Chapter 2

2

ADRIAN

As I ditch my protection detail yet again, I wonder if Reginald regrets playing hide and seek with me as a child. Now, it's not just the governess and Reginald upset with me for running off to chase geese at five years old. It's the entire country. Because at this moment, I'm supposed to be at a wedding.

My wedding.

But instead of saying my vows and eating the wedding cake our pastry chef Alonzo beautifully and lovingly prepared, I'm thousands of miles away, pressed between a dingy yellow wall and a giant statue, staring into the eyes of the one person who can expose me. A very small person. Wearing a crown.

Up to this point, it had been child's play. Ditching the palace guards? Easy. Traveling across the Atlantic Ocean? A bit harder. Avoiding calls from the Queen—my mother—the most difficult. Although not in the execution. I simply turned off my mobile phone. But that single action will likely haunt me for the rest of my days.

I don't regret any of it. Except getting spotted by my protection-detail-turned-search-and-rescue-party over by a Bath and Body Works and fleeing to the first place I could find. So it's a bit ironic that the statue next to me is a king. A grinning king with outstretched hands. But even more unnerving is the tiny king on my other side with earnest and clever eyes.

"Whatcha doing?" he asks in a tiny voice.

This small person needs to go away. Immediately. Before we draw attention. "What does it look like?" I ask, waving my hand for him to move along.

"Like you're hiding." The paper crown slips over one eye, and he pushes it up. "Is it a game?"

"Yes." I jump on that excuse. Kids love games, don't they? "Hide and seek."

His face scrunches up. "Are you winning?"

I try to blend into the background. Something I am not used to doing. "Absolutely not," I say with a sigh. How can I be winning when I'm the prince of a European country hiding in a Burger King in a shopping mall somewhere in America? And my ability to get out of this situation with my dignity intact rests on a small boy of six or seven.

I lean down to his level. "How old are you?"

"Five."

The magical age. I wasn't far off the mark, but that begs another question. "Where is your mum?"

He shrugs. Great. Perfect.

"Maybe she's in the lavatory," I suggest, wanting to hurry this along.

He tilts his head, giving me a funny look.

Right. What do they call it in America? "Water closet? Loo? Toilet?"

His eyes widen at the last one. He nods but then shakes his head.

"Is she ordering food?"

Again, the headshake.

I'm torn between staying hidden and worrying for this child's safety. "Your mother has to be somewhere."

He studies me. "Why?"

"You're clearly lost." Did he wander in here in search of that crown? The idea has a noble ring to it, and I quite like it.

"You're the one hiding," he says with a shrug. "Maybe you're lost."

I can't be discovered here, of all places, but this waif of a child with big blue eyes and wild blond hair has me intrigued. "You're a clever lad," I say, still crouched, "but there could be dangerous people lurking about."

"Dangerous?" He's missing a front tooth, so the word comes out slightly butchered.

"Dangerous," a new voice says, "like a grown man hiding behind a Burger King statue trying to abduct a child?"

My eyes travel up to a man with the same blue eyes and blond hair standing behind the boy. He glares at me, clearly waiting for some response, but I'm stunned into silence. He's quite attractive. Is that why my voice no longer works? Or is it his hands on the boy's shoulders? Protective.

"He's playing a game, Daddy," the boy says, looking up at his father with admiration.

My heart squeezes a bit. This I understand. This is what I want. Not a father—I have a father—but to be a father. To be in love. To have a family. You had that chance with Jasella and you threw it away. But I ignore my otiose thoughts.

What's done is done.

"Come on, Simon." He squeezes the boy's shoulders, but his eyes never leave mine. His protectiveness has me feeling many things. Some of them are not appropriate or acceptable in this setting. This is new for me—possessive kinks and being interested in a man. "I'm getting security."

The bubble of attraction bursts. "Please, don't," I say, jumping to my feet. My heart thunders. My mother will never forgive me if I get arrested at a Burger King in America. I stand straight and tall while also trying to hide behind the statue. Not an easy feat for someone over six feet. I like being a few inches taller than this man. Not that he is at all intimidated. "I wasn't doing anything. I was just—" How do I explain this? "I thought poor Simon was lost and couldn't find his mother."

His face scrunches into something displeased. As if he's peered into my soul and found me wanting. I'm not used to that reaction from the public. Normally, people throw themselves at my feet. Well, not literally, I'm not the king. But I've never had anyone look at me with such disdain. Like they think I am capable of kidnapping a child.

People adore me. Well, perhaps not Jasella, since I ran out on the eve of our wedding. And not Reginald. Same reason. His job is to ensure I'm where I'm supposed to be. Clearly, he failed. Again. My parents won't have been happy with him or me—my stomach clenches at the thought. Or maybe that's just hunger. I haven't eaten today.

"His mother—" The man presses his lips together as if he's trying to hold in the words. "She ran off when Simon was two." This last bit of information is given in a whisper through clenched teeth.

I focus back on this American man with his cute nose and strong jaw. "Really? That's so sad—horrible, really," I amend at his glare. Lord, I'm mucking this up.

He tilts his head and raises a brow as if I'm an idiot. Because I am an idiot, apparently.

"Or neither of those things." I wave my hand at him. "Clearly, you're an excellent father."

He pulls Simon closer. "You just accused me of losing my child."

"Not true. I?—"

He holds up a hand to stop my words, and I'm so stunned by the action that my remarks take flight, gone forever. Has anyone, except my parents, ever dared to interrupt me? "Save it," he says, drawing my eyes to his pretty mouth. "I'm getting security."

"No!" My words are said a bit too harshly if little Simon's wide eyes—and his father's frown—are anything to go by.

"You're obviously in some sort of trouble…and a menace." The last part is added as if he's trying to convince himself. He glances around, and I'm not sure if it's to avoid my gaze or if he's looking for someone to detain me.

"That's harsh and not at all true."

His hands tighten on Simon's shoulder as he turns and gives me his complete attention. "Okay then. I'm listening. Who are you? And why are you hiding behind a Burger King statue?"

My stomach full-on revolts, and at that moment, I'm glad it's empty as I try to come up with something plausible. Because I'm not ready to tell the truth. Would he even believe it? "I'd rather not say."

He throws his hands in the air. "Fine. Cute or not, I'm done."

I've had many compliments over the years, but this one tossed out against his will lights me up, sparking a want deep inside.

"Did you know geese mate for life, Adrian? They're loyal and extremely protective of their loved ones. That's what you want. Not someone pretending to like you."

Memories of my old governess, Mrs. Glenn, bring a rush of emotions that sting my eyes and clog my throat. I swallow them away. "You think I'm cute?" I smile, earning a glare in return.

"I'm done."

"Wait." I touch his arm and regret it immediately when he jerks away. My heart pounds even harder, and I'm not entirely sure why. Is this my body's reaction to the feel of his firm muscle under my fingers? The worry he will turn me in? Or the thought of him walking away?

But he's still here, scrutinizing me, his head tilted expectantly.

"Fine…I'll tell you."

"Daddy?" Simon yanks on his shirt. "I'm hungry."

Thank you, dear Simon.

"Shit. I mean, shoot. I'm sorry, honey. Let's get you some food." He glares back at me. "Don't go anywhere."

"Because I'm cute?"

His eyes close for a quick second—perhaps to gather strength? "I already regret saying that. No. Because I'm not leaving you unsupervised so you can steal someone else's child."

"That's really hurtful." But I grin, unable to stop myself. Are all American dads this gorgeous and sweet?

I lean back against the wall with my arms crossed and watch as they order and collect their food. Once father and son are seated at a table, I glance around to be sure Reginald isn't waiting for me by the trash bin, and when I'm sure it's clear, I make my way over to them. In my haste, I lose my footing. The floor is coated in a slippery substance. Grease? Or a spilled drink? I almost go down, but I'm able to grab onto an empty chair. After a few stumbles, I right myself.

The man isn't exactly smiling, but his eyes twinkle with amusement. I take it as the invitation it isn't and sit down. Which proves to be a mistake. This man isn't the only irresistible thing here.

My stomach rumbles, and I try to ignore it, along with the smell of fried potatoes, grilled beef, and…oh Lord, is that onions? I'd brought cash with me that I'd exchanged for American dollars, but since I hadn't realized the price of things here—something I didn't even know in my own country—I ran out of money fairly quickly. Which is why I used my emergency bank card in the first place. And how they found me. If I use it again, the guards and Reginald will be here instantly.

And I'm not ready to leave. Not when I'm this close to my goal.

