Page 62 of Striking
“And you, love, are stunning.” He holds a long black velvet box up. “I have something for you.”
“I don’t want a present, Rhys. I want to get through this without falling on my face in front of an entire country,” I admit, staring at the velvet box like it’s a wild animal.
Rhys slowly cracks it open and places it in my hand.
He’s quiet as he lifts a beautiful diamond snowflake hanging from a delicate chain from the box. “This pendant was my mother’s. She used to wear it every year at Christmastime. It was the first gift I ever gave her that wasn’t made in school from macaroni or purchased by a nanny in my name.”
“Oh, Rhys.” I run my finger over the snowflake and watch the way the light reflects in fractured prisms across the room as my heart pounds loudly in my chest. This man... “I can’t?—”
“You can, little bee, because you are my wife. The entirety of the crown jewels are now available to you for your use.” He doesn’t wait for my permission. Instead, he moves behind me and waits until I lift my hair. “I could have picked any of the jewels, my queen, but I know you. And this one... this one seemed most like you.” He clasps it behind my neck, then presses his lips against my skin. “One of a kind.” Another kiss. “Understated.” His teeth graze my pulse point, and I gasp. “Striking.”
“Knock, knock.” Atticus doesn’t actually bother to knock, just announces himself like he is. “Oh, come on. Do you two ever stop snogging? Don’t you have to come up for air at some point?”
“There are seven hundred and fifty-four rooms in this palace. Go find a different one, Atticus,” Rhys groans, and I laugh at both of them.
“Come on, Your Highness. We don’t want to be late, now, do we?” I spin around, trying to act much calmer than I actually am. Not sure if either of them are buying it though.
Atticus reaches out for my chest, and I smack him away. “Atticus?—”
“That’s...” He studies my necklace, then smiles at Rhys. “You gave her Mum’s snowflake.”
Rhys nods silently, waiting to see how Atticus is going to respond.
We both do.
Not that either of us needed to have worried.
My brother-in-law slides an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “She would have loved you, queen bee.”
My voice fails me.
“Yes, she would have,” Rhys agrees. “I think it’s time for three of the four Windsors to make their first joint appearance on the balcony. Are you ready, love?”
With Rhys on one side and Atticus on the other, I think I might actually be.
Beautiful white snow falls lightly as Atticus walks out onto the balcony, but instead of following him, Rhys threads his fingers through my hair and pulls me to him. And I may or may not melt into his touch.
This man is an addiction I’m not sure I ever want to break. His scent envelops me. Crisp, clean soap mixed with something deeper. Something entirely Rhys.
We’re locked in a moment. A quiet one in the midst of the madness. One where we’re the only two people who exist. I tilt my chin up to look at him just as his lips brush softly over mine. And then they’re gone as if they were never there in the first place.
“What was that for?” I whisper quietly.
Rhys looks up and grins. “I wanted to kiss my wife under the mistletoe.” His hand slides to the small of my back, and we step outside.
It’s beautiful and strangely peaceful. At least it is until I look down to see hundreds of citizens lining the palace grounds below.
Rhys steps up to the microphone, his hand never leaving my back. “The queen and I would like to thank you all so much for joining our family tonight as we continue what’s long been one of my favorite traditions of the year.” He takes my hand in his and places it on top of a large red button. A fifty-foot evergreen tree covered in twinkling white lights sparks to life beneath us, followed by a collective cheer. “Happy Christmas.”
Rhys
Lennon
You dirty dog. You kissed her. On. Camera. Since when are we allowed to show PDA in public?
Atticus
Doesn’t PDA mean snogging in public? Public display of affection. Pretty sure you should have just said we’re not allowed to engage in PDA.
