Page 31 of The Thing About My Prince

He reaches for a small vase with a pink silk rose sitting in it. Of course. Fake flower. No water required. And placed right next to the bed where all the sweet secrets would be whispered.

He reaches for it.

“No,” I spit out in a sharp whisper.

“What?” He furrows his brow and shakes his head with increasing bafflement.

“Don’t touch it,” I say so quietly that almost no sound comes out, but I exaggerate my mouth movements to get him to catch on.

He rests his hands on his hips and tips his head to one side. “Are you serious?”

I nod at a speed slow enough to indicate my level of seriousness.

“Do you need a nap? Jet lag and all that,” I say loudly, walking around the bed to meet him. “Wouldn’t want you to be too worn out now, would we?” I add in a flirtatious voice without looking at him, my eyes fixed on the vase the whole time.

“Oh…I see.” I can hear the sound of the penny dropping in his voice. “You know it doesn’t matter how tired I am, my little newsflasher.” His tone has changed to match my suggestive one.

Great, he’s caught on. It’s convenient that we seem to have this unspoken way of communicating. That’s something it usually takes years of knowing someone to achieve.

“Newsflasher?”I whisper, now looking at him.

He shrugs and whispers back, “Best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.”

I reach for the vase and carefully lift it up high enough to look underneath it.

Nothing.

So I pull out the silk flower with the care of a heart surgeon performing a life-saving operation and peer inside.

Motherfucker.

There it is.

I’d hoped I was wrong.

But no.

These bastards.

I point the vase toward Oliver and nod for him to look inside at the small square black plastic audio bug.

“F—”

I slam my hand over his mouth before he can get beyond the first letter of the word.

His eyes are bulging, piercing me with surprise, while his lips are soft against the palm of my hand, a contrast to the stubble around them.

I’m as shocked at the intimate nature of this contact as he looks. Even more shocked that my belly flips. But that’s more likely due to the nerves of what we just found.

I pull my hand back and make an exaggerated yawning sound as I ease the stem of the flower back inside the vase and carefully replace the whole thing back on the nightstand.

“I’m definitely feeling the time difference,” I say. “How about some fresh air to wake me up? The garden looks beautiful. Want to show me around outside?”

“Yes. Right this fucking second.” Oliver’s face is like thunder as he charges toward the door.

He swings it open and there’s Giles, holding my bags. And he doesn’t look like he just got there.

I rush to Oliver’s side. “Thank you, Giles.” Asshole. “I didn’t realize you carried out portering duties too.”