Chapter 8: Lisabet

My heart hasn’t stopped racing since I woke up this morning. I’m a little worried I might be in for a heart attack if I don’t manage to calm down soon.

I have never stepped foot on something so luxurious. The yacht is basically the summer palace, but anchored down so that it doesn't float away. There are three separate levels: the upper deck, the private quarters, and the storage deck below. The yacht is honestly three times as big as my apartment back in New York with room to spare for a small skeleton crew consisting of a private chef, a deckhand, an attendant, and the captain.

Which leaves me and Miles. Alone. Sitting out front on lounging chairs beneath the strong rays of the sun.

Miles is in a pair of white shorts and flipflops. I don’t even remember when he took his shirt off so he could tan. I’m too distracted by his hard abs and wide chest to remember. Maybe he wasn’t wearing one at all to begin with. It would certainly explain why I feel like I’ve been frozen in time, nothing better to do than to gawk at his handsome physique. He’s honestly brighter than the sun.

Will I go blind if I stare for too long?

“Lisabet?”

I snap to attention, sucking in a sharp breath through my nose. “Uh, yes?”

“Would you like anything to drink?” Miles asks me. “I can have the chef prepare a cocktail for you. Or I can have my attendant bring you a change of clothes.”

I arch an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing at all. It’s just…”

“What?”

“You’re wearing all black, Lisabet. I’m worried you’re going to suffer from heat stroke.”

I tug anxiously at the edge of my shirt’s long sleeve. “I packed for work,” I explain. “Not a vacation.”

“That’s perfectly understandable. I only want you to be comfortable.”

“I guess I am kind of warm.”

Miles doesn’t even raise his full hand, just curls a finger to beckon the young woman in a white collared dress standing off to the side. She comes over in an instant, all smiles. I’ve never seen this kind of power and influence up close before.

“How many I help you, Your Royal Highness?” she asks sweetly.

“Anita, will you please show Lisabet to the changing room downstairs? Show her the dress options. Something more weather-appropriate.”

“Did you buy me dresses?” I ask, slightly incredulous.

“No. It’s a rule of our family’s to always have a spare change of clothes on hand in case of unexpected emergencies.”

“Like spills?”

He chuckles. “I suppose that counts. I was thinking more along the lines of someone’s passing, and we need the correct mourning attire before disembarking. It’s a protocol thing.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Anita will show you downstairs. Please take your time. Choose whatever you like most.”

I follow Anita down the steps, holding onto the railing for dear life as the yacht drifts back and forth over the ocean waves. The water is calm today, but I’m an inexperienced seafarer. Anything but sturdy dry land beneath my feet is uncharted territory. I feel very much like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, but I push forth, determined not to make a fool of myself in front of Miles who makes it look so effortless and carefree.

Anita takes me to what looks to be one of the yacht’s private bedrooms. The hallways are narrow, but there’s a series of doors that leads me to believe this isn’t the only fabulous room aboard. She brings me over to the closet and opens it wide, revealing a well-organized collection of dresses, shirts, shoes, and various other accessories. Everything’s so chic, elegant, and expensive.

“I couldn’t possibly wear any of this,” I say. “What if I accidentally stain the dress?”

Anita giggles. “Don’t be silly,” she says. Her accent’s thicker than Miles, but she’s perfectly understandable. “They have plenty more where this came from, Miss Lisabet. And besides, we can afford the best dry cleaners in all of Oxland.”

She picks a dress from off the rack and holds it in front of me, checking for size. It’s a white sundress with a pattern of sunflowers embroidered along the bottom. The centers are inlaid with dark onyx gems, catching the light in just the right way to make it seem like lightning crackles beneath its surface.

“I’ll wear this one,” I tell her.

Anita frowns. “Are you sure? You haven’t even looked at the other ones.”

“I’m sure,” I say, taking the dress. “Everything else seems too flashy. This is perfect.”

Anita nods, quickly picking out a pair of wedges to go with the ensemble. “As you wish, Miss Lisabet.”

I immediately feel better after I get changed. The fabric of the dress is light against my skin, unbelievably soft like ocean mist grazing across my body. I climb up to the main deck and find Miles speaking to the man I assume is the yacht’s private chef. He’s got on a white chef’s jacket and a puffy hat, so there’s really no other answer that comes to mind.

I linger back for a moment, listening to the way the Oxlandian language rolls off of Miles’s tongue. There’s something incredibly sexy about a handsome man speaking a foreign language. It’s exotic, exhilarating, almost wild. My curiosity piques when I hear Miles drop my name. He makes it sound so tender and sweet, and it almost sounds new to my ears.

Robert used to call my name with a whiny tone.

Miles makes it sound like a song.

He finally turns and catches a glimpse of me, his expression blanking for a good three seconds. There’s nothing but sheer, dumbstruck awe behind his eyes. Miles looks me over from head to toe, breaking out into a massive smile.

