Her Secret Prince
A Royal Holiday Romance
Madeline Ash
Her Secret Prince
Copyright © 2015 Madeline Ash
EPUB Edition
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-942240-58-7
For Clio and Grace – because I’m blessed beyond words to have sisters like you
.
The deadline for this novella was my tightest yet, so I owe huge thanks to my family and friends for being supportive and understanding that I had zero spare time. Miraculously, you’re on all on board with this writing thing of mine. Special thanks to Dom, Mum, and Grace for reading and offering feedback along the way.
Massive thanks to the Tule team for being my newest support
network. Your positivity is contagious. And Kelly, thank you for the feedback that pulled this story into shape – so much appreciated.
Lastly, thank you to my readers. You give me purpose.
‡
D
ee knocked on
her best friend’s door and distracted herself by counting the seconds it took him to answer. Nerves feasted on her stomach. She was about to make a move and risk seven months of friendship. For that she needed more than a distraction—she needed a sign.
Jed opened the door
and she winced.
Thirteen seconds.
She didn’t believe in signs anyway.
“Dee.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking like her kind of night in. Casual in a loose windbreaker, with the threadbare hems of faded jeans spreading over socked feet. “What are you doing here?”
“The party sucked.” Because he hadn’t been there. “You’re home alone.” Because his mom was working night shift. “And I need
help with my assignment.”
Because that was a lie.
“Okay, sure.” He spoke in his new adult rumble.
As delighted as she’d been by his cracked words, Dee was fully committed to the rumble. Truly, madly, deeply committed.
He stepped back. “Come in.”
“Are you taller?” she asked as she passed him. She swore he had some nocturnal growth thing going on. Every morning at her locker, she had to tilt
her chin just that bit higher to meet the darkness of his eyes. Not that she minded. She loved the way he looked down at her, like he was a breath away from swooping in and kissing the crown of her head.
He’d yet to do any such thing.
“Probably,” he answered as she stopped in the kitchen. “Are you cuter?”
She tilted her head. “You noticed.”
He smiled and leaned against the cupboard, and Dee
knew they had roughly three seconds before the moment got awkward.
Slightly panicked, she said, “Everyone thinks we’re hooking up tonight.”
His muscles bunched, instantly rigid. “What?”
Oh, nice one, Dee.
She edged her slimline glasses higher up her nose and avoided his eye. “I didn’t say anything.”
After a long silence, he moved to the bench beside her. Sketching paper and pencils covered
the surface, and he gathered them stiffly. “Why would they think that?”
He leaned so close awareness caught her around the middle, an impatient hand tugging her towards him. In addition to being a good two feet taller than her, he grew ever broader at the shoulders and darker at the jaw. Sixteen and blooming bold, and she wanted every part of him, thorns and buds alike.
Dee hadn’t wanted a guy
like this before; hadn’t felt the spreading heat, the urge between her thighs, the ache to rise up and press her mouth to his.
Sensing his tension, Dee fought the urge with everything she had.
“Girl leaves party early and unwisely tells everyone she’s going to Boy’s house,” she said, looking down. “Girl is wearing short skirt. Boy’s mother works late. Boy and Girl must therefore be hooking up.”
Dee raised a shoulder. “Isn’t that the essence of high school logic?”
Jed paused to ask, “Is it the essence of yours?”
It was an opening. She could have said yes, short skirt excluded. She could have taken a chance, because sometimes when he smiled, his eyes held hers differently. A longer gaze, a gentler glow. In those moments, she
knew
he was interested. Knew he was trapped behind the walls
of friendship, as she was. Other times, she knew it was all in her head.
Tonight, she was determined to find out which was true.
“No,” she answered softly, looking over at him.
He refused to meet her eyes, instead staring tight-jawed at the sketches, and as always, his profile charmed her. Dark brows. Straight nose. Smooth cheekbones and lips that could’ve been considered too plush had they
not resembled the aftermath of a wild make out session. A mess of black hair, looping ever outward like ink in water. Some girls at school called it shaggy, heavenly, others called it untamed like the boy beneath.
Dee called it hers.
If only.
Jebediah Brown was just a friend. He’d moved to San Fran at the start of the school year, the new kid in a big school, and by a stroke of luck, he’d gravitated
towards her. They took English, Art, and Media together. English had betrayed him as smart and a touch cynical and Art had revealed his talent with a brush, pen, palette knife—anything he picked up with creative intent.
