Chapter 10: Lisabet

David drives me to the capital, which is almost three hours south of the summer palace. I sit in the back seat, anxiously wringing my fingers together, soaking in the view. David had to sneak me out through a series of winding corridors beneath the grounds like some kind of spy movie. I have to admit that I’m not used to all this secrecy, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the adrenaline rush.

It’s exhilarating.

I can’t remember feeling this alive when I was with Robert. When I was with him, it was like my brain was stuck in a haze. But not the kind of warm, head-tingling haze that I get when I’m with Miles. It was more of a muggy, heavy haze like being stuck in the middle of a scorching summer wishing time would go by faster in the hopes of a cooler, more forgiving season.

“David?” I ask.

“Yes, Miss Thompson?”

“Can I ask where you’re taking me?”

“His Royal Highness has instructed me to keep it a surprise.”

“Can’t you give me a hint? Even a tiny one. We’re not going to do something crazy like go skydiving, right?”

David laughs. “No, Miss Thompson. You need not worry. I promise there will be no jumping out of planes today.”

“How long have you worked for Miles?”

“I technically work for the Royal Family as a whole, but I was assigned to the prince when he was sixteen. Tobias has been with him since his infancy.”

“Did you always want to be an attendant?”

“I fell into the job completely by accident, if I’m being perfectly honest. Both of my parents worked for the Royal Family in some capacity or another, so I spent a lot of time on the palace grounds with them. I’m about two years older than Prince Miles, so we hit it off. He was the one who offered me the job. He talked the King into it. I was fresh out of high school and looking for work, so I took him up on it. Been with him ever since. It pays well, keeps the bills paid. What extra I make, I send back to my parents so they can live out their retirement in peace.”

“Was sneaking women out to see him ever in your job description?”

David glances at me in the rearview mirror. “No, Miss Thompson.”

“Does he…Does he do it often?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Really?”

“Is that such a surprise? I didn’t realize you think so low of him.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think lowly of him. I…I rather like him, actually. It’s just that…The whole world likes him. Miles could go after any woman he wants. Supermodels, actresses, famous singers. Why me? I’ve been asking myself that ever since I got here.”

“Are you saying the prince has poor taste?”

“No?”

“You’re absolutely right, Miss Thompson. Prince Miles could have anyone he wants. The fact that he wants you should tell you something. He’s never made me jump through as many hoops as he is now to secure some privacy for you two.”

A seed of pride blooms in my chest. It’s a weird feeling, but in a good way.

I could get used to it.

It takes another fifteen minutes before we finally make it to the location. David pulls the car around the back of a large cathedral-like structure. The architecture is gothic, the entire building made of carved gray stone. It’s an intimidating mountain of a building, towering over me to cast a long shadow across the street. Green vines snake up the side, reaching toward the rooftops in search of sunlight.

I’m about to get out of the car, but David practically springs to make it around the vehicle to open the door for me.

“Allow me, Miss Thompson.”

“What is this place?”

“You’ll see. His Royal Highness thought you’d like it a great deal. Right this way.”

It’s immediately cooler inside, thick stone walls blocking out the daylight. I feel like I’ve stepped through a portal into the past, drinking in the history of Oxland just by breathing in the air.

“Is this an escape room or something?” I ask, totally off the cuff.

“An escape room?”

“Oh, they’re really common back home. They’re like giant puzzles. The game runners lock you in and you have to solve your way out.”

David chuckles. “No, Miss Thompson. This is not an escape room.”

We enter through another set of grand wooden doors, stepping into a massive area with vaulted ceilings and abundant space. All along the walls are large wooden shelves, filled to the brim with various old texts and tomes.

Miles is standing in the center of the room, back turned to me. He’s got a book in his hands, a serious look on his handsome face. There’s something incredibly charming about seeing him so still, so perfectly stoic and calm.

“Are you actually reading, or are you trying to look smart?” I ask, teasing.

Miles smiles and closes the book, turning to greet me. “I don’t need to look smart. I am smart.”

I look around, taking in my surroundings. “What is this place?”

“This is a little project my mother and I have been working on for the last few years. It’s really her passion project, but I help out where I can.”

A laugh bubbles past my lips. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“This is going to be a library. A special one at that. Here before you is Oxland’s largest collection of first-editions written by famous Oxlandian philosophers, scientists, novelists…” Miles gestures toward a specific shelf. “And musicians.”

Miles takes me over and pulls a specific book from the shelf. It’s a collection of scores. Dusty, the top of the pages yellow from years of exposure to the sun, but not brittle. It might explain why the whole place is being kept so dark and cool. I can’t imagine how many priceless works of art have been stored here, just waiting to be cracked open and appreciated.

I take the scores and look them over. The great thing about music is that notes are universal. It doesn’t matter what country the composer originated from. It doesn’t matter what century they were born or what language they spoke. Every musician understands the same language, built entirely of dots and rests and staves.

