Her Runaway Prince

So yes, he was going to need to completely think through the insanity he’d gotten himself into.

He entered the cottage, the warmth of the space welcoming him like he belonged there. Immediately he was greeted by the musky smell of firewood crackling in the hearth, and he smelled coffee brewing in the kitchen. He shrugged his jacket off, hanging it by the door and walking in as light-footed as he could. Stepping on the balls off his feet, he padded through the empty cottage in search of Amanda.

He found her in the kitchen, humming along to a song on the radio, her hips swaying slightly as she let the beat overtake her. He grinned widely, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his strong chest. He cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows lifted as she turned around.

When she saw him, she nearly squealed and dropped the pot of coffee she was holding. “Mr. Peter Micheals!” she scolded, picking up a dishcloth and throwing it at him. He grabbed it mid-air and put it back down by the kitchen sink, smiling widely as he took the coffee pot carefully from her.

“Miss Amanda Douglas, are we using formalities now?”

She rolled her eyes and tsk’d, allowing him to walk over to the coffee mug on the counter and pouring some coffee into it. “You’re a visage of grace and beauty itself, as always,” he teased.

“Why are you here?” she asked, seeming to be genuinely curious. “Miss me already?” She bit her lip as she watched his reaction. This time, he was the one to roll his eyes.

“Something like that. I didn’t like that other hotel so much. So… stiff. And none of the other ladies there were quite as nice as you.” Another dishcloth hit his face. This one he threw back. “But I’m actually here to talk business.” He got himself a mug from the cupboard and poured himself some steaming black coffee.

“Do tell.” She jumped up onto the kitchen counter, watching him curiously as he lifted the mug to his lips.

“I want to stay here,” he asked, straight to the point. She cocked her eyebrow, indicating that he could continue speaking. “I’ll pay you a monthly fee, and I want to help out as well.”

“You are a very contradictory man.” She giggled, jumping off the counter. “You would pay me to work for me. How is that in any way fair?”

“Don’t question me.” He took her slight hand in his. “Just say yes.”

*****

Once again he was smiling, and once again she found herself saying yes without being completely sure what in the world she’d actually just agreed to. The smile she received was well worth her agreement, because he twirled her around to the beat of the song on the radio.

“Thank you,” he sang gently, pulling her against him. He placed his other hand on her hip. She inhaled sharply and he chuckled huskily. “Does the lady not know how to dance?”

Well, she’s never quite had the chance to dance before. “No, I don’t. Does the gentleman?” she challenged, her deep brown eyes meeting his soft blue ones, and the contrast between their irises was not lost on her. Different bodies, but souls identical in many ways. Both on the run from their pasts, both suppressing feelings they knew they weren’t supposed to feel, both pretending in a way to be someone else.

“I do, actually. Had a few lessons,” he said in a way that suggested it was an understatement. “Put your other hand on my shoulder. Ah, yes, like that. Okay, now I’m going to lead.” They took a few steps and she stepped on his foot. “Amanda, I said I was going to lead.”

“You’re not very good at leading.” She looked over his shoulder, not able to meet his eyes. He pulled her closer gently, her flat stomach pressing against his strong abdomen, his fingers digging softly into her soft flesh. Her skin burned, and she thought about the different layers of clothing separating their bodies from each other.

“I am, you’re not very good at being led.” He moved more slowly, allowing her to get used to feeling the smooth rhythm of the music pass through her body while he led.

And so they danced, in the kitchen of the cottage, to a nondescript song on the radio. For the first time in what felt like months, her mind was at ease. She allowed her mind to be quiet, she allowed herself to not think, and instead she focused on his breathing and how his heart was beating against her chest. It was making it’s own rhythm, it’s own song, and she found the melody of his lifeline to be more poetic than the cheesy words to the song on the radio.

And when they ended the dance he bowed gallantly, his eyes never leaving hers. She curtsied with her non-existent dress. “Why dear sir, I thank you for the dance.”

“Dear maiden, leave me not. For the night is young.” He took his cup of coffee and held it up high. “A toast! To the lovely maiden, and her even lovelier cottage.”

She clinked her cup against his. “I don’t know how I feel about having my exterior beauty being compared to a building. It bothers me that I’m flattered to some extent.”

He fake gasped. “Amanda, did I flatter you with something I said?”

“What? No. You’re hearing things, Peter.”

*****

She knew he wasn’t going to enjoy working outside.

“Amanda, we’ve been at it for two hours,” he groaned, bending down by the dirty and rubbing his hands clean on his pants.

“It’s only been twenty minutes, Mr. Pretty Boy.” She was crouched down next to him, pulling out weeds.

It was late October, nearing Halloween. The air was crisp, like if a cold air was to blow now the very molecules would crystallise around them and break down into snow-flakes. But despite the cold air the sun was still beating down on them, causing a very uncomfortable sweat to form on the backs of their necks.

They were working in the garden. When Amanda had informed Peter about this task, he’d initially thought that they would be trimming rose-bushes and picking up fallen apples from the tree. Instead, he’d been shocked to realize they were stuck crouched on the grass and pulling weeds.

“Did you never play in the garden as a kid?” Amanda struggled as she pulled out a particularly stubborn weed, and when it finally came free, she named it Peter. She noticed the way his shoulders squared stiffly, as if his body was preparing to protect itself. A natural response to an uncomfortable topic? She wondered what about his childhood made him uncomfortable, or if it was his past in general.

“Nah, not really,” he responded nonchalantly, shrugging his stiff shoulders in a way that looked painful. “I was very busy as kid, you know? Being an over-achiever.” He chuckled in a way that was supposed to make it clear that he didn’t want to talk about their current topic, but Amanda was as stubborn as he was.

“Tell me more about the country you’re from,” she asked, forgetting her current job completely to sit down and look at him, her legs crossed. He cast her a side-long glance, and sighed deeply. He continued weeding, and she realized it was because he didn’t want to be looking at her while he spoke.