Royally Not Ready(56)

I’m cranky because I want you and don’t think I can have you.

“I’m not cranky, just . . . alert.”

“Well, after yesterday, this will be good for us. So, we can do it? Hot springs, baking, and then cards?”

“Yes,” I answer.

With an excited cheer, she throws her arms around my torso and squeezes me tight, her head pressed against my chest. “Thank you.”

Not sure what to do, I gently put one arm around her and pat her back.

“Ooo.” She shivers. “Don’t give me all your affection at once. I’m not sure I’ll be able to take it.” She pulls away and claps her hands together. “Okay, what should I change into for the hot springs?”

“Whatever you want,” I say. “I’m going to let Lara and Brimar know the plan and then grab us some breakfast to go.”

“Sounds perfect. And, Keller?”

“Yeah?” I ask as I start to head down the stairs.

“Thank you. I’m really excited.”





“I definitely think these springs are farther than the ten minutes you claimed them to be,” Lilly says as she walks next to me, her tits freely bouncing in the tight-fitted shirt she decided to put on.

When she met me at the front door, my tongue nearly fell out of my mouth when I caught sight of what she was wearing, or what she wasn’t wearing.

Nipples hard, piercings on full display, no bra in sight, she jogged down the stairs in a pair of sweatpants that cinched around her waist and her shirt showing an inch of her midriff. Sure, the dress she wore at the Moxy was sexier, but this . . . this has me itching all over.

“Are you sure you’ve been to these springs before?”

“Yes,” I answer. “They’re just past that rock formation right up ahead.”

“You better be right about that, Fitzy. Which, by the way, I meant to ask you . . . Fitzwilliam, that feels like a very English name, and I know Torskethorpe has a heavy British influence, hence all the British accents, but a lot of your names seem to have a more Scandinavian feel. Tell me how you have a well-known last name belonging to a British aristocrat.”

“British aristocrat? Wait, are you speaking of Mr. Darcy?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You do realize his last name is Darcy, right? First name Fitzwilliam.”

“Nu-uh.” She pauses and then says, “Wait . . . is it?”

“Yes.” I chuckle. “His last name is Darcy. That’s why they call him Mr. Darcy.”

“Huh, I guess you’re right. For a second, I was thinking they called him Mr. Darcy out of respect. You know how parents will introduce you to an adult and be like, ‘Now, Wally, this is Mommy’s friend, Mr. Matt.’ You know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes, but that’s not the case in this situation. His actual name is Fitzwilliam.”

“Either way, it still has that British feel to it. Was your dad British?”

“He was,” I answer.

If I want her to feel comfortable, I need to open up to her, even though that’s not something I generally do. With anyone. The only people I talk to are my core four: Brimar, Lara, Theo, and Katla. I hold anyone else at an arm’s length—like I’ve attempted to do with Lilly—but it seems as though that’s going to be impossible.

I should’ve known that from the moment I saw her spraying down people on the side of the street.

She’s different.

She’s the kind of person who will bury a piece of them in your heart and leave it there, never wanting it back, never asking for more in return.

“He was? What was his name?”

“Roy,” I answer.

“Did he look just like you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “He had pitch-black hair and dark brown eyes. I have his build, but I look like my mum. She’s from here. When I was five, they wanted to be closer to family, so they moved to Torskethorpe. My mum was the first to get a job in the palace as the curator for prints and drawings. Any picture you see in Strombly, my mum most likely touched. And then my dad followed shortly after her, getting a job as the royal pastry chef.”

“Wow, do you have any of their talents? Can you draw? Can you bake?”

“I can sketch, yes,” I answer. “I don’t put the time into it to actually be good. It’s more of a hobby. As for baking, I know how to make a few things.”

“He bakes and he draws.” She shakes her head. “A lethal combination. Toss that around with your impeccable body and mediocre looks and—”

“Mediocre? You better be fucking joking.”

She laughs. “And he jokes around too. Ugh, a real catch.” Lilly pauses just as we reach the rock formation and gasps as she catches sight of the steam rising from the ground. “Oh my God, is that it?”

“Yup,” I answer.

She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the water, excitement radiating off her.

“Ahh, this is so cool.” She squats down and touches the water with her hand, only to turn her shocked eyes on me. “It’s so warm. We need to get in.”

“Wait . . . what?”

Before I can ask her what she’s doing, she kicks off her shoes and socks and pushes her pants down, revealing a black thong that clings tightly to her hips, and when she turns around, her back to me, my eyes are glued to her ass. Her pert, round, fucking perfect ass.