Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ROSIE

Conversation with Anthony

I’m going to send a car service to pick you up.

Nope, taking an uber.

I don’t think an uber would be allowed past the gates. They like to know who they’re letting in and out.

Oh, so they’re hoity-toity stables.

Yes, exactly. The car will arrive at your apartment building at 10 a.m.

I feel like a celebrity.

Good. Your unicorn awaits.

I’m hyperventilating.

Don’t hyperventilate.

And definitely don’t drink any of Joy’s special tea.

Although it would make the experience more realistic.

When the town car pulls up to the stables, Anthony is standing by his silver luxury car, leaning against the side. He’s wearing one of his collared shirts under his coat, and my fingers itch to touch it. While they’re at it, they’d like to trace the rest of him. His jeans hug him in all the right places.

Something changed in me last night, after I learned our situation is not necessarily hopeless.

I want to learn his territory and then stake it.

“Be cool, be cool,” I murmur to myself.

“Oh, you’ll be just fine,” says Paolo, the driver, who looks jolly but has spent the last fifteen minutes telling me a lengthy story about his horse-riding injury. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I only fell off because I tried to feed her a carrot. The back injury was because she stepped on me, and even then, I was only bedridden for a week.”

Surprisingly, Paolo’s story has done nothing to kill my mood. I feel like I swallowed a bright tangle of Christmas lights.

“Thanks, Paolo,” I say, even though he has not been particularly helpful or encouraging. “Have a Happy Christmas, man. I hope everything goes well for you.”

I get out of the car quickly, before he can try to ruin something else for me. My nerves slip away as I approach Anthony, who’s already smiling so broadly his dimples are on display. I didn’t do a damn thing to earn them, other than being late, which only makes them more delightful.

Like an old-timey movie star, Joy keeps saying, and I have to admit she’s right. His face could bring people to the movie theater in droves. He looks like he should be smoking one of those filter-less 1920s cigarettes that would have given him cancer by age sixty.

“Did you finish writing your list?” I ask as I approach him.

He gives me a short, solemn nod before dipping his head to kiss my cheek, his lips warm and firm. Then he offers me his arm like we’re living out a topsy-turvy version of Pride he looks up at me, and the feeling of longing that washes over me is so potent and consuming I almost fall off my unicorn.

“Thank you, Prince Anthony,” I finally say, trying to pour what I’m feeling into my smile. “This already feels like another bucket list moment. Will you be riding with me?”

“Of course.”

“Ah, about that, Master Smith,” Jeeves says, his brow furrowing like he’s about to deliver unsettling news. “Mirabel went on a walkabout this morning, and she still hasn’t been found. And the couple who are riding our horses left early this morning and haven’t returned. They’re quite late.” Anthony looks displeased, maybe even pissed, so I’m not surprised when Jeeves hastens to add, “But you can ride with Princess Rosie, of course. Sweetcheeks can carry two riders for shorter distances.”

Anthony’s gaze darts to mine, his head tilted. Heat flashes through me as I give him a nod. “Yes. I want you to come. Riding a unicorn is much cooler if other people witness you doing it.”

He nods and then climbs onto the horse behind me, Sweetcheeks barely acting as if she’s noticed.

I’ve noticed.

His body is engulfing mine, his thighs locked around mine, one arm wrapped around my waist like he’s claiming me. He takes her reins from me, our hands brushing. “Are you ready?” he asks, his voice at my ear, and I say yes , even though I don’t really know what question I’m answering.

But Sweetcheeks has barely made it a step before I place a palm on Anthony’s thigh. “Wait.”

“What is it?” he asks softly, his voice vibrating through me.

“We need a picture. Jeeves, will you immortalize this moment for us?”

Jeeves hurries forward to take my phone. His finger is flying, bless him, so I know I’ll have plenty of gold to mine. When he gives it back, I start scrolling through them, aware of Anthony watching over my shoulder. The first couple make me bite back a laugh. In one, my eyes are closed, and in the other, Anthony looks like he’s holding back a sneeze. Then I get to the third, and I reflexively squeeze the phone more tightly in my hand, like I’m afraid someone’s going to take it away from me. Anthony and I are both grinning, his arms wrapped around me, while Sweetcheeks lifts her head regally. We look happy. We look like a couple.

“Are the photos quite all right?” Jeeves asks nervously, like a man who knows what it feels like to have his ass handed to him by a bunch of dissatisfied rich people.

“They’re perfect.” My voice comes out a little hoarse as I tuck away my phone.

“Yes, thank you, Jeeves,” Anthony says, sounding surprisingly collected, but after Sweetcheeks takes a few steps along the path leading from the stables, he leans in closer, his lips nearly brushing my ear and asks, “Will you send me a copy of that later?”

I grin at him over my shoulder. “I’ll send you all of them.”

The path is lined with…well, not a whole hell of a lot, to be honest, it is winter. Now that we’re out here, the ribbons in Sweetcheeks’s white hair catch the sun. Her horn is opalescent like the saddle. And the chilly wind isn’t cutting at all, because I’m surrounded by Anthony’s heat. His arm tightens around me slightly as our unicorn stoops for a bite of mostly dead grass.

I turn slightly to get a glimpse of his dark hair, the slope of his cheekbones. “Anthony…this is…I don’t have words for it. Thank you.”

It’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me, is what it is. I lean back into him as Sweetcheeks moves us along. Anthony smells good too, probably because he has on some four-figure cologne with notes of bergamot and other things I can’t pronounce.

He clears his throat. “You’re welcome.”

“But I don’t think Sweetcheeks is a very regal name, do you?”

Wry amusement fills his eyes. “What would you prefer? Sparklebutt?”

I pinch his thigh, and he grabs my hand, wrapping his much bigger palm around it before releasing me. His touch is a promise I’d like for him to deliver on. “You fight dirty.”

You should see how I fuck , I think but don’t say, so at least my filter isn’t totally broken.

But sex is on my mind right now, with him wrapped around me, every part of him touching me, his breath warm on my neck. Each exhale he makes is felt on my nerve endings.

I’m guessing it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, to be engulfed by Anthony Rosings Smith. To be swallowed up and savored. He’d know how to make a woman feel good.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I say, “You and Jeeves seem to be pals.”

“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Sweetcheeks is my horse.”

“Really?” I ask, shifting to look at him. It’s too big of a movement, but his arm keeps me from getting unbalanced. He’s so strong, stronger than I thought he’d be. “Do you work out?”

He smiles at me. “I try. It helps with stress from work. Are you hitting on me?”

“I think so. But don’t worry, I won’t suck on your finger just yet. Follow-up question: Did your mother name the horse Sweetcheeks?”

“I did,” he says, his cheek twitching with withheld laughter. “Well, I named his mother, and the name got passed down.”

“You didn’t,” I gasp, thoroughly charmed.

“I was a little kid, in my defense. I didn’t have an extensive vocabulary yet.”

“Was one of the words you knew Illuminati?” I ask. “Blink twice if yes.” His chest quakes against me, as if the laughter is something we’re sharing too.

“Dom got to you, huh?”

“He did. He seemed very concerned, and then he texted me something about a roller rink at three in the morning.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, his thumb tracing patterns on my waist. I’m ridiculously aware of the places where he’s pressed against me. All of them. His—is he hard?

Yes, or getting there.

I’d like to ask. I’d like to reach back and feel…

“It turns out I’m not the only one with a brilliant plan for the Ware building,” Anthony continues.

“Maybe he’s right,” I say, trying to focus. “Maybe there should be a rule that all of the residents have to use roller skates in the central hallway.”

“Sounds like a liability lawsuit waiting to happen.”

I make a face at a grouping of hearty wild flowers up ahead. “Stupid lawyers destroying all of our fun.”

“Be sure to tell my sister that when you meet her,” he says, as if it’s a done deal that I will be meeting her. And I suppose it is, if she’s coming to the wedding. I’ll be there regardless of whether it’s my wedding. I won’t abandon him, even if it hurts.

