well.”
“You too.”
She didn’t move as he left. Instead, she continued to stare out the window as the lights came on and the ships became glittering points in the distance.
Long after the sun completely set, Minnie stood. Rather than reading what Joss wrote, she decided to take a long, hot bubble bath. It didn’t do enough to release the tension that started in the bottom of her feet and continued all the way up to her head.
Deciding a shower might help, she took a long one of those and washed her hair.
After putting on some of her most comfortable pyjamas, she used the blow dryer she’d ordered so she wouldn’t go to bed with wet hair.
Eventually, she climbed into the big bed, wondering as she always did, which side Joss preferred. She stared toward the window she’d spent so long looking out of. Normally, she pulled the curtains, but she hadn’t this time.
Why did she let Joss’s words affect her so much? From what he said, the feedback wasn’t even that bad, just a different interpretation of one bit of text, but that difference changed everything. Why couldn’t she let them roll off her back like she did when difficult feedback came in on the TriluniMunity message boards?
Because she didn’t know those people, but she did know Joss?
Or was it more than that?
Because, origins of their relationship aside, he was her husband?
When she finally slept a couple of hours later, she was no closer to answers than she had been when he left.
By the time Joss made it back to the apartment the next day, he’d realized he’d done something wrong but still had no idea what it could be.
Dinner had gone well, once the bleak discussion was over, anyway.
But after he finished reading what she’d written of her story, Minnie seemed off. He ran through the conversation in his head one more time as he trudged up the stairs. Her text messages had been sparse and terse during the day.
He hadn’t come any closer to finding an answer when he walked through the door. Minnie sat in one of the plush chairs with a Kindle in her hand.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” she returned, but she didn’t look at him.
“How was your day?” He set his bag down on the lounge and sat next to it.
“Fine.”
“Did you work on the story anymore?”
“Yes.”
Single word answers didn’t bode well for the rest of the evening.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” Maybe that would bring more of an answer.
“There’s pizza in the freezer. The oven is already turned on.”
More words, but she still didn’t look at him.
Stifling an exasperated sigh, Joss went into the kitchen and got the pizza in the oven.
When he came back, she still didn’t look at him. “What are you reading?”
“A book by this author in the States. Small town life and all.”
“What’s the author’s name?”
“Cynthia Herron.”
A little better. “What part of the States? I haven’t been there much, but I know a small town in California and a small town in the South are two different things.”
“Missouri. Right in the middle.”
“There’s a bunch of royal connections in Missouri,” he mused. “Jacqueline Grace’s youngest brother and sister have both lived there. I think Queen Adeline went to school there.”
“Hm.”
“Min?”
She finally looked up. “Yes?”
“Are you going to tell me what I did to upset you?”
Minnie turned back to her Kindle. “Nothing.”
“Then what did someone else do to upset you?”
“No one else upset me.”
“Why are you upset then? Something upset you. If it wasn’t me or someone else, then what is it?”
With an exasperated sigh, Minnie closed the cover on her Kindle and set it on her lap. “I’m just not in the mood for a lot of conversation tonight.”
There was more to it than that. There had to be.
“Come on, Minnie. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She stared at her hands. “You belittled me.”
That made Joss blink twice. “I did? When? How?”
“You said I needed a second story because my first one is wrong.”
That’s what it was? “I suggested you might want to write one in case you’re wrong, that’s all.”
Was that a tear streaking down her cheek?
“You don’t trust that I’m right. You don’t believe in my ideas and to tell me that