Chapter 9: Miles

The concept of my royal status and pin bowling doesn’t exactly go hand in hand.

But damn Lisabet’s smile is worth it.

I can tell she’s much more at ease here, more comfortable than she was on the yacht. There’s no more tension in her shoulders, she laughs a lot more freely, and there’s a glimmer behind her eyes that wasn’t there yesterday.

She throws her hands up in the air and jumps excitedly in place. Who knew bowling shoes could look so sexy on a woman?

“Strike!” she cheers. There’s a fun golden animation flashing across the television screen above our heads, keeping score.

“Just to be clear, you’re winning?” I ask. “It’s not like in golf where the lower number is better?”

Lisabet giggles, sliding into the free seat next to me. “Not at all. But I guess we could make it opposite day so that you and your three points can feel better. You could make it a royal decree or something.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to do that.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Well, no.”

Lisabet shrugs. “If I were a prince, I’d make a thousand silly rules by noon for the fun of it.”

“That sounds like a gross misuse of power.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do it to be malicious. I was thinking more along the lines of everybody has to high-five each other when meeting for the first time instead of handshakes. Or all the kids in the kingdom get free ice cream cones on Fridays. Or everybody has to perform a choreographed dance to the kingdom’s national anthem whenever they hear it. Like a flash mob.”

“I really don’t want to relive the flash mob craze. It’s way too cringy.”

Lisabet shakes her head. “Not as cringy as when everybody and their mother were into fidget spinners.”

“What about planking? What a time to be alive. God, I must have been ten or something when everyone was doing it. I’m pretty sure we had to deal with someone planking on the summer palace’s front lawn.”

“Sounds like a riot.”

“Oh, it was. Our secret service team had a field day.”

“We sound like a grumpy old couple griping about those darn kids these days.”

The corner of my lip tugs up into a grin. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“What? Griping about kids these days?”

“No. The other thing.”

I adore the way Lisabet’s cheeks flush pink. She casts her eyes down sheepishly, smiling to herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more beautiful.

“It’s your turn,” she says, attempting to change the subject.

I get up from the bench and sigh. “This is such a silly game.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re losing.”

“Are you normally such a sore winner?”

Lisabet flashes me a toothy, overdramatic smile. “Maybe. It might have something to do with the perfectionist in me.”

I pick up a bowling ball from the ball return. I have no clue if I’m holding the thing correctly, but I’m super grateful that David managed to find and rent the entire place. I really don’t want to deal with a picture of me trying to bowl in the gossip magazines. More importantly, I don’t want to subject Lisabet to that kind of attention.

Yesterday made it perfectly clear to me that we’re used to different lifestyles. I won’t risk having her in front of the cameras just yet, exposed for the whole world to see. It’d only scare her away while simultaneously ridding any chances for her to hide. I grew up under a microscope, my every action and word analyzed within an inch of its life. I’ve learned how to deal with nosy reporters and paparazzi who don’t understand my boundaries.

But Lisabet?

It might be too much for her.

Once the pins are reset in my lane, I throw the ball. It looks to be on track to hit dead center, but then it takes a sharp left into the gutter. Lisabet stifles a laugh into her hand.

“That was a good attempt,” she says, amused.

“Opposite day, remember? I hereby decree that I’m winning.”

“I officially regret giving you the idea. Up for another round?”

“Only if you promise to take it easy on me.”

“Why would I do that? Come on. You really going to let a girl beat you?”

I take a step forward and close the gap between us. My mind is consumed with the scent of her light perfume. Not overbearing, not underwhelming. Just right.

“Nothing wrong with a girl beating me if she’s a worthy opponent,” I tell her.

Lisabet eyes my lips and nibbles on her bottom one as she smirks. “Well, it looks like I might be too worthy. I won by almost two hundred more points.”

“I just need a little practice. Will you teach me?”

“Private bowling lessons with yours truly don’t come cheap, Your Royal Highness.”

I laugh. “You’re going to charge me? Seriously?”

“A girls got to eat. You can’t blame me for trying to hustle.”

