Page 41 of The Princess Trap

She did laugh at that; an adorable little giggle that bubbled out like water from a fountain. She tried to hide it; he could tell. He couldn’t see her, but he’d bet money on the fact that she’d put a hand over her mouth. Didn’t matter. In the quiet of the night, and with the way she captured his attention so very thoroughly, he couldn’t miss it. And the sound made him bold.

“I want to know you,” he said, honestly enough. But he clambered up the bed as he said it, finding the headboard with outstretched hands before settling down beside her.

She tutted. “You think you’re so smooth.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She tugged at the covers. “You’re hogging the blankets.”

“I’m not evenunderthe blankets.”

“I should bloody well hope not. But you’re lying on them and it’s pulling them off me.” He felt her foot knock into his calf through the covers, a glancing blow. He wasn’t sure if she’d kicked him on purpose or if she’d come across him by accident and snatched herself away in the next breath. He wanted her to do it again.

But that wasn’t why he’d come, he reminded himself sternly.

“I think we should play twenty questions,” he said.

Her reply was doused in sarcasm. “Oh,really? Are you going to ask me if I’ve ever kissed a boy?”

“No. I save that sort of thing for truth or dare.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I certainly am. Shall I go first?”

“You can ask. No guarantee I’ll answer.”

“Fair enough.” He paused, pretending to think of a question. In reality, he didn’t have to think. His mind was nothing but a jumble of questions when it came to her; there were a thousand things he wanted to know, and as soon as his questions were answered he’d think of a thousand more. For some reason, he’d developed a mild fixation on this woman. Probably because she didn’t want him.

But, once upon a time, she did want you. And you were no better back then.

Firmly ignoring the voice in his head, Ruben said, “First question. Who’s your favourite person in the world?”

“My sister,” she said immediately. “Who’s yours?”

“Agathe,” he said, just as fast.

“The housekeeper?” She sounded incredulous. “I mean, she is really lovely, but—”

“She’s not the housekeeper,” he laughed. “She’s my grandmother.”

“Um… What?” Her voice came out as a squeak. “Wow. We reallydoneed to get to know each other. What the hell? Why does she do all your cooking?”

“Because she’s my grandmother.”

She scoffed. “I’ll ignore that. Why don’t you call her grandma? Or whatever you guys say?’”

“Mormor,” he supplied. “And I never got into the habit. I only met her…” He calculated quickly. “Seven years ago.”

“What?”

“Well, no, that’s not accurate. I knew her for the first five years of my life. Then I didn’t. Then, seven years ago, I did.”

She shifted beside him, the mattress rolling. He imagined she was looking at him now. So she hadn’t been before. “Forget twenty questions,” she said. “Explain that.”

“Well… She’s my mother’s mother.”

“Okay. And?”