“You’ve got that look in your eye,” I tell him as he takes my hand and leads me along the hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“To your favourite room.”
“Our bedroom isn’t along here,” I tease. But I know what is. My office. My study space, not that I do a lot of studying, but I do store a lot of books there.
Without letting go of my hand, Alexander opens the door, allowing me to precede him.
“You just want to look at my ass.” I direct my words over my shoulder and flutter my lashes just a touch.
“Always,” he replies as I turn back and smile at my favourite piece of artwork in the building. Hanging on the wall next to my mint green couch is a montage of posts printed from Kilblair’s Instagram page, the page I now curate. But it’s not all fun and games being the duchess. Sure, I get to take pretty pictures, and I get to hang out with the older folks once a week. But there’s a seriousness to the job, too. Like coming up with events to raise funds for a new roof and helping out at the local primary school, as well as hosting a vast array of fancy parties. McCain does most of that, but I’ve had to learn the ropes. I bet I could get a job as a butler now. You know, if I ever get sick of being a duchess.
As if!
“You know why I let you go ahead of me?”
“In case Archie has balanced a bucket of water above the door?”
“That happened once, darling. And you got him back quite spectacularly.”
A hose is much more efficient than a bucket, even if the bucket was meant for his brother and not me. Payback is payback.
“You let me go first because you’re a gentleman.” I wrap my hands around his waist and snuggle in close. He’s no ordinary gentleman, that’s for sure.
“Well, yes. Ladies first in all things.”
“Because that didn’t sound smutty at all. Not even a little bit.”
“No? I must be losing my touch.” He chuckles as he turns me in his arms so we’re both looking at my Kilblair montage. “When you come into this room, your eyes immediately fall to that picture,” he says, folding his hands over my waist. “And your eyes light up. That’s why I let you go first. It reminds me I must be doing something right.”
“Lots of things,” I murmur, my eyes running over the moments. Our Christmas Eve wedding held at the tiny ancient chapel in the village with just a dozen people watching on. Our family, both blood and chosen. We’d come back to the castle afterwards and celebrated until the wee hours before collapsing into bed. Our first Christmas morning together. Our honeymoon. The memories go on and on. “But I think we’re going to need a bigger picture frame,” I murmur, sliding my hands over his as anticipation bubbles inside me.
“I’m sure we’ll need lots of them as the years go by. I look forward to many years of making memories with you.”
I press his hands on my stomach as a shiver of something sweet rolls down my spine. “It’s a good thing the castle has so many rooms.” I take a deep breath and try not to giggle as I say, “Remind me again. Do twins skip one generation or two?”