The Prince and the Pie Maker Page 10

  “In just a few short weeks, I’ve come to know the prince better than many of his own countrymen. I can’t even express how proud I am that he chose me to be his partner. I would never ask him to change a single thing. I like him as he is.”

  Jan looked at him, really looked at him. Under her gaze, Alex felt something shift inside. He didn’t think he knew the words to express what was happening inside him.

  “Well, maybe except the whole milk in tea business.” Jan’s features crumpled in distaste. “It’s truly barbaric.”

  “It may be an acquired taste,” he said.

  “You can keep that particular taste to yourself.”

  “Noted, my sweet.”

  And then, because he could, Alex stole a kiss. It was just a light, little kiss. It was frowned upon for royals to show affection in public. But he was a rebel royal, and he was engaged to this spicy woman with a sweet tooth.

  Jan gasped at the contact. Her eyes were dazed as he pulled away. He didn’t let her get far. He pulled her close and walked her off the stage to the flash of cameras and the shouts of more questions.

  They reached the waiting car. Alex handed Jan inside. Then Leo did the same with Esme. Before Alex could climb in, Leo put a hand to his shoulder.

  “Fake, huh?” asked Leo.

  Alex had no comment. He couldn’t be bothered to form any words. He was far too busy swiping at his bottom lip, trying to take in more of Jan’s sweet and spicy taste.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “What about a dash of Sriracha?”

  “That’s insane.” Jan stayed Alex’s hand before he could sprinkle the spicy ingredient into her mix. “Sriracha and peanut butter?”

  They were inside their soon to be renovated restaurant. The space only needed to be painted, decorated, and filled with tables and chairs. The kitchen was in remarkable shape. There was a large picturesque window that looked out at the Cordovian mountains in the distance. There was space for a deck if they ever wanted to serve food directly from the kitchen to customers on a patio bar.

  Her old kitchen had no windows, and even if they did, she’d only see the dirty alleyway and trash bins. Jan couldn’t wait to cook in this space and be greeted with that sight every day. But first, she had to save her dish from her partner’s insanity.

  Alex managed to toss the spicy sriracha in despite her protests. He gave it a stir and then scooped a bit out. He held the spoon out for her. His grin was wide, his brows raised in a challenge.

  Jan crossed her arms over her shoulders. She pressed her lips firmly together. She was adventurous when it came to food, but there was no way that combination would work.

  Alex airplaned the spoon toward her. “Open wide for some yum yum.”

  She shook her head like an infant. When he began to make engine noises, she couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. That’s when he landed the food in her mouth. Flavor burst on Jan’s tongue, and her eyes widened.

  “Good?” he asked, swiping a dab at her cheek with his thumb.

  “Delicious,” she admitted.

  His finger lingered on her cheek a moment too long. His gaze dipped to her lips. Jan licked at her bottom lip to gather more of the hot and nutty flavors.

  Alex swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. He took his hand away and fidgeted. Was it from the compliment? Or their closeness? She wasn’t sure?

  “We make a good team,” he said.

  “Sugar and spice.”

  “I’m the sugar,” he insisted.

  She giggled. Then she covered her mouth. Jan Peppers never giggled. What had gotten into her?

  Probably that light peck he’d given her earlier at Esme’s speech. She’d known it was for show for the press, but the little kiss had had a big impact on her.

  The whole show of affection he’d displayed before the kiss, holding her in his arms, resting his head atop her head like they were a real couple. It short circuited something in her brain. She was certain that was why she’d taken that reporter to task.

  No. If she were honest, she’d have to admit that the two incidences were separate. When that reporter had begun intentionally misinterpreting or simply outright ignoring facts to paint Alex in a negative light, it had ticked off Jan.

  Which was funny because Jan never stood up for herself. But cast someone she cared about in a negative light, and she turned into a pit bull. If she ever encountered that nasty reporter again, she’d be sure to develop a case of lockjaw.

  Alex had just stood there and taken it. He’d told her that it was pointless to fight back. The press—and the people—had no intentions of recasting him in a more appropriate role. But they’d be fools to think that Jan would be cast as a clueless, pitiful bride to be.

