His Royal Highness(83)

“No. We have Ava. We’ll eat at Cal’s or we’ll order takeout.”

His hands are starting to work on my pants. I think if he weren’t worried about hurting me, he’d just tear them off. The zipper gives him a little trouble and he growls.

“Frozen pizza is good too,” I point out, trying to be a team player. We’ll subsist on DiGiorno and Totino’s.

“Yes. We’ll survive,” he says, reaching behind his neck and yanking his shirt off in one clean swoop. Why is that so damn sexy? Is it the show of dexterity? The dramatic magic-trick delivery?

He drops down over me, kissing me while we continue mapping out our future together.

“I hope our kids like cereal.”





In the morning, Derek wakes up before me.

“Want to come down to the gym with me?”

I pat his cheek like he’s adorable and promptly go back to sleep. An hour later, he returns with a freshly minted row of abdominal muscles and drags me out of bed. I let him because I know a shower is in our future. We steam up the glass like we’re trying to compete in a raunchy-morning-sex competition and then we towel off like perfectly civilized adults, private smiles in place. At our respective sinks, we brush our teeth. I go for thirty seconds longer than usual just so he thinks, Wow, that Whitney—she’s got great oral hygiene.

In the mirror, I can see my chest is still flushed from his lips and hands. The curse of fair skin. He sees it and smirks before turning, dropping his towel, and walking into his closet to get dressed. My eyes bug out before I catch myself and hop to it. Corporate America awaits!

After slipping into a navy pencil skirt and white blouse, I head into the kitchen and whip up some scrambled eggs for us. They’re plated beside slices of melon and I garnish them with a sprig of some kind of leafy green I found inside one of the refrigerator drawers. Derek raises his brows when he joins me, impressed by my domestic abilities right up until he takes the first bite.

“That’s mint,” he says, drawing a half-chewed sprig from between his teeth.

Oops.

“This is how eggs are served in France,” I assure him before slyly pushing all the mint off my eggs and onto the side of my plate.

After one more half-attempt at eating the remainder of our breakfast, I say, “Should we just—”

“Yup,” he says, scooting back his chair so we can grab our things and fly out the door.

Derek’s new office is close to mine—on the second story of Castle Drive as well—but he sits on the corner and has expansive views of the park. Last week, I stood at the window of Cal’s penthouse and called him.

“Can you see me waving?”

“No.”

I swept my hands over my head, really putting some energy into it. “Now?”

“No.”

I jumped up and down. “Now!?”

He laughed. “I saw you the first time.”

I hung up on him.

“What time do you think you’ll be done today?” I ask him as we stroll into the park, hand in hand. The air is brisk. His hand is warm around mine. It’s still an hour before Fairytale Kingdom opens, and Castle Drive is all but empty except for a few employees bustling around. They tip their heads to us or wave as we pass.

“I have a meeting that might run a little late, but I should be home by 7. Don’t forget we have poker tonight.”

How could I forget?

Carrie and I have been preparing ever since Thomas and Derek first invited us. All week, during lunch, we’ve joined online poker games, laughing at our immature screen names. Oddly enough, BuffDude23 and 69Holdem69 blend right in. We only lose most of the time, and though Carrie suggests we give up and just teach ourselves to cheat—Here, try to stuff this ace down your bra—I suggest we just use good ol’ fashioned distraction methods. I already have the perfect shade of lipstick picked out. Derek won’t know what hit him.

At the door to the coffee shop, Derek ushers me in so we can grab breakfast, and like it always does, my gaze sweeps to our old table, the one Derek used to occupy while he waited for me to arrive for our mentorship meetings. I can almost see him sitting there now, head down, brows furrowed in concentration, attention on his notebook while he waits for me to arrive. My heart falls back on old memories. I feel a pang of residual gut-clenching longing, as if I’m still standing in this spot, eight years younger, desperate for that old version of Derek to look up and notice me.

Now, he squeezes my shoulder, unaware of my thoughts.

I look up and he smiles like this is nothing—just another day of us being together—but I don’t take it for granted. Not for a single second.

Derek ushers me toward the counter to order, his hand still on my shoulder.

“The usual?” the barista asks us, already in motion to make our drinks.

“The usual,” we say in tandem.





Epilogue





Whitney





Ten years later





“MOM. Katherine stole my Sugar Babies!”

“No I didn’t! We traded!” Katherine protests with conviction. “I gave her Dots!”

I’m inclined to call Katherine out on this gross act of injustice since Dots are at the bottom of the candy totem pole and we all know it. Instead, I hold up my hands as if this issue is out of my jurisdiction. “Girls, work it out.”