I want to laugh again for a split second, but then a realization suddenly occurs to me. Lisabet may be joking, but she sounds serious. A tiny seed of guilt grows in my stomach and gnaws at my nerves. I’ve never wanted for anything. It upsets me to know that Lisabet hasn’t been as fortunate.

“Why don’t we grab something to eat?” I ask, attempting to blow past the moment before she realizes my discomfort.

“Sure. What were you thinking?”

“They’ve got a concession stand here. Hotdog?”

She gives me a weird but amused expression. “Really? You want a hotdog? That seems kind of…”

“What?”

“Are you sure it’s not too simple for you? Sergei would throw a fit.”

“Sergei isn’t here.” I reach down and take her hand. My heart skips a beat when Lisabet threads her fingers with mine, allowing me to guide her over to the tall retro-style counter.

David’s gone above and beyond. I gave him less than twelve hours to find this place, secure the perimeter, rent out the entire bowling alley for our privacy, and even paid off the employees and had them sign NDA’s all while operating under Tobias’—and therefore Father’s—radar. There’s no doubt in my mind that Father might have his suspicions, but as long as Lisabet and I are discreet, it’ll remain that way.

The young woman working behind the concession stand looks to be no older than sixteen. This must be a part-time job for her or something. She’s got a splash of bright freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, made extra apparent because of the bright pink of her work uniform that matches the flush in her cheeks. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth has fallen open. Any wider and her jaw may very well come unhinged.

“H-hello,” she greets, wringing out the end of her shirt. “How can I h-help you, Your R-royal Highness?”

“We’ll take two of your finest hotdogs,” I tell the girl before turning to Lisabet. “Anything else? It’s on me.”

“We could split a pack of Twizzlers, if you’d like?”

“Sure.”

The girl rushes to get our order ready, practically tripping over herself to get the job done.

Lisabet leans in ever so slightly to whisper in my ear. “The poor thing. I think you’re freaking her out.”

“I tend to have that affect on most people.”

“Maybe you should sit down. I can bring the food over when it’s ready.”

“Don’t be silly. I won’t have you bringing me things like an attendant.”

“I really don’t mind, Miles.”

“I’ll stay. It just means you’ll have to put up with me some more.”

Lisabet giggles and places her hands on the counter as she patiently waits. “I don’t mind putting up with you.”

I step up to the counter and lean against it too, our shoulders grazing past one another. It surprises me how exhilarating being so close to Lisabet can be, my own personal adrenaline rush. There’s something about the curl of her lashes, the soft look of her lips, and the dark pool of her eyes that draws me in and keeps me hypnotized.

God, I want to kiss her.

The sound of a camera clicking rips me from my daze.

The girl behind the concession stand has our order just about ready, but she’s got her back turned to us, her thumbs flying over her phone’s darkened screen. From what I can see, she’s on Twitter, some kind of picture attached to the tweet she’s drafting.

Panic stabs my chest.

“Hey,” I snap. “What are you doing?”

She nearly drops her phone in surprise. “N-nothing.”

“Hand it over.”

“What?”

“Give your phone to me immediately.”

Lisabet frowns. “Miles?”

The girl hands it over with trembling hands, on the brink of crying. The picture she’s got is of her putting up a peace sign, Lisabet and I standing close together in the background. Lisabet’s face is mostly obscured, but even if that’s the case, it wouldn’t take very long before rumors started flying.

“I’m s-sorry,” the girl mumbles. “I was excited to meet you. I wanted to show my friends. Are you a-angry?”

I sigh. “I’m not angry. I just ask that you respect our privacy. If word gets out, I guarantee this place is going to be stormed by paparazzi in less than ten minutes.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was just so excited.”

“You said. It’s all right. No harm done.”

“Maybe he can sign something for you?” Lisabet suggests helpfully.

I nod. “I’d be happy to.”

The terror melts away as the girl nods timidly. “Thank y-you. Um, your f-food’s ready.”

“What was that about?” Lisabet whispers as we make our way over to our bowling lane. We sit at the table just behind the ball return and settle in.

“I don’t like my picture being taken without permission,” I say simply.

“Still. Poor thing looked like she was going to pass out.”

“I’ve…I’ve had some bad experiences with unwanted attention.”