“You look beautiful,” he says, so affectionate and soft I think I’ve imagined the compliment.

My cheeks flood with heat. I tell myself it’s the sun. “You think so?” I ask sheepishly.

“I know so.” Miles’s gaze rests on me as he gestures towards the chef. “I was just talking to Sergei about our lunch menu.”

Sergei, the chef, puffs his chest out and raises his chin to look down his nose at me. I can’t tell if he’s trying to come off as proud or intimidating. Maybe even both.

“We have fois gras with caviar for a side,” he says, voice booming over the crashing of waves. “Garden salad with raspberry vinaigrette, matched with champagne. Then we have crème brulée for dessert.”

As good as everything sounds, it also sounds awfully rich, but I don’t have the heart to tell Sergei this to his face. Maybe it’s the gentle rocking of the yacht, or the fact that I don’t normally eat such luxurious foods, or the fact that the world’s most handsome man is watching me intently, but I know my stomach won’t be able to handle it.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble. “Do you…Do you think I could have something else? That just…It seems like a lot, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish.”

Miles smiles, not a hint of judgment in his gaze.

Sergei seems less than impressed.

“What would you like, Lisabet?” Miles asks me. “Anything you want, Sergei will prepare it for you.”

“Something simple. Maybe a cheeseburger?”

If Sergei could roll his eyes any harder, they’d pop right out of their sockets. “A cheeseburger?” he echoes, disbelief dripping from every word. “I have worked in five-star restaurants, and you want me to make you a cheeseburger?”

Is it possible to die of embarrassment?

I might be the first recorded case.

Miles clears his throat and glares at Sergei. “You heard the lady. Get to it. Unless a chef of your caliber is unable to do so.”

The chef pales under Miles’ scrutiny, muttering what I can only assume is an apology under his breath in Oxlandian. Or a curse. One of the two. He turns to leave, trudging off. I’m sort of relieved that I don’t have to find out.

Miles smiles sympathetically. “I apologize on his behalf. They say Oxlandians can be quite terse.”

“That’s just a stereotype. I don’t think you’re terse.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You don’t think he’ll spit in my food, do you?”

Miles laughs. His voice is like liquid gold dripping over my skin, warm and mesmerizing. “Don’t worry. If he does, he’ll answer to me.”

As I make my way over to one of the lounging chairs, the yacht takes a sudden dip as we hit a rougher patch of ocean. I’m not used to wearing heeled wedges, so the sudden jolt has me tipping over. Miles catches me without hesitation, strong arms wrapping around me for safety. I find myself barely an inch away from his lips, my hands pressed against his bare chest. He smells like coconut sunblock and the sea breeze.

It’s intoxicating.

“Are you all right?” he asks, a low murmur.

“Yes. I think so. I should have put on my sea legs today, huh?”

His brow furrows ever so slightly. “You’re not enjoying yourself,” he says. A statement, not a question.

“That’s not true,” I reply hastily. “I’m having tons of fun.”

“Are you? You look like you’re about to puke any minute.”

I grimace. “I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious.”

“You should have said something to me earlier, Lisabet.”

“You already went to so much trouble. I didn’t want to complain.”

Miles smiles softly, peering into my eyes with a level of genuine intrigue that I’ve never experienced before.

Robert never looked at me like that.

Even while things were good between us, he never looked at me like I was his whole world. It wasn’t that he treated me poorly while we were together. It was just that I settled for less.

Miles tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’re no trouble, Lisabet. I should have been more considerate and asked if there was something you preferred to do. The yacht was my idea, not yours.”

My eyes drift to his lips, drawn to them like magnets. It occurs to me how easy it would be to stand on my tiptoes and press my mouth to his. There’s no one around; the coast is clear. I could steal a kiss, and no one would be the wiser.

“That’s really sweet of you to say,” I whisper, barely audible over the rush of the wind.

“Lisabet?”

“Yes, Miles?”

The prince dips down and kisses me. It’s soft and gentle, and he holds me with the utmost care, like he’s worried I’ll break. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, sighing contently as his tongue sweeps over mine. Miles tastes like the expensive champagne he’s been drinking. It’s so wonderfully sweet and bubbly that it’s nearly enough to make me drunk.

Miles circles an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. I melt against his touch, more at ease than I thought I would be. It’s surprisingly easy to be around him. Like it was always meant to be.

When he pulls away, I almost follow. All I’m left with are butterflies in my stomach and a light tingling sensation in my fingers and toes.

I want to do that again.

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asks.

“I have rehearsal first thing in the morning.”

“And what about after?”

A smile creeps onto my face. “I might be free. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Please do. I eagerly await your answer.”

I nibble my bottom lip, heart thrumming so loudly in my chest I’m sure he can hear it. “I might have a couple of hours to spare for you.”

“And what would you like to spend those couple of hours doing?”

I raise my brows, smirking. “I have a dumb question.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Okay, then. Do you have bowling alleys in Oxlandia?”