line now. You don’t have to, if you’d rather not. But Genny, Kelsey, and I do.”
She burrowed her cheek against his collarbone for a long beat. Then she stepped out of his arms. Took his hand with one that still slightly shook. “I go where you go, Christian. We’re together. Bad or good, awkward or weird, embarrassing or awesome. Together. That was our decision, and we’re sticking to it for the next four weeks.”
Her bravery blew him away.
As did the unexpected reminder that she’d only agreed to a short run of this relationship.
Christian had picked the arbitrary timeline merely as a way to wheedle her into accepting the bet. While it couldn’t last forever, he’d felt confident they’d make it at least four weeks. He’d win the bet, and then they could keep going, as long as they could stretch it out.
He already knew four weeks wouldn’t be enough for him. That he wanted to stay with her until the damned day he was forced to choose a bride or she decided to go back to America. He’d been hoping to roll this along at least into the New Year.
Which, again, was selfish. But he wanted the memory of a Christmas with her. He wanted kissing her to be the last thing he did in this year. The last year that he got truly to live for himself, probably.
It had never occurred to him that Mallory would be checking off the days, counting down to the end of it.
Was it rooted in the fight she’d had with Kelsey? Was she truly giving them a chance? Or was he just a royal fling that she’d remember fondly once she scooted back to America?
He couldn’t believe that. Didn’t want to believe it.
But it’d damn well circle his brain like a vulture until that deadline passed and he could know for certain how she really felt about him…
Chapter Fifteen
The good thing about living and working in the palace? Mallory was protected from stumbling across anyone outside of the royal circle. A.k.a. all the royally pissed-off people who hated her after yesterday’s peacock tragedy.
She’d never been so glad she didn’t speak the language. It enabled her to miss at least some of the excruciating slurs being hurled about her on the radio and TV.
But Mallory still knew. The country was furious. “The American Woman”—they didn’t even use her name or title or mention her connection to Kelsey—had murdered the beloved symbol of their nation. That was the gist of the headlines.
That…and that they hated her. Hated her for daring to put her hands on their crown prince. Hated her for taking time away that he should’ve been focused on potential future queens. Hated her for ruining the Harvest Festival “for an entire generation of children.”
Even hated her for sucking at bocce.
Sir Evan had made a point of alerting her this morning to her status as a national pariah. Not to be mean—although the man loved to gossip more than her dad loved cherry pie—but to make sure she was aware of the consequences of her actions.
And by that, she was pretty sure he meant less the killing of the peacock and more the choosing to date Christian.
Christian, who’d so heroically tried to take the blame. Insisted to everyone at the festival that it was his bet that’d set things in motion, and therefore his fault.
Mallory had refused the easy out. Yes, it was an accident. But also, yes, entirely her fault. Something she made clear when apologizing profusely to the animal wrangler.
And to the people who’d been in line to take pictures with the peacocks.
And to the people who greeted her, stone-faced, in the rope line and refused to shake her hand.
“Are you coming with me to the book event at the library after lunch?” Kelsey asked. Then she gave an up-and-down look, taking in Mallory’s long brown knit duster, orange tee and leggings covered with autumn leaves. “You’re wearing comfortable clothes. You’re not coming?”
Not for a million dollars. Not for the ability to eat pasta five times a week without gaining a pound. “You don’t need me there. It’s just the rededication of a children’s room. You shake hands, cut a ribbon, and eat cake. Easy peasy.”
“All you’d have to do is smile and eat cake. Easier peasier,” Kelsey challenged. “You know the rules. We suffer together. If I’m stuck in heels—and worse, this thing”—she tugged at the wide black satin bow that tied together the cream sweater with the matching skirt covered