Кейт Хьюит – Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage (страница 18)
The owner hurried towards them, all welcoming smiles and excited chatter, which Leo, looking almost discomfited, waved away. Within seconds they were seated at a more private table in the back, scarves and mittens shed, and coats hung over their chairs.
One of the waiters brought Christian a colouring book and some crayons, and he was soon hard at work. Phoebe took the opportunity to study Leo, her heart—and something else—lurching at the sight of him. A few stray snowflakes glittered in his hair, and his cheeks were bright with cold. She could see the glint of stubble on his jaw, and it made her ache to reach out and touch the bristles, compare the feel of it to the softness of his lips …
On the table she curled her hand into a fist, determined—for the moment—to resist the impulse. Leo glanced at her, amusement quirking his mouth.
‘You look as if you’re deep in thought,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps working out a difficult maths problem. What are you thinking about?’
Phoebe had no intention of telling him the nature of her thoughts. She smiled and began to shrug, surprising them both when she suddenly said, ‘You
Leo stilled, his long, brown fingers flat on the table. He didn’t quite look at her as he asked lightly, ‘Have I?’
‘Yes,’ Phoebe said more forcefully. ‘You’re not … you’re not …’
‘A reckless, womanising playboy any more?’ he asked, his voice still light, but she heard—felt—the darkness underneath. The same emotion she’d felt from him all those years ago, a kind of pain or sorrow.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘But it’s more than that.’
Leo opened his menu and scanned the pages. ‘How intriguing,’ he murmured, but Phoebe could tell he wanted to deflect the conversation from himself, and she wondered why.
A waiter returned with mugs of creamy cocoa, and Phoebe dipped her spoon in the frothy confection. ‘So did you put your partying days behind you when you realised you’d become king?’
Something flashed in Leo’s eyes—something bleak and angry—and then he shrugged. ‘Something like that. I told you before, didn’t I, some things can be sordid and boring?’
She felt a flicker of disappointment. ‘So the party scene just got old?’
‘It always does.’
Christian looked up from his mug of hot chocolate, his entire face flecked with whipped cream. ‘What does sordid mean?’
And that, Phoebe thought, was a signal to change the conversation if there ever was one. Yet she was curious, far too curious, about Leo. About his childhood, about his change of heart, about the man he was now. A man, she realised with both alarm and excitement, that she could more than like. A man she could love.
They finished their hot chocolate in comfortable silence, before Leo said they should return to the palace. ‘You, young man, look tired.’
‘I am not!’ Christian protested with five-year-old indignation.
‘Well,’ Leo relented, ‘perhaps your mother is. Maybe I could show you the palace games room while she has a nap? I play a mean game of air hockey.’ He glanced at Phoebe in silent query, and she gave a little nod. A nap sounded heavenly.
Outside the café they came across one of Njardvik’s little Christmas markets, a narrow street lined on both sides with stalls, each one strung with lights and offering various handicrafts, baked goods and Christmas ornaments.
‘Are these all Santa Clauses?’ Phoebe asked as she examined a row of carved wooden figures, each with a long white beard and red cap.
‘Santas, no. They’re
‘Trickier?’
‘Yes, he was originally a protector of family farms. But he might steal the cows’ hay to give to the horses—that sort of thing. Now he’s become a bit more like Santa. On Christmas Eve someone dresses up as a
‘Did someone do that for you as a child? In the palace?’ Phoebe asked suddenly. She pictured Anders and Leo at Christmas, waiting for the
‘Oh, yes.’ Leo’s expression was strangely shuttered. ‘Always.’
‘And what did you answer?’ Phoebe asked, keeping her voice light. ‘Were you a good child?’ She meant to sound light, teasing, but instead the question sounded serious. Leo’s mouth stretched in a smile and he put the
Yet Phoebe could only imagine what he wasn’t saying, what memories he was keeping to himself. Ignored, neglected, a virtual orphan. He might have been a good child, she thought, but she doubted he had been a happy one. She glanced back at the
They left the Christmas market and began to walk back to the palace, Leo leading them down the city’s narrow cobbled streets, his hand easily linked with Christian’s. Phoebe trailed a few steps behind, watching them, thinking how much like a family—a father and son—they looked.
What if Leo had been Christian’s father, instead of Anders? What if all those years ago, she had met him first? What if they’d fallen in love?
Useless questions, Phoebe knew, and ones she couldn’t possibly answer. The past was the past; it had been written, finished. The present was intriguing enough.
And as for the future …
What could there possibly be between her and Leo, the heir to the country’s throne? She’d been considered an unsuitable candidate for queen six years ago, and she doubted anything had changed on that score.
Besides, wasn’t she getting a little ahead of herself? All Leo had done was kiss her, and such a little brush of a kiss it barely counted.
Except it hadn’t
And yet in two weeks she would be returning home with Christian—at least, that was what she wanted, what she’d hoped for. Her fears about the king’s plans and intentions still gnawed nervously at her insides. Even so, amidst the fear and the uncertainty, she now felt a longing for these two weeks to never end.
It was working, Leo thought grimly, his hand still loosely clasped with Christian’s. With half an ear he listened to the boy chatter on about some kind of toy—a robot or a dinosaur?—as his own mind spun in circles. He’d had a plan, he’d carried it out, and it was clearly a success.
Phoebe was falling in love with him.
So why did that make him feel so miserable?
He pushed the thoughts away, the tormented voices of his conscience, his memory. He couldn’t afford to have either. He needed to focus, to keep working towards his goal. And even if Phoebe hated him, even if she discovered the truth, he knew he was doing only what he had to.
For Phoebe’s sake.
Phoebe gazed at herself in the mirror, amazed at the transformation. That afternoon several gowns had been sent to her room with instructions she choose one to wear that evening. A single card had been inserted among the folds of tissue paper, with a single sentence upon it, written in a bold scrawl:
Her heart hammered in anticipation and her nerves jangled as she undid the dresses from their folds of paper and hung them on the door, gazing at each one in turn. What to wear to dinner tonight? Dinner alone with Leo. Now finally he would explain what he knew of the king’s plans, yet Phoebe found she could barely think of that.
All she could think of, her body’s insistent needs drowning out her mind’s, was being alone with Leo. What would happen? What would he do? What would
‘Which one should I wear?’ she asked Christian, who was sprawled on the bed, watching a children’s show in Danish with an expression of endearing perplexity.
He glanced up at her, frowning at the sight of the clothes. ‘Are those dresses?’ he asked and Phoebe laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Christian promptly ducked out of the way and returned to watching the television.
‘Yes, silly. And can you actually understand that show at all?’
‘I saw it back at home,’ Christian replied with a shrug and Phoebe rolled her eyes.
‘Come on, sport. Help me out here.’
With a long-suffering sigh, Christian turned away from the TV once more. He glanced at the three gowns, his brow furrowed. ‘The silver one.’
‘You think?’ Phoebe reached out to stroke the slippery, silky material. It was a bit pathetic, getting fashion advice from a five-year-old, but she needed to talk to someone. To let out some of this energy, this excitement bubbling away inside of her.
‘Yeah.’ Christian had clearly had enough of fashion talk, for he turned back to the show, which featured a talking lion that happened to be friends with a zebra. ‘It’s the same colour as my robot.’
‘And that’s as good a reason as any,’ Phoebe murmured, slipping the dress off its hanger. She went into the bathroom to change, and the dress’s material flowed over her like liquid silver. It was deceptive in its simplicity, two skinny straps and a bodice decorated with tiny jet beads that ended in a swirl of shimmery silk around her ankles.