He took a deep breath, considering her statement.

  “All right,” he replied. “Because I want to make you happy.”

  She softened, smiling.

  “You’re trying things I know you’d never do,” she said, in a quiet voice, her eyes bright. “That’s a good start.”

  9

  After grabbing a tube of toothpaste at the Tesco and running it back to Clara’s parents’ flat, they decided to meet her father the next day, and have their “date” instead. Erik was still chafing at the twenty-five-pound limit. Before Clara, he’d bought trinkets from Tiffany’s and Cartier. He’d indulged in high-profile and dramatic stunts, like renting out whole restaurants in New York or jetting off to Paris to slow-dance on the Eiffel Tower. He did this not only because it was impressive, but because he was bored, the women he was with were bored, and that was the only way he could think to liven things up.

  But Clara was not bored, and she certainly wasn’t boring. She challenged everything about him, and he found himself determined to show that he was up for that challenge.

  “Ooh! Let’s stop in,” she said, gesturing to a small book shop. He grinned as she tugged him inside. It was clean, and relatively well-organized. “This is one of my favorite places,” she said with a sigh.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised you love books,” he said.

  “I read voraciously, when I have the time,” she said. “As much as I value e-books—I’ve always got a few loaded to my phone, for meal breaks and whatnot at work—there is something about just holding one in your hands, and the smell of a bookstore or a library, you know?”

  “What are your favorite kinds?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “All sorts,” she said, walking through the small, crowded aisles, her long fingertips trailing over the spines of various books. “I love nonfiction about history, all sorts, all time periods. Art history, as well, because of what it says about the people and the countries that created the art of that time. Biographies, too.”

  “Not fiction, then?”

  “Oh, I enjoy fiction,” she protested with a small smile. “I love a good, engrossing political thriller or spy novel. And when I’m exhausted and just want some hope in the world, I have my ‘in case of emergency, break glass’ romance novels.”

  He grinned. “That’s a lot of books,” he observed.

  “You have no idea,” she said, grinning back. “I would spend so much money here if it weren’t for pesky things like, you know, rent and utilities. And food.”

  He glanced around. He could so easily buy her whatever books she was interested in. Hell, if she wanted, he could buy the entire bookstore without a second thought, and she could wander through whenever she wanted and grab something off a shelf. He wondered if she had any idea just how much money the royal family had.

  If she did, she didn’t seem to care.

  “All right, you,” she said with a playful nudge, “knock it off.”

  “What? What did I do?”

  “You’ve got that Prince Moneybags look in your eye,” she said, in a low voice. “Like you’ve got a credit card burning a hole in your pocket, and you’re not afraid to use it.”

  He tried not to look guilty. “If you like books…”

  “Twenty-five pounds,” she reminded him with mock sternness. “Besides, sometimes the fun is just looking at things, dreaming about them.”

  He was about to protest that having things was a hell of a lot more fun than simply looking at them, when she rested her head against his shoulder for a second.

  “Spending time with someone while you wander about,” she murmured. “That’s where the fun is.”

  In that moment, he couldn’t argue with her reasoning, largely because simply walking with her, snuggling with her, without purchasing a single thing, was quickly becoming one of the most intimate and enjoyable dates he’d ever been on.

  They browsed the titles for at least an hour, although he was looking at her more than the books themselves. “I suppose that, if I bought you a bunch of books and had them put in the castle, that would be cheating,” he mused.

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes, it would be. I’m serious, Erik. I am not looking for a sugar daddy, and I’m not interested in being deluged with gifts as an easy replacement for thoughtfulness…”

  “But if I made a large donation of books to the libraries of Fervia,” he said, rolling the idea over in his head, “would that be all right?”

  Her eyes glowed. “That,” she breathed, “would be lovely.”

  He stood straighter, his chest suffused with warmth. He would do that as soon as they got home.

  Home, he thought. He’d thought of Fervia and the castle as home for as long as he could remember, the touchstone he always returned to. But it had never felt like this.

  He took her hand.

  They wandered the streets, talking easily. They applauded for a street busker playing a guitar, and Erik discreetly slipped the man a tenner, appreciating just how hard it was to generate appreciation from an audience. That didn’t have anything to do with the date, so he reckoned it was exempt from the twenty-five-pound budget. Then they stopped at a florist. Clara exclaimed over the profusion of flowers. Erik found out her favorite was Gerbera daisies, and bought her a stem, its bright fuchsia face almost as brilliant as her gratified smile.

  From there, they wandered through the Crossrail Place Roof Garden. It was strange to find this rooftop Eden smack in the middle of the financial district. But the large space, covered with crossbeams beautifully arranged in a geometric pattern, was teeming with trees and wild grasses and lush green plants, all flanking a meandering walkway. The two of them strolled along the path, holding hands. He quite simply couldn’t remember when the last time he had such a good time with someone.

  They watched as the shadows grew long, the sky going from blue to salmon to a purple-indigo. “Getting hungry?” he asked her.

  “I could eat,” she responded.