  Alex chopped up apples while she diced carrots for their creation. She watched as his hands handled both the blade and the fruit with deft fingers. She wondered what those hands would feel like cupping her cheek, pressing at her back.

  The problem was, she knew exactly what they’d feel like. She’d felt them more than once over the past few days, and she was hungry for more.

  If she were being honest, his every touch, his every word, his every glance was affecting her. She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t real. None of it.

  They were playing for the cameras so that they could make their dreams come true. Was she going to last months in this fake engagement? With only just a couple of days, it was feeling more and more real to her.

  The oven timer dinged. She moved to place on her oven mitts. As she did so, she felt him move behind her. He didn’t touch her. Still, she’d grown so aware of him she felt she knew where he was headed before he set in motion.

  “I was thinking,” he said coming to lean against the counter as she removed the pie from the oven’s belly.

  She sighed dramatically as she placed the hot dish on the stovetop. “Recipes change when you do that.”

  Alex chuckled lightly. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. He was fidgeting again. “I was thinking we could get away this weekend. Maybe sail over to Spain and—”

  “Sail to Spain?”

  “Yeah, there’s a dish I want you to try at this tiny hole in the wall restaurant.”

  “You want to sail to Spain for dinner?” Jan removed her oven mitts and turned to face him.

  He shrugged as though he’d asked her to come down to breakfast.

  “For work, you mean?”

  Again he shrugged, but his hand went again to the back of his neck. He rubbed the spot fiercely as he spoke, not quite meeting her gaze. “You’re my fiancée. I don’t need a reason to wine and dine you.”

  There was that fuzzy line again. Jan liked exact measurements and precise times. She needed things to be crystal clear. She picked up the apples he’d chopped and poured them into the mixing bowl with the sriracha and peanut butter.

  “We can’t run off to Spain,” she said, picking up a mixing spoon. “There’s so much to do here.”

  Alex took the mixing spoon from her. “You don’t have to do it all. You’ll have a full kitchen staff. And I’ll be here every step of the way, adding a pinch of spice to each of the dishes.”

  She grinned at those words. Every time he said a variation of them—that he’d be there, that he was her partner, that she wasn’t alone—her heart did a complicated somersault.

  “You’re going to be a princess,” he said. “You deserve to be pampered.”

  “But …” She tripped over her tongue and had to swallow before she could get the rest of the words out. The sweet and spicy taste of their combined mixture now tasted bitter. “But it’s all fake. Us, I mean. We’re just pretending.”

  “Just the part we want them to believe is fake. You and I ...”

  Jan held her breath so she would not miss a single word, not a single shift of his facial expression.

  “You and I are gonna be partners for life.”

  It wasn’t a declaration of love. She wasn’t ev
en sure if it were a request for a date. She only knew she wanted to go. She wanted to go wherever this man wanted to take her. She wanted to eat whatever he put on her fork.

  Unfortunately, before she could answer, a flash blared through the back window and into her eyes.

  Alex pulled her to him, just like he’d done before. He used his body to shield her. Jan found herself once again in that soft space on his chest where she knew his heart lay beneath the fabric of his clothing and the warmth of his skin.

  “It’s the press again,” he growled.

  Jan looked up, but not out of the window. She fixed her gaze on Alex and his lips. “Let’s give them what they want.”

  His gaze broke away from the window. His features softened when he looked down at her. He didn’t ask for clarification on her words. He knew exactly what she meant.

  She was already in his arms. Their bodies were so close that their heartbeats were beginning to sync. Alex brought his hand to her cheek.

  Jan’s lashes fluttered. She fought to keep her eyes open. She didn’t want to miss a moment of this. Not the sight of his lips brushing lightly over hers. Not the soft bump of his nose against hers. Not the question in his eyes just as he pressed his lips a touch more firmly against hers, deepening the kiss.

  It was heady. Fiery sriracha, earthy peanut butter, tangy apples, and Alex.

  “Are they still there?” Alex asked nuzzling her ear.

  It took Jan a moment to focus. When her vision cleared, the window was clear. The photographer was walking away, looking down at this camera in one hand and fist-pumping the air with the other.

  “Um, yeah, he’s still there.”

  “Okay.” Alex left her ear, trailing kisses along the underside of her cheek until he made his way back to her mouth where he took a healthy sample of her lips.