Conversation flows easily between us, and the whole time I feel the promise of him behind me—the awareness of him pulsing through my blood and shaking my bones. It’s so distracting that it seems to take less than a minute for us to finish our circle and reach the stables again, Sweetcheeks’s horn glinting in the sunlight.

God, she’s beautiful.

I want to suck down this moment like it’s a summer drink.

I want to harden it in glass and look at it every morning, first thing, so I can carry it with me throughout my day.

“Ah, Master Smith,” Jeeves says, hurrying out of the stable. He’s already holding the stool and hurries to line it up with Sweetcheeks as soon as Anthony gets her to slow down. She keeps moving, and Jeeves tracks her with the stool until she finally stops. “Master Smith, I thought I would save you the journey inside.”

“There was no need for that,” Anthony says, his voice conveying that this is not an everyday courtesy provided by the actor-slash-stable hand.

“Oh, no trouble at all, no trouble at all,” Jeeves says, hurrying to take my hand. He practically tugs me off of Sweetcheeks, which is a far cry from the princess treatment he was giving me at the outset of our ride.

“Jeeves?” Anthony asks, as he follows me down. “Is everything quite all right?”

Jeeves looks like he’s five seconds away from a panic attack, and from the barn, I hear a woman raise her voice.

The only word I can make out is “unacceptable.” Five seconds later, a pretty dark-haired woman with lemon-lips and a plaid riding uniform under her jacket comes stomping out of the barn, followed by a golden-haired man who’s laughing softly, like he finds adult temper tantrums amusing. His blue eyes look watery.

He’s familiar, but I can’t place him. Maybe he’s only familiar in a generic way, because he looks like he could have been made by a factory that churns out men with popped collars and slight sunburns.

The aghast look on Jeeves’s face confirms he’d very much hoped to keep us away from them. The way Anthony’s face has blanked out, back to the empty look of a couple of weeks ago, tells me that he knows these people and knows them well.

“Were they the ones who kept the horses out too long?” I guess.

Jeeves nods with thin lips, his chins quivering.

I’m guessing I’ve just met Nina, the woman who was supposed to marry Anthony before she decided she’d prefer to bang his friend. And the blond guy must be the friend, although the thought of anyone willingly giving up Anthony for this man is inconceivable.

I’m guessing the reason Jeeves knows Sweetcheeks can carry two riders is because it’s happened before, with her , a thought that makes me grit my teeth.

The dark-haired woman sees us and gasps theatrically, like she thinks someone might be waiting in the trees with a camera.

Actually, Anthony might have a stalker. For all I know, there could be someone in the trees with a camera.

Might as well give them something interesting to look at.

“Oh, hey, Anthony,” the blond guy says, waving a hand and giving us a dopey grin. “We just got your mother’s invitation from a courier.”

Anthony stiffens beside me. “Oh?”

But the blond dude’s distracted by the splendor of Sweetcheeks, who’s picked this moment to deposit some chunky manure on the path. “Whoa. Will you take a look at that, honey? You’ve got unicorns here, Jeeves? I thought they were extinct.”

Is this guy for real?

“No, you idiot,” Nina says, hitting him with her purse. “It’s a horse wearing a costume. There’s no such thing as unicorns.”

“She goes by Sparklebutt now,” I say, standing up taller. “She just got an upgrade.”

So did Anthony.

Nina’s gaze finds me, her lemon-lips puckering tighter before her face smooths out in an expression that could be misconstrued as friendly by someone who’d never seen a friendly face before. Blond Guy glances at me too, his brow furrowed.

Nina’s gaze shifts to Anthony. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your little friend?”

He’s stiff, statue-like, nothing like the man who spent the last forty-five minutes riding a “unicorn” behind me. Protectiveness pulses through me, and without thinking, I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him closer. I love the way he melts into me, like my touch made him alive again. Maybe that’s why I say what I say next: “Oh, there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not his friend. I’m his lover .”

I smile up at him, expecting a conspiratorial grin, but his eyes are beating into me—blue and gray and intense—and he lowers his head and kisses me.