  He frowned. Ordinarily, he’d be sweeping her off to some Michelin-star restaurant, but… “This is your neighborhood,” he said hesitantly. “Do you have any recommendations?”

  “Ooh! There’s a lovely Japanese takeaway restaurant, here in the Wharf Kitchen,” she enthused. “Sushi and such, if you like that, although I think you’d blow your budget if that was the case. Still, they’ve got gyoza and katsu that is fantastic, and a delicious breakfast bao in the morning.”

  He nodded, thinking offhand of the last time he’d eaten sushi—in Tokyo, with a private chef who had provided their party with works of edible art. He cleared his throat. “Katsu sounds great,” he said.

  She smiled, brushing her face with the petals of the daisy. He put his arm around her, giving her shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

  They walked to the restaurant, passing a number of eclectic restaurants and food trucks along the way. It was a hole-in-the-wall place, but in a hip, well-designed manner, with stylish graphic design and a clean, organized eating area. They ordered their katsu, and he carried their disposable boxes over to a table in the corner that was recently vacated. The place was crowded, people chattering happily as they ate. No one paid any attention to them.

  He grinned, handing her a pair of disposable chopsticks. She lifted the lid of her meal, a katsu wrap, while he opened the box of pork belly he’d ordered. They wound up splitting the gyoza. He’d managed to order their food with a few pounds left to spare, even after buying the flower for her.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  He bit into the food, and then groaned. “This is amazing,” he said.

  “You sound surprised.”

  He didn’t want to admit that he was, so he evaded the question. “You always surprise me,” he said instead. She blushed, looking down at her food, then looked back up at him with heat in her eyes.

  He swallowed hard. God, he wanted this woman. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, although she obviously was. It was the way she made him feel. She showed him the world in an entirely new way. She showed him that there was so much more to life, and his assumptions, than he’d ever realized. He wanted to show her how glad he was that they were having a child together, that they were getting engaged. That she was going to be his wife.

  They may have an odd, rough start, and it might be a technical “marriage of convenience,” but this was so much more than he’d ever expected.

  He glanced out the window. A shop caught his eye—an accessories store, the type where teenagers bought hair clips and bracelets and whatnot. “Hold on a second,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded, looking surprised as he hurried off. He went inside, able to find what he was looking for in a few minutes. He rushed back, smirking at her expectant expression.

  “What was that all about?”

  “I realize that we didn’t really have a typical engagement,” he murmured. “It was so… business-like, so cut-and-dried.”

  She blushed, shrugging. “Well, ah, given the circumstances…”

  “No. I know that when we get back, you’ll be getting an official engagement ring. But I wanted to get you a ring. One that showed you how important this is to me.”

  “Oh, Erik,” she protested. “You didn’t… I mean, I know that we’re…”

  “But,” he interrupted, “I only had three-pound-fifty left.”

  She stared at him. Then she burst out in giggles.

  He pulled the little ring he’d purchased out of his pocket with a broad smile, offering it to her. “Will you marry me?”

  “Oh, leave off,” she said, rolling her eyes, then studied it. “Is that a tiny crown?”

  “It was that or a mood ring shaped like a turtle,” he said solemnly, and she giggled harder, slipping it on her finger. “Believe me, I was tempted, but this seemed more appropriate.”

  “And it just fits,” she said approvingly. “I guess I’ll marry you, then.”

  They stared at each other, with matching expressions of goofy amusement. Then, slowly, they turned serious, holding each other’s hands. Erik stroked the back of her hand with his thumbs.

  “I know that you wanted our date to be economical,” he said slowly. “And I know that you’ve wanted us to take our time in establishing our relationship. I want you to know that I respect and admire your beliefs and your caution.”

  She stared at him.

  “I got us a hotel room for tonight,” he plunged forward, feeling oddly hesitant. “I booked it prior to our date agreement, so I’m afraid it’s way beyond the ‘frugal date’ cap. But I don’t want you to feel like I’m just throwing money about to impress you, and I don’t want you to feel pressured to do absolutely anything you’re not mentally or emotionally ready to do..”

  Her smile was brighter than the moon. “No need,” she said softly, squeezing his hands back. “I… I think I’d like to go to the hotel. With you.”

  There was no need to say anything else. He knew what she was agreeing to—what she was ready for. What she wanted. Her eyes glowed, and his body went taut with desire.

  He wanted to make today special for her. He wanted to make every day special for her, if he could… but today would be a good start.

  He stood up, clearing their place, then taking her hand.

  “Come on, then,” he said, in a low, rough voice, full of anticipation. “Let’s go.”

  10

  Clara was pleasantly surprised when Erik took them back to the hotel where they’d spent their first momentous night together. He seemed almost nervous, eager to please… in some ways, just like he had been that first time. She was a little nervous herself, now that she thought about it. Not that she didn’t think that they would be amazing together—their chemistry was so combustible, it ought to be registered as lethal somewhere—but because it wasn’t going to be just sex this time. They were engaged and expecting a child together. They hadn’t discussed their feelings for each other, and maybe it was too early for words like “love” to be bandied about, but they were certainly closer, and after tonight, they were only going to be closer still. It was a little terrifying.

