Page 91 of American Royalty

Don’t make a big deal of this.

“He set it up so we had to complete a challenge. Bake scones.” Dani pursed her lips. “You look shocked. That’s not something he’d normally do?”

“No, dear, he wouldn’t.”

Dani slid a considering once-over his way before continuing. “They only look halfway decent because of his efforts. I’m not a cook at all. That was my grandmother. I should’ve spent more time with her in the kitchen, learning all of her recipes and soaking up her knowledge when it was offered.”

“Your grandmother is a chef?”

“No. Just a really good home cook. She passed away about fifteen years ago.”

“I’m sorry, dear. Unfortunately, that’s something you and Jameson have in common. He also lost his father when he was younger.”

He stiffened. What was his mother doing?

Dani touched a hand to her throat. “I knew he’d passed away, but Jameson didn’t tell me the circumstances.”

“It was hard for him. Not because they were particularly close, but because of the scandal surrounding it.”

The sound of his molars meeting was loud in his ear. “Mother—”

“The scandal?”

“Jameson’s father died with his mistress.”

Her words hit him with the force of an arctic wind, slamming into his chest, making it harder to breathe. Had his mother actually brought up his father? They never talked about it between themselves, let alone in front of a stranger.

Dani seemed dazed. “Oh.”

But Jameson couldn’t respond because he’d been transported back to an encounter with his father, two days before the accident. He’d been trying to discuss his decision to attend uni instead of joining the military as Richard had, but his father had been busy and preoccupied.

“I’m disappointed in your decision, but we’ll talk more when I get back,” Prince Richard had said, rushing off to undertake an official engagement on behalf of the queen before leaving on a “special” trip.

It was the last time Jameson had seen or spoken to his father.

Then came the swarming horde of reporters, the flashing lights, the rhythmic clicks of cameras. Everywhere he went they followed, shouting invasive queries about how he was handling his emotions and whether he’d known about his father and Gena Phillips.

Nor had his mother been spared the focus of their lenses. They hounded her wherever she traveled. And when she’d put herself between him and the voracious throng, she’d been subjected to their cruel and hurtful questions. It was callous and relentless, and he’d been brimming with impotent rage because he couldn’t protect her. He could only stand by and watch the person he loved most in the world suffer at the hands of the greedy, entitled press.

Jameson had vowed then and there to never be like his father. To never have his actions be the cause of her having to endure that torture for entertainment.

He never had.

And he never would.

“It’s not a secret, dear. Everyone knows.”

Dani’s eyes went liquid with concern, and he hardened himself against it. “It was a long time ago.”

“It was,” Calanthe agreed, her tone gentle, “and with different circumstances. But you both had to deal with the death of an important parental figure.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“From that moment I witnessed, my son trusts you. He let you in. And he doesn’t do that with a lot of people. I have faith in his judgment.” The easygoing manner suddenly slid from Calanthe’s face to be replaced with a maternal fierceness. “But if we’re both wrong, just know there’s no place on Earth where you would be able to hide from me.”

Jameson held his breath, wondering how Dani would react. This could get unpleasant quickly. He’d seen her in fight mode.

But Dani surprised him by nodding. “He’s lucky to have you.”