  Jan felt not a single twinge of remorse at her white lie. Technically, the cameraman was still there. But after another moment kissing Alex, Jan forgot all about the intruder.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bells rang in his ear. Cheap perfume and sweat clogged his nostrils. Alcohol burned his tongue. Those were all fine assaults on his senses. What Alex hadn’t much cared for was the bare flesh gyrating over the plate the waiter had just sat down before him.

  As soon as he’d seen the day’s special on the menu, his mouth had started salivating. He’d had Marrakchia before when he’d visited Morocco. When he’d heard that the chef of this local Cordovian club had installed a tangia, a clay pot used to slow cook meat, Alex had called ahead to order the dish. The onion saturated lamb dish had been placed on his table just moments after he’d taken his seat. It was piping hot. The aromatic smoke of turmeric and ginger curled around his nose. Then whirling hips had interrupted his first bite.

  “Do you mind?” he asked the dancer.

  If she heard him over the din of pulsing beats, she made no indication. She rotated her hips even faster in a series of syncopated motions meant to entice thirsty men. Alex wasn’t interested in the dancer’s milkshake. He was hungry for the dish. He clutched the fork in his hand, resolved to wait for the dance to end so that he could enjoy his meal without the show.

  Belly dancing, as well as flamenco dancing, was an art in Cordoba. With the island nation’s proximity to both Spain and Egypt, many people studied the art forms. After centuries of effort, modern Cordovians had perfected and fused the styles together into something that was unique to their people. It was a style Alex enjoyed. But not at the moment.

  The dancer wiggled her hips and belly in beat to the percussion. The woman was talented. Alex would give her that. He just was less interested in her show and more interested in the cooling dish that awaited his first bite.

  In the meantime, Alex hovered over his food like a caveman unwilling to share his bounty. In truth, he simply didn’t want hip sweat to land on his plate as an unwanted additive.

  “Your hips don’t lie, dear girl,” said Zhi.

  There were two dancers on his side of the table. The young duke held his hands up and swayed in his seat to the beat of the dancers’ moves. As the dancers wiggled faster and faster, Zhi reached over to tuck a few bills in the dancer’s coin-lined sarong. He stuffed a fistful of bills down the other two girls’ costumes. Unfortunately, his arms didn’t quite reach the dancer on Alex’s side.

  “Alex, be a prince and show the girl our appreciation.”

  Alex rolled his eyes at his oldest friend as he stuffed the bills in his utensil-less hand. When Alex had suggested the place, it was for the food. The only reason Zhi came was for the entertainment.

  It had been a compromise of sorts. The two friends had hardly had any chance to catch up with Zhi taking over his ancestral estate now that his father was ill. This night for him was about letting his hair down from all of his newfound responsibilities.

  Alex had not been there for his friend in the last few weeks. He’d been off traveling, and now he was about to start his own business. And he was engaged.

  He’d almost asked Jan if she’d wanted to come along to this guys’ night. Just to try the dish. In the end, he decided it was best not to bring his fiancée to a gentleman’s club, even if it was on the posh side of town.

  Alex doubted the pie maker would enjoy the atmosphere, but he was certain she’d enjoy the dish. He was certain he would enjoy the dish once he actually got a taste of it. To do that, he’d need to get rid of the dancer.

  He took the money Zhi gave him. But instead of stuffing the money in the girl’s clothing, Alex placed it in her hand. With that done, Alex turned to the fork in his hand and the bite that was still on its tines. But there was something tugging at his other hand.

  He looked up to see the dancer’s face close to his. She leaned in and kissed his cheek before taking the cash. On cue, a camera flashed.

  A few days ago, Alex wouldn’t have cared. He knew the press’ narrative about him. He knew they didn’t care to change it. But after Jan had come to his defense the other day, Alex wanted to play a new role.

  The woman bent her body down as though to sit in Alex’s lap. Alex shifted, still not dropping the morsel of food on his fork. He brought her down next to him in an empty seat. Then he plopped the food into his mouth.

  Pulling the tines slowly from his mouth, he groaned in delight. He held up the index finger of his free hand to the girl while he took a moment to enjoy the complex flavors. The garlic and cilantro hit him first. