She picked up the last test and walked into the kitchen. As she set about preparing the teakettle, she kept glancing at the screen, as though if enough time passed, the answer might change and free her from this hell.
But the word remained. The kettle whistled. She huffed her frustration and shoved the test toward the back of the counter near a vase of flowers before grabbing the kettle off the stove and pouring the steaming water into a mug. She would need to deal with it at some point.
Just not now.
A knock sounded on her door and startled her out of her musings.
“Just a minute.”
“Miss Stephenson, open up.”
Her heart leaped into her throat as Alaric’s deep voice rumbled through her. She gripped the sink and made eye contact with her pale reflection.
“Get it together. You have a royal wedding to manage.”
She sucked in a deep breath, released the sink and breathed out.
Straighten your shoulders. Smooth your hair. Be professional.
With that last reminder echoing in her mind, she walked out into the spacious main room of the suite she’d called home for the last seven years.
Another knock sounded, this one brisker and louder.
“Miss Stephenson.”
Irritation chased away some of her fear. Not just because Alaric was used to getting what he wanted whenever he snapped his fingers. No, she was irritated because the blasted man had slipped easily from his brief role of lover back to heir apparent and prince without batting an eye. Even the camaraderie that had materialized and grown since the Christmas dinner debacle last year had disappeared, replaced by the proper boss-and-underling relationship once more.
Whereas she had spent the past five weeks fighting to keep her eyes on his face instead of drifting lower, her traitorous mind providing vivid memories of what lay beneath his tailored suits.
The doorknob suffered her wrath as she twisted it with extra force and yanked the door open.
Did he have to look so handsome and put-together all the time? With his nearly six-and-a-half-foot height and broad shoulders, he towered over almost everyone in the palace. Emerald-green eyes pierced her from beneath thick dark brows. His face, classically handsome with carved cheekbones, a square jaw and sculpted lips, was normally set in a cold, apathetic mask.
Which made his glower ten times more alarming. Normally his imperious expressions didn’t have an effect on her. It’s what had made her an effective executive assistant, her ability to withstand his firm manner and short-worded orders.
“Your Highness? Is everything all right?”
Alaric’s eyes traveled up and down her body, taking in her bathrobe and bare feet. She resisted the urge to pull the robe tighter. Ridiculous that she should feel vulnerable after what they’d done in his study.
Specifically on his desk, her skirt around her waist, his masterful hands on her thighs as he’d teased her most vulnerable skin with gentle, fleeting strokes before he’d thrust—
“I didn’t realize robes were acceptable wedding attire.”
His pompous tone threw cold water on her heated remembering.
“It’s seven thirty in the morning. The wedding starts at five.” She released her death grip on her robe and casually put one hand on the door frame, filling up the doorway in a manner meant to keep him in the hallway and out of her private sanctuary. “Didn’t you read the schedule I emailed yesterday?”
He lifted a brow. “I did. Isn’t the florist arriving at eight?”
Oh, no. It took significant effort to keep her expression neutral.
“Meira is showing them into the ballroom.”
Both eyebrows climbed up. “Since when do you let your assistant do anything without you hovering?”
“I trained her. And she’s a friend. Of course I trust her.”
He leaned down. The scent of pine teased her, woodsy and crisp, like walking through a forest draped in snow.