  They walked into the suite. There were rose petals on the bed, and flickering candles scattered about, giving the whole place a warm glow. On the table by the windows, there were two drinks and a platter of truffles and chocolate-covered strawberries. She raised an eyebrow, looking at Erik with amusement.

  “Upon reflection,” he said, clearing his throat, “I may have gone a bit overboard.”

  She chuckled, shaking her head, then walked over to the table. There was a little card that described what was in each truffle, plus a description of the drinks: Moscow mule mocktails, with ginger beer, lime, fresh mint, club soda. She picked one up, sipping it. It tasted wonderful.

  “I asked specifically for nonalcoholic,” Erik said, stepping behind her and rubbing her arms, before tugging her back lightly so she rested against his front. “And I thought the ginger would be nice because… you know. Morning sickness.”

  It was so thoughtful. She felt a lump form in her throat, and swallowed hard, downing more of the drink. “It’s delicious,” she said, when she was confident she could talk without croaking with emotion.

  “How is all that going?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then the side of her neck, causing her to shiver. “I mean… is… you know, this going to be all right?”

  She smirked at his delicate choice of phrase, but was oddly touched, as well. “I think,” she joked, putting her drink down and turning in his arms, brushing a kiss against his collarbone, “that this is going to be just fine.”

  He smiled back, pressing a soft kiss against her lips before tugging her over to the bed. They were taking it slow, which she both appreciated and felt impatient with. Kicking off their shoes, they stretched out. His blue eyes glowed as he took her in.

  “You are so beautiful,” he breathed, and in that moment, she felt it. Not just beautiful, she felt cherished, and valued, and happy.

  And possibly a teeny bit loved.

  Too soon to think like that, she thought, pushing it aside. But her heart still beat quickly in her chest, and her cheeks heated with pleasure. She stroked his face, feeling the slightest stubble scratching her fingertips.

  After more kissing and soft words, their breathing had grown ragged, their touches going from gentle caresses to more insistent fondling. Sheer desire made her fingers clumsy as she tried to take his shirt off. She growled with frustration.

  “You’re not going to rip it off, are you?” he asked, obviously amused.

  “I might,” she said. “If you don’t hurry up and get naked.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said, his own long, graceful fingers undoing the front buttons and cuffs. He stripped the shirt off, revealing the gold expanse of his skin, dusted with blond hair. The man had muscles, not like a bodybuilder—leaner and more defined, like a swimmer.

  That was her favorite kind. She dipped her head down, licking at his abs, gratified by his gasp of pleasure.

  “Now, let’s be fair,” he admonished, tugging her sweater over her head, leaving her only in a lacy bra. She arched her back as he stroked his palm over her skin. “God, your skin is soft.”

  She shivered, both at his touch and the reverence in his tone. He undid her jeans, and she wriggled out of them, kicking them onto the floor. Now she was just in a pair of knickers that matched her bra—a first, thank you, royal wardrobe people!—and she waited, burning and shivering by turns.

  He traced his fingertips along the sides of her rib cage, just barely beneath her breasts, along the insides of her thighs, around her belly button. She swallowed. “I’m starting to show, I think,” she stammered nervously. Why am I nervous? “It looks like I’ve had a few too many gyoza or something.”

  “Not true,” he said, his hand hot against her skin. “You look healthy, showing the tiniest bit… and trust me, it’s gorgeous. Every inch of you is beautiful.”

  She writhed underneath his touch as he pressed hot kisses seemingly everywhere, touching everywhere. “Erik,” she murmured, running her hands over whatever flesh she could reach.

  He pulled away only long enough to strip out of what clothes remained, looking like a cut, sleek Greek god. His hair looked like burnished gold in the low flickering lights, and his clear blue eyes gleamed like a winter sky. “I have never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he said, his voice edged in a kind of despair.

  She removed the last barriers of her clothing and reached for him.

  “Then have me,” she whispered.

  He covered her, heated skin surrounding her as his mouth took hers in a fierce kiss. She was about to lose her mind when he finally pressed into her. He propped himself up on his strong arms, sucking marks onto her neck, right by her clavicle, not to the point of pain, but enough to make her go wild, bucking against him as he rocked firm and sure inside her.

  “Erik,” she moaned softly, biting her lip against the flood of sensations. “Erik!”

  He seemed spurred on by her sounds, letting out a low groan of need as his hips started to move faster and he thrust deeper. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him so close it was as if they couldn’t bear even a millimeter of space between them.

  They moved as one, kissing, sighing, rocking, until they finally shuddered in climax, first one then the other, neither sure of who was first. Nor caring.

  After they cleaned up, she curled into his arms, breathing in the spicy, woodsy scent of him, some luxurious cologne mixed with the scent of him. She kissed his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.

  “You’re all right?” he asked, caring, concerned.