Buckingham Palace, for the Royal College of Literary Studies. Thursday, I have a day trip to Birmingham, but I’ll be back in the evening if you care to come over then.”
“Yes, I’d like that,” I say. I trace my fingertips over his chest. “Is the Royal College of Literary Studies one of your charities?”
“No. It’s my mother’s.”
And that’s all he says.
I frown. I’ve noticed a pattern with Xander. He talks with fondness and respect about his father. I can tell how close he is to Christian, who is not only his brother but his best friend. I hear the affection in his voice for James. The bond he has with Liz, who is like a sister to him.
But he doesn’t speak much about Queen Antonia.
There has to be a reason for that, I think.
As I lie here in his arms, and I can see more than a few dates with Xander, I know I need to know more about that. He might not reveal it today—hell, he’s still getting to know me, to trust me—but I have to at least open that door a crack. While other women might not have questioned this or stepped back if he refused to talk about her in order to please him, I’m not that woman.
And he might as well learn that now.
“Xander, why do you not talk about your mum?” I ask gently.
Silence. I swear, I feel his arm that is wrapped around me flinch as soon as the question passes my lips.
“I do talk about her,” Xander finally says, his voice flat.
I shift myself, so I’m looking up at him. “Not like how you talk about your father.”
“It’s normal for a person to be closer to one parent than the other,” Xander says. Again, his voice is emotionless. I zero in on his eyes. The looks I’ve seen expressed in those piercing blue eyes tonight—happiness, mischievousness, desire—are gone. They’re replaced by something else, but I can’t label what it is.
“This is something more than that,” I press on. I lift my hand to his face, gently stroking it with my fingertips. “You don’t have to tell me about it now. I know you are still getting to know me. I know you have to be careful of who you trust, of who you let inside your world. I can promise you I can keep a secret, but this isn’t about that. It’s about you having to share something that might not be perfect. But if we start to date, if we want to get closer, I not only need to know the truth, but I expect you to share it with me.”
I search his eyes, waiting for his response. To see if he doesn’t like how I’m laying out what I need from him. How I expect him to give and share and let me inside his world if he wants to be a part of mine.
“Will I get the same from you?” Xander asks, his eyes now searching mine the same way I’m searching his.
“Yes, you will.”
He takes my hand, places it over his chest, and squeezes it.
“You are so different, Poppy Davies,” he says, a faint smile forming on his mouth. “I can tell you are going to push me and challenge me and not take any crap from me, aren’t you?”
I smile up at him. “I will push you. And you’re right. I won’t take crap from you, either. You don’t have a title when it’s you and me. It’s equal footing here.”
“I will never have a title with you. Ever. Remember that,” Xander says firmly. “And this is screwed up and stupid on my part, but I do trust you. I shouldn’t. I don’t know you. I’m still learning about you. But my gut says I can trust you.”
“I feel as if I can trust you, too,” I reply.
“Given my past, I’m glad you think so,” Xander says, squeezing my hand again. “Thank you.”
“Your past is your past. As mine is mine,” I say. “Where we are now—and where we go—is what matters.”
Xander dips his head and kisses me slowly and sweetly. I drink in the now familiar taste of him before he breaks the kiss.
“How about I tell you everything about my complicated royal life on our next date?” he asks. “Because you might choose not to take a step further with me once you know the reality. And I want this night at least before that happens.”
Sadness. Sadness has filled his eyes and blanketed his face.