Lisabet places a hand on my forearm. “Sorry, I totally forgot who you were for a second.”

I chuckle softly. “I’ll take that as a sign you’re getting comfortable around me.”

She smiles. “A good sign or a bad one?”

“Oh, good. Definitely good.”

After a moment she asks, “Will you tell me? About your experiences?”

I shrug, staring at my hotdog like it’s somehow offended me. Lisabet’s already devoured half, but I’m hesitant. It’s certainly not what I’m used to. But if it makes her happy, then I’m happy.

“I’ve grown up around cameras,” I tell her. “Even before I was old enough to speak, there was always a lens pointed at me. Everyone wanted their hands on my baby pictures. My first steps, my first birthday, my first day at school. And if the paparazzi aren’t in my face, the attendants are. They were always fussing over me, tasting my food before I got to eat, or doing background checks on my classmates before I was allowed to play with them.”

Lisabet frowns. “That sounds awful.”

“It’s not all bad. It’s just my version of normal. But I do sometimes wonder what I could have become if I hadn’t been born a prince.”

“What would you have wanted to become?”

“An astronaut. Or maybe a cowboy. Sky’s the limit, really.”

“I know how you feel. I used to debate about whether I should play the cello or the violin.”

“No offense, but those don’t seem drastically different.”

“But they totally are!”

“The only difference is the violin’s played sideways. You’re telling me you wouldn’t be able to play it?”

“I could probably get a note or two out of it, but it’s like driving a second-hand smart car and a fresh-off-the-line Ferrari. It’s quite the adjustment.”

“How did you get into the cello in the first place?”

“My mother took me to see Yo-Yo Ma when I was little. I walked out of that concert hall and knew it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. My ultimate goal is to record my album and tour as a soloist. I’ve even written a few pieces myself, but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t think I’ve got what it takes. I mean, I’m good. But I’m not that good.”

I take her hand and give her fingers a light squeeze, determined to hold her gaze. “Take that back.”

“What?”

“You’re an incredibly talented musician, Lisabet. I want to hear you say it.”

She laughs quietly. “You’re being silly.”

“I’m actually deadly serious. I want to hear you say it. ‘I’m an incredibly talented musician.’”

“Miles—”

“Say it.”

She sighs. “I’m…I’m an incredibly talented musician.”

I beam. “And don’t you forget it.”

Our eyes lock. Time stills. For a brief second, I’m lost to her. I forget where I am, or why I’m here. All that matters is that I’m with Lisabet, her attention on me and me alone. I’m so used to the world seeing my labels. Prince, future king, eligible bachelor. But when Lisabet looks at me, she does so without judgment. I don’t have to keep up appearances or put on a show. Maybe it’s not that she’s growing more comfortable around me, but that I’m growing more comfortable around her.

The urge to kiss Lisabet overcomes me, but before I manage to dip in and steal a kiss, David rushes in.

“Your Royal Highness,” he says hastily.

“What’s going on?”

“My sincerest apologies, Prince Miles, but I think Tobias is onto me. He’s been asking for you on behalf of the King.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were out scouting locations for an upcoming charity event. But then he asked me what charity and I panicked and, uh…Well, I ran away. I think it might be best if we return you two to the palace. Separately. I’ve got cars waiting outside.”

To say I’m disappointment is an understatement. Despite my losing streak, I’m actually having a fantastic time with Lisabet. There’s no pomp or circumstance here. I can relax and be myself and enjoy her company without worrying about my reputation or external politics or all the other immeasurable pressures of royal life.

It’s liberating. And just as things were getting good, we have to part ways.

I hate it.

I think Lisabet can sense my distress because she squeezes my hand.

“May I see you tomorrow?” she asks.

“Of course, you can. You don’t even have to ask.”

“I have rehearsal first thing in the morning, but maybe after that?”

“Sounds fantastic. I’ll have David come and get you.”

She arches a brow. “Sounds like you already have plans.”

I grin. “You’re going to like what I have in store. Just you wait.”

Lisabet leans in and presses her lips to mine. It’s sweet and soft and lighter than air.

But also fleeting.

“I can’t wait,” she whispers.