Page 73 of Royal Trouble

Either way, she’d be there for him, doing her damnedest to ensure he never felt alone again.

For now, she needed to get her ass home. Maybe she couldn’t have dinner with Xander, but she could head back to the apartment and get some writing done.

As she drove up the lane to the guard house, she rolled down her window and slowed to admire the queen’s rose garden. The roses were in full bloom, a riot of color with vibrant red, yellow, white, and pink blossoms, their pungent scent heavy in the air.

No one would ever accuse Everly of having a green thumb—she’d even managed to kill a cactus once—but she loved the serenity a lush garden could provide, and she’d never seen a garden as verdant as the one before her.

What I wouldn’t give to spend my days writing in a place like this.

She shrugged off the thought—why wish for the impossible?—and pressed the accelerator. As she rounded the corner, she saw Lotte, who appeared to be unchaperoned, strolling through the garden at a leisurely pace. Perhaps garden access was a courtesy extended to all members of the Valerian court.

Nice perk, but not worth the headaches that came with life at court. Not by half. But who knew? If her agent liked the new proposal she’d submitted, she might be able to afford a garden—and gardener—of her own one day.

…

It was late when Xander knocked on Everly’s door, but he could see light in the windows, and the truth was, he didn’t want to be alone. The envelope in his hand felt like fucking Pandora’s Box, and he couldn’t decide if he should open it or lock it in a drawer. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he had the strength to open it.

Which was bloody ridiculous. He knew Everly was right. The results wouldn’t change anything, but still…

There was a loudthwackas the lock was thrown back, and the door opened to reveal Everly in a pair of leggings and an oversize jumper.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a warm smile. “I’m glad you decided to stop over.”

“I’m sorry about dinner. I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need. It gave me a chance to get some writing done.”

“Oh?” She hadn’t talked about her writing much beyond the basics, but he wanted to know more. Hell, he wanted to know everything there was to know about her. “What are you working on?”

“A new project, but it’s too early to talk about. I don’t want to jinx myself.” She pulled him inside and kicked the door closed before hooking her arms around his waist and drawing him in for a slow, sultry kiss.

It was almost enough to make him forget about the envelope in his hands.

Almost.

“How’d your meetings go?” she asked, turning and padding down the hall to the living room.

“Aside from running late, they were incredibly productive.” He laid the envelope on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch, gaze fixed on her perfect backside as she disappeared into the kitchen. “We approved the press releases for the Blue and Gold Foundation, so they’ll go out later this week.”

“That’s great news.” She reappeared with two bottles of lager and handed one to him before curling up next to him on the couch. “I can’t believe how quickly things are moving.”

“Tell me about it.” He took a long pull of his beer. The BGF wasn’t the only thing moving at light speed. The entire pace of his life seemed to be accelerating.

“So,” Everly said, eyeing the still sealed envelope on the table. “Have you decided if you’re going to open it?”

It was a fair question, but he still had no good answer, because he didn’t know if he was ready to open it or not. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve never been so bloody scared of a piece of paper in my life.”

“Hey.” She rested a hand on his forearm, and warmth flooded his body at her reassuring touch. “There’s no shame in being afraid, and there’s no rush to open that envelope. No matter what that paper says, it doesn’t change who you are.”

“I know that logically…”

“But knowing something and feeling it are two different things,” she finished with a solemn smile. “Take your time and open it when you’re ready.”

Her phone vibrated on the table, and she snatched it up, checking the caller ID. He thought she was going to silence it, but she turned to him with apologetic eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting her beer on the table. “I hate to do this, but I need to take this call. It’s important.”

He couldn’t fault her, although it didn’t escape his notice that she didn’t say who was calling. “It’s fine. I need some time to think anyway.”