His Royal Highness(78)

Our eyes are at the same level when he blinks those brown eyes and tells me simply, “I love you too.”





Chapter Twenty-Four





Derek





I consider asking Whitney to marry me while we split the chocolate milkshake room service delivered after our shower. I’m tempted to just blurt it out with no preamble. No ring. A casual inquiry into whether or not she’d enjoy spending the rest of her life as my wife. Till death do us part. The urge intensifies when she leans over and steals a bite of the burger I have poised in front of my mouth. She’s greedy about it, taking too much and smiling mischievously while she wipes the ketchup from her lips.

Marry me, will you?

I nearly ask the question again later, in the middle of the night, when I wake up and scoot down the bed, tugging her t-shirt up and over her stomach so I can press kisses up her thighs, barely visible in the dark.

I spread them and she laughs and says, “What a way to wake up,” as my head dips between her legs.

I hold Whitney’s hand in mine on the way to her parents’ apartment in the morning. I look down at her ring finger and try to imagine what size she wears. 2? 10? I have no idea. I’ve never gifted a ring to a significant other.

I make a mental note to ask Carrie.

“Could you pull over right here?” Whitney asks suddenly.

She has the tone and sheer-panicked look of someone who’s about to be sick. Once the car has swerved over to the curb, she leaps out, tells the hired driver to give her “ten seconds”, and disappears into a donut shop.

I know she’s nervous to confront her parents, and I wouldn’t put it past her to bolt like she did last night. When her ten seconds have passed and then some, the driver looks back at me as if I’ll have answers for him.

She’s a mystery to me too, man. Sorry.

That’s when Whitney finally emerges again, carrying an unmarked white pastry box. I assumed she was running for the bakery’s restroom, but it appears she was buying a peace offering in the form of fried dough.

She slides back into the car and we all inhale deeply. That smell should be bottled up and sold.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” she tells the driver. “Want one?”

A few minutes later, we pull up outside her parents’ building and the driver waves us off with his half-eaten bear claw, assuring us he’ll wait right here for us to return.

We take the stairs slowly. She stops multiple times, turns around, takes a half-flight back down, mutters to herself that this is a stupid idea, suggests we leave the donuts outside a random apartment and leave.

“Like this nice lady. Look, she keeps a vase of flowers by her door. I bet she likes donut holes.”

I catch up to her, spin her in the right direction, and nudge her forward.

“If nothing else, you need to get your luggage,” I point out.

“Do I? Because you said we’re flying first class on the way home and I’m pretty sure they give you those little slippers and a robe.”

“Only for international flights.”

“Crap. No slippers?”

She seems really upset about it.

“But we’ll get other complimentary stuff, right?” she prods as I half-push, half-carry her up the stairs. “A warm hand towel?”

“Maybe.”

“Real snacks? Not just peanuts?”

“It’s usually one step above peanuts.”

“So…walnuts?” Her eyes light up with an idea. “Wait. Let’s tell the flight attendants it’s our honeymoon! We’re newlyweds! That’s when you get the really good stuff.”

I nearly choke, wondering if I’ve somehow broadcast what’s been on my mind all night and all morning. Did I accidentally mutter a proposal when I was zoned out in the cab?

“Whatever you want,” I say, appeasing her right as we arrive on her parents’ doorstep. “But you have to do this first.”

It’s important that we’re here. Last night, Whitney dumped two decades’ worth of baggage on her parents, and they deserve to have a turn to speak and make amends. If that’s not what they intend on doing, I’ll assure her it’s fine.

I’m her family now.





Chapter Twenty-Five





Whitney





Derek knocks with a heavy fist before I can chicken out.

Dishes clatter in the kitchen and then my mother’s voice calls out from the other side of the door.

“Just a minute,” she says quickly, the deadbolt rattling.

My heart is liable to explode. I’m sweating, though maybe that’s just from the box of warm donuts I’m cradling against my chest.

The door opens, and I hold my breath, knowing this is the moment that matters. My parents either listened and took to heart what I said last night or they didn’t. Either they’re willing to make a change, or this conversation is DOA.

My mom sees Derek first and her brows shoot up in surprise. She offers him a brief smile before turning to look at me standing there beside him. For two seconds, neither of us moves. Then her gaze flits to my chest and she shuffles on her feet, adjusting her grip on the door.

“I’m here to get my luggage,” I say quickly, guarding myself against the worst possible scenario. “And to drop these off.”