The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(69)

“Thanks.” Josh backs up, leaving Damon to accept the food and tip the waiter, but he doesn’t open the door until Josh is back with me in the lounge, and he doesn’t let the hotel employee into the room when he does eventually open it. Instead, he hands over the tip and helps himself to the trolley, wheeling it into the room and slamming the door behind him. “Dinner’s served,” he says as he nears.

Josh chuckles, and I flip a small, embarrassed smile to my head of protection. God love him, the things he’ll endure for me. “Hey,” Josh says. “If you’re hungry, go ahead and order something. Just put it on the room.”

“I don’t eat past nine.” Damon casts his eyes over to me on the floor. I smile. And when Damon struggles to maintain his straight face, an indulgent and rarely seen grin threatening, I know he recognizes how happy I am. I’m so happy right now. It’s crazy, but I won’t question it. I refuse to question it. Because to question it would be to ruin it.

Damon leaves us, and Josh sets our feast on the floor, pours champagne, and passes me silverware. “Is it solid silver?” I ask, tapping the fork on the back of my hand. “I can only eat with solid silver.” Josh smiles at the bucket as he nestles the champagne in the rocks of ice. “So, what are we having?” I look at the two plates, wondering what’s beneath the silver domes.

“This.” He takes the lids off both plates, and I grin hard, reaching forward to pull the American flag off the top on the burger and popping one of the pickles in my mouth. I chew and swallow, accepting the plate when it’s handed to me. I study the beast of a cheeseburger with all the caution it deserves, wondering how on earth I’m going to eat it without spilling sauce down my chin. Not very ladylike at all. And not a good look in front of a man I really like. I probably won’t be able to get my hands around it. It’s a monster. I glance at the silverware in my hand and then across to Josh, finding a face-splitting grin.

“Don’t hold back for me.” He picks up his burger and sinks his teeth in, spilling sauce everywhere. “Yum,” he says around his mouthful.

I shrug and dive in. Bugger it. My mouth is watering. I take a huge bite and sigh, closing my eyes in pleasure and kissing goodbye to the years and years of etiquette and decorum that’s been drummed into me “Oh,” I mumble. “That’s so good.” I chuckle as I catch a drop of sauce from dropping off my chin.

“That’s my girl.” Josh passes me a glass of champagne while praising my lack of manners. “Wash it down with that.”

“A dirty cheeseburger and Dom Pérignon?” I toast the air and take a sip. “Perfect.”

“Only the best for my girl,” he replies, so casually, without even looking at me, his attention on the greasy, dripping burger in his hand. My chewing slows. Those words. My girl. He said them so easily, and they sounded so right. I smile on the inside, though it’s tinged with a little sadness. “Okay?” he asks, pausing with the demolition of his burger.

I nod, fighting away the dejection with all I have. “Yeah.”

We each make our way through the deliciousness, my moans of pleasure constant. It is so bloody good, and Josh seems to be taking immense satisfaction in my obvious enjoyment, his smile fixed around his chews. He reaches over more than once to wipe sauce off various parts of my face, and each time he licks his finger clean. I’m in my element. It’s so refreshing to let go in so many ways—sex, food, laughter. This is me. I can’t imagine the face of any man in my current life if I were to dribble burger sauce down my chin and chomp through it like I hadn’t eaten for a year. But Josh is not fazed at all, and I am past caring about what I must look like, my hands dripping, my tummy bloated from fullness.

“That was so yummy.” I drop the small piece of bread left in my grasp and fall back against the couch, fit to burst. I’ve never been so full.

I watch as he clears the plates and sets them on the trolley before settling beside me. Handing me my champagne, he chinks the edge with his and raises his glass. “To being bad.”

I’ll drink to that, though I know he’s not referring to the million calories we have both just gobbled down in the space of minutes. “To being bad,” I whisper, wondering what of this is really so bad? Me and Josh. Him and me. A princess and a sex symbol. The Monarchy will deem it bad. Some press will deem it bad. Half of the British population might deem it bad. But why? Because of tradition? Because of the rules? Because of strong blood? Appearances. Suitability. Who says we’re not suitable? Where in royal English history was it decided that a royal couldn’t be with someone they love?

My lips purse on the rim of my glass.

Someone they love?

“Adeline?”

I startle. “Yes?

Josh smiles through a faint frown. “What are you thinking?” He shuffles down until he’s lying on the floor on his side, facing me. He pats the floor in front of him, encouraging me to do the same.

I, too, shift down until I’m mirroring him. His hair has dried now, and it’s all floppy and flat, the color lighter with a lack of product or water darkening it. It makes his blue eyes seem greener, his skin more olive. “I was thinking that I’m having a really lovely evening.” It’s not entirely a lie. That thought is what prompted the subsequent more unappealing thoughts, but I don’t want to tarnish the lightness of our time.