"Talk," the man commands. Like this is his world, and he's the king of it. I suppose he is. How is it that a gorgeous woman wanting to be my wife leaves me flat, but a hot, protective father hits every button I have? Does he realize what his sexy glare is doing to me? I need to control my cravings for food and this man, full stop.

"So, are you and Simon out for the day enjoying the shops?" I ask, trying to distract him and myself.

"Daddy bought me a Squishmallow giraffe," Simon says while munching on a hamburger. His eyes sparkle with excitement. "Giraffes are my favorite animal. He's pink!"

"Really? That's spectacular." I'm not sure what that is, but Simon is clearly excited.

"Want to see him?"

"Absolutely," I say, but then add, at his father's frown, "maybe after you finish your meal."

Simon grins, exposing the food he's just shoved in his mouth. Such a cutie.

His dad does not smile. "Swallow your food," he says to Simon. He glares at me. "Who are you? And why were you hiding behind a statue and talking to my son?"

I answer the second part and ignore the first. "He talked to me first. It would be rude to ignore him. Then, as you know, I became concerned that he was alone."

"I was right there. On the phone."

"Of course. I see that now." I smile at Simon, and he hands me a chip—or rather, french fry according to the menu I tried not to salivate over as I hid. I stuff the tasty morsel in my mouth and swallow. "Thank you."

"Stop giving him your food."

Again, the face scrunch. "But he looks hungry."

I give the man—I still don't know his name—puppy-dog eyes. They always work on Celia in the kitchen when she sneaks me extra food I'm not supposed to have. They have no effect on him.

"He's a stranger."

"But he's sitting with us. How can he be a stranger?"

"Very true," I say, nodding at Simon.

The man points his chip at me. "Shut it. Now."

"Daddy, we're not supposed to say that."

His hand tightens on his drink, and I worry the lid will pop off at any moment. "Sorry," he says to Simon with a strained smile. He glances back and watches me with those deep-blue eyes. "What's your name?"

"P—Adrian," I say with a slight cough. The Lutianan royal wedding has been all over the news at home. Has it reached America? But he hasn't recognized me, so maybe it hasn't. I had a hat, just in case, but I lost it somewhere between Hot Topic and Shoe Carnival. "My name is Adrian."

"Are you sure? Because it sounds like you just made that up." He stretches his legs and they knock into mine, causing my thoughts to go decidedly in the wrong direction. Why can't I feel this way about my fiancée? Ex-fiancée? Whatever. Is it really only this man whose name I don't know that I'm attracted to? He is beautiful with blond hair I want to run my fingers through, that lean body, and creamy skin… I close my eyes to get myself in order.

He's waiting for my answer. I can feel his eyes on me. But somehow, this man steals my breath and my words.

"Are you okay, Adrian?"

Sweet, sweet Simon.

His dad snorts. "Quit stalling. Who are you? Why were you hiding?"

I sigh. "Can I have some food? A hamburger or some chips—french fries, I mean? I'm starving. Then I'll tell you everything you want to know."

The man hesitates before handing over the food: a cheeseburger and chips. No matter what happens, this is a good man. I can already tell. "What's your name?" I ask because I'm dying to know.

"I don't think that's important."

"Of course. Perfectly understandable," I say, taking a bite of the cheeseburger—and I think I'm in heaven. Has palace food ever tasted this glorious? I stuff a few chips in my mouth, savoring their salty goodness.

"His name is Daddy."

I beam at the boy. "Thank you, Simon. I'll just call him Daddy."

"No." The man holds up a warning finger, but I ignore it.

"Daddy, I have to say you are looking rather hot in that jumper." And that is absolutely true. The color matches his eyes.

"Are you hot, Daddy?" Simon asks.

Daddy sputters, and I bite my lips to keep from grinning. "Just eat your food." He closes his eyes, fighting some internal battle. I don't mind. I love being able to stare at him uninterrupted. His eyes pop open, catching me, and he sucks in a breath. "My name is Isaac."

"Isaac," I say, tasting the name on my lips and enjoying the way his cheeks go pink. Our eyes lock, and I get lost. An unmoored boat, floating adrift. "It suits you," I say softly, enjoying the way his face turns a darker shade of red. Does he not get compliments? That seems unlikely. I'm entranced by this gorgeous man.

Running away to America was a terrible idea. The worst. And I've had my fair share in the last twenty-five years. But everything that's coming—the wrath of my parents, my ex-fiancée, my country—might be worth it for this moment alone.