said between us. My heart is beating so loudly, I wonder if Xander can hear it.
He lifts my hand, squeezing it in his. Then, to my complete surprise, he brings my hand to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss against my knuckles.
I nearly gasp from the sensation of his soft lips against my skin. His kiss is warm and gentle, and then he places my hand back down on the worktop and gives it another squeeze.
“For the first time I can ever recall,” Xander says slowly, “I feel as if I can find my way.”
My stomach flips upside down from the way he’s looking at me. “I have no doubt you will not only find your way, but thrive in creating a royal role that has your stamp on it. You are going to be king—and that gives you more power to make changes, Xander.”
His eyes lock on mine. “I believe you.”
“Don’t believe me. Believe in yourself,” I say.
Xander’s intense stare never wavers. “Thank you.”
I decide to lighten the mood. “You’re welcome. Now, as we’ve resolved the fact that you are going to figure out this whole kinging situation, shall I teach you how to make a smiley face biscuit?”
Xander grins at me, his smile so full of happiness, my heart melts on the spot.
“I don’t think there is anything I’d like more.”
* * *
“Damn, this is hard,” Xander says. “I’ve done four, and they can all go straight into the bin.”
I laugh as I watch Xander’s tongue dart out like a little boy as he concentrates on his piping. His biscuits are a complete disaster, with misshapen eyes and blob-like mouths, and I’m loving every minute of us working together.
“I’ve had years of practice,” I say.
Xander rolls his eyes. “For the love of God, please just accept the fact that you are an artist.”
I laugh. “Okay. I’m an artist.”
Xander sits straight up and stares at my biscuits, which do indeed look like potato smiles.
“See? Was that so hard to say?” Xander prompts. “Now, tell me your artistic process.”
“Oh, you don’t want to hear all that,” I say. “I can go into narratives about icing skills. It’s boring.”
“Oh, but I do want to hear all that. I demand you tell me.”
“You can’t make me. You aren’t king yet,” I tease.
“Fine. I’ll call my father and make him, as the king, force his subject—that’s you—to tell me. Or we’ll throw you in the Tower of London,” Xander says, keeping his face extremely serious.
“Ha-ha! Now that I would love to see,” I say.
Xander’s eyes are dancing. “You don’t think he can?”
“Um, no,” I say, grinning. “This is no longer the Tudor period.”
“Fair point. But indulge me. Tell me anyway.”
“Okay. I’ll walk you through it. It’s the strangest thing. When I get an idea for a biscuit design, I sketch it out in a notebook, but I’m terrible at drawing. Absolute shit.”
“That can’t be the truth,” Xander challenges. “You draw with icing.”
“I know, that’s the crazy bit,” I say. “I can’t draw with a pencil, but you put a piping bag in my hand, and it’s completely different. I can create exactly what is in my head. And like an artist, I use the icing as my medium and different tools to create dimension and texture, and I feel like a painter or sculptor. And it brings me so much joy to do it. Not just the fact that I’m creating art—I get to express myself and make beautiful biscuits that are going to create a feeling in someone else.”
“Like the feelings these biscuits created for me,” Xander says, lightly tapping his finger next to one of the biscuits I did.
“Oh, I know, these amused you,” I say.
“No, that’s not right.”
I blink. I lift my eyes from the biscuit to Xander. “What do you mean?”
“The fact that you picked something that had meaning to me showed me a lot about who you are,” he says. “You listen. You pick up on things. You put thought into gifts for people. You have a lovely spirit about you.”
I can’t breathe. Xander leans in closer.
“You’re lovely,” he whispers. “Like sunshine.”
He leans forward and slowly, oh-so-slowly, lifts both his hands to my hair. Every nerve I have jumps wildly the second he begins sensually caressing my hair in his hands. My chest rises and falls quickly. Xander leans closer, and the seductive scent of his aftershave wraps around me.
“My God, you’re so beautiful,” his silken voice murmurs, pouring over me.