Media was Dee’s domain, and when they’d been paired to write a screenplay, she’d taken over because she couldn’t help it and he’d sat back and watched her with a dark, steady
gaze that had soon ruled her dreams at night.
They’d collaborated at her place in the evenings and it hadn’t taken him long to recognize she spent a lot of time home alone. Her surgeon parents, always working, were dedicated to a cause greater than their daughter. She could look after herself. Their patients weren’t as able.
“No brothers or sisters?” Jed had asked on the third day. Aside from
their cone of light at the dining table, the house was unlit.
“Just little ol’ me.”
A beat of silence. “I know the feeling.”
“Gets lonely,” she’d said, tone easy as she wrote a line of dialogue. “But I’m used to it.”
“Want to get unused to it?”
She’d eyed him then, the boy who could have come from anywhere with his curious mangled accent. English vowels, French rolls, and the too fluid Australian
rhythm. Born in Melbourne and raised all over. She could get used to his presence tangling up her insides. Too used to it.
He gazed back, raising a curious brow. “I could use a friend,” he murmured. “And I think you’re cool.”
“Don’t you move around a lot?”
“Until now. I’m done with that. My mum seems happy here.”
“Because if I get used to company,” she said, “I’ll stop knowing how to cope
with being alone.”
“Sounds like a good thing.”
“Only if I don’t end up alone again.”
He’d turned back to their script with a tiny smile. “Guess I’d better stay.”
Seven months later, Jed was living up to his promise and Dee had abandoned the rules of friendship by falling head, heart, and soul in love with him. Purely platonic, she told her parents, even as the thought of him stripped her of
appetite and sleep. They studied, talked, and watched indie films together. So many films, because she’d declared she wanted to be a screenwriter and he’d declared her dream wouldn’t fade from lack of inspiration. He cared like that. Made her feel important, made her laugh, and—unlike her girlfriends—wordlessly accepted her offbeat outfits. Sometimes, though, he’d look a little too long.
Friendship
didn’t have a place in those looks, she was sure.
But just not sure enough.
Jed had spread his hands over the sketches, head lowered. “Don’t they know we’re only friends?”
Only
. Her stomach plummeted. Feigning ease, she answered, “Some people don’t think boys can be just friends with girls.”
There was a moment where neither seemed to breathe. Then he half-turned towards her, gaze finding her
lips.
Softly, she pushed, “Can you, Jed?”
Without answering, he backed away from the bench and started lugging out sandwich ingredients. She suspected it was an excuse to stand with his back to her, head deep in the fridge. Whatever the reason, it stung like a blistering rejection.
“I should go, shouldn’t I?” Dee kept the heartbreak from her voice. Secretly longing for her best friend had made
rope of her ribs, and it knotted now, a painful tightening.
“No.” He remained partially in the fridge.
“You sure?”
“Stay.”
“Because you’re not looking at me. And you’ve only pulled out enough bread for one sandwich.”
“It’s for you.”
“The issue of eye contact remains.”
“I can’t find the pickles.”
Dee was crazy about pickles. “Well if you can’t find them, I’m definitely leaving.”
He slid
her an amused glance as he withdrew the jar. Then he started assembling, silent and unreadable. Not a rejection then. Sensing a chance, Dee sat up on the bench beside him, trying and failing to tug her skirt down to a modest length. As she tugged, his gaze snagged on her legs, his hand stilling in the bread bag. Not slender legs, in keeping with the rest of her, but the look on his face didn’t hint
at judgment. The pinch of his cheeks was more…desperate.
When he reached behind her for the cheese, his hip pushed against her knee. It stayed there.
They weren’t touchy-feely friends. Always a gap between them, no heads on shoulders or hugs goodbye. Touch mattered, meant something. Right now, it cupped her hope.
“It doesn’t matter what everyone thinks,” she said, holding courage by the scruff
of its neck. “All that matters is that you and I think the same thing.”
“Dee.” Jed cut the cheese too thick. “You’re the only real friend I have here.”
“I know.”
The knife paused and Dee noticed his hand was shaking. “And I don’t make friends lightly. Or easily. Not anymore.”