I flip to the first page and run my fingers over the page. “Bruno Wench,” I read. “The Oxlandian cellist? I thought all of his works were destroyed in the Great Fire.”

“Almost all of his works,” Miles corrects.

An uncontrollable giddiness erupts inside me. My stomach’s doing flips while my heart’s skipping beats as I carefully shift through the pages. It’s when I notice that some of the ink has smudged on the paper that I realize this whole thing was hand-written, not printed. I look at up at Miles, startled.

“This is the original scoring,” I say with a gasp. “Oh my God, I should put gloves on or something. This is—this has to be worth a fortune.”

“And now it’s yours.”

I swallow hard, but my voice comes out as a croak. “What?”

“Consider it a gift,” Miles tells me coolly.

“No, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Are you refusing a gift from a prince?”

“You know what? I am. I’m flattered, Miles, but this is much too much.”

“Do you not like it?”

“I love it, but that’s not the point. I couldn’t possibly accept something like this. It’s like you’re giving me the original Mona Lisa. It’d be wasted on someone like me.”

“Lisabet.”

The way he says my name sends a chill down my spine, and goose bumps crawl down the length of my arms. He sounds serious, but there’s also a fondness there. Like he’s said it a thousand times before, every syllable rehearsed and effortless.

Miles steps forward, smiling his charming smile. “I want you to have it.”

“But—”

“It upsets me to know you’ll never see yourself as wonderful as I see you.” Miles cups my face and regards me with such tenderness I start to wonder what I did in a past life to deserve all of this good fortune. “Please,” he says. “Take it. If you play the music, it won’t go to waste.”

My face fills with heat, my chest tight, and my heart pounds so loud I’m sure that Miles can hear it.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

It could be my imagination, but something sad flashes past his eyes. It’s easily replaced with a smile and a breezy laugh.

“Come,” he says. “There’s even more where that came from.”

“What do you mean?”

Miles takes my hand and leads me to the back corner of the library. There are several glass display cases lined up against the wall. Inside, rare and expensive instruments have been sealed away behind protective barriers, highlighted by spotlights built into the top of the case. There’s a restored trumpet, a violin that appears to be made of mahogany, and in the very last display is a cello.

It’s not just any cello.

It’s a Stradivarius.

“Holy cow,” I say under my breath. “Where did you…How did you…”

“It’s been in the family for generations,” he explains. “But none of us ever picked up the skills needed to play it.”

“This needs to be in a museum or something, Miles. Do you have any idea how rare a Stradivarius is? I mean, his cellos are even rarer than his violins. He only made about seventy of these.”

“It’d be no good in a museum. I want you to have it.”

My heart shoots up into my throat. “Are you trying to get me to pass out?”

Miles chuckles. “God, no. Please don’t do that.”

He steps forward and opens the glass cabinet. I can practically smell the old rosin and the polished wood body of the instrument. My fingers twitch, eager to play the strings.

“Now that I know an accomplished cellist,” he says, “I won’t have this instrument collecting dust any longer. It’s yours now.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it.”

“Good. All I ask is that you take care of it.”

“O-of course. Miles, this is…Thank you.”

“Will you play it for me? I’d be interested to hear some of Wench’s compositions in person.”

“I…I’d need to practice. Can I have some time?”

“Of course, Lisabet. Whatever you need.”

My whole body is practically vibrating with excitement. I can hardly believe how generous he is. Ever since meeting him, my life’s turned upside down, and I’m honestly so grateful.

I stand up on my toes and place my hands on his sturdy chest, peering into his eyes. Our lips are just inches away, his breath tickling my cheeks. I give in to the urge and close the space between us, kissing him with all my might.

Miles circles my waist with his strong hands as I wrap my arms around his neck. We’re flush together, the heat from our bodies melding into an inferno.

The tip of his tongue sweeps past my lips and teases them apart before savoring the taste of my own. I sigh against him, closing my eyes to commit this moment to memory. The scent of his hair, the press of his body, the way he holds me like he’ll never let go. It’s simultaneously overwhelming and perfect, a lovely balance of the two that leaves me high on anticipation and totally comfortable to let the rest of the world fall away. I’m suspended in time and space, nothing but Miles to keep me anchored down.

I easily lose myself to the pleasure of it all. I’m safe and warm in Miles’ arms. The way he touches me and grips at my clothes shows me how I’m the center of his world. Something inside me awakens. Something hungry and demanding and unquestionable. I comb my fingers through his hair, explore the inside of his mouth, and yearn for him as heat pools in my gut.

We come away breathless only to come crashing back.

Miles slips his hand beneath my shirt and up my back. I unbutton the top of his shirt. He presses me up against the nearest wall. I respond by grinding my hips against him. I smile in amusement when I feel how hard he is, a sense of accomplishment washing over me knowing that I did that to him.

“Miles—”

“Will you see me tonight?” he asks against my lips. “Come to my room tonight, Lisabet.”

I nod immediately, deafened by the sound of blood rushing past my ears. “I’ll be there,” I answer before kissing him again.