you when we get back home,” he whispers, his voice low, dangerous.
It sends a shiver through me, my core clenching. I shift in my seat, squeezing my thighs together as I push down the desire filling me. I don’t know how this man does it. One touch, and all my trepidation disappears. He makes me forget about the world. Forget about everything except us and the love that grows stronger every day.
“Naughty?” I murmur, turning my lips toward his, but remaining out of reach.
His leering stare skates over my body, his pupils dilating. “Very.” He brushes a gentle kiss to my cheek, at odds with the carnal heat in his gaze. He pulls back as the SUV slows outside a pair of wrought-iron gates, an imposing, brick building looming in the distance.
From the research I’ve done, Lamberside Palace is over 500 years old and boasts several hundred rooms. It functions as the primary residence of the monarch, as well as the executive offices of the monarchy and royal household.
Cobblestone lines the vast courtyard leading up to the sprawling estate, two smaller wings jutting out on either side of the main building, each impressive in its own right. I’ve seen large houses before. Hell, Evie’s husband, Julian, is one of the wealthiest men in the United States. Or he would be if he didn’t donate a huge portion of his annual income to charity. But his stately home in Rye, extravagant villa in the Hamptons, and lavish Columbus Circle penthouse pale in comparison.
And this was where Anderson spent the majority of his formative years.
And once his father voluntarily abdicates in a few years, this will be where I live.
Holy fuck.
If I was nervous before, my anxiety about today just increased tenfold. Hell, a thousandfold.
“So… This is where you grew up?” I say as nonchalantly as possible.
Anderson looks at me, then breaks into a throaty laugh. “Not much to write home about, is it?”
“Doesn’t everyone grow up in a building that’s featured on postcards?”
His laughter only increases as he slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer and kissing my temple. If I don’t make light of this situation, I’ll lose my mind.
“If you look closely at one of those postcards, perhaps you might see me giving the photographer a show.”
“Is that right?”
“There may have been a few times I invited a few of my mates over and we all decided to go streaking through the gardens and swam in the reflecting pool.”
“Gardens? Reflecting pool? What… No orchestra shell? This really is subpar.”
“Actually, love, there is an orchestra shell on the west side of the palace. Every Friday evening during the summer, the Belmont National Symphony performs. I’ll take you one of these days, if you’d like.”
“Sure…” My voice is distant as I struggle to wrap my head around this being my life from now on.
When Creed pulls the SUV underneath an awning, I glance out the window at a pair of ornate wooden doors, a red carpet lining the short flight of steps into the building.
Butterflies flit in my stomach as a man approaches. He wears black pants and a black, high-necked jacket with various pins and medals on the left side over his chest. It’s reminiscent of the United States Marine Corps dress uniform, apart from being all black. Two men dressed similarly, but with red jackets, approach both passenger doors.
As if rehearsed, our doors open at the same time, the man outside mine bowing. “My lady.” He offers his arm and helps me out of the SUV.
It’s still a shock to hear people address me so formally. Yesterday, I was Ms. Tremblay or ma’am. I suppose that’s what the king’s approval does. I go from being no one to being someone. More specifically, the crown prince’s fiancée.
Anderson approaches and links his fingers with mine, leading me up the stairs and into the palace. Creed and Bridge follow behind as the man in the black uniform walks in front of us, his steps measured and in time.
Before we make it more than a few feet into the grand foyer dripping in gold and crystal, a familiar woman wearing a navy blue-and-white striped dress walks toward us, her steps graceful, as is everything about her. I breathe a sigh of relief. Sure, Anderson has a calming effect on me, but it’s comforting to see someone else I knew before all of this.
“Nora,” Esme says, her accent more prominent than her brother’s, since she hasn’t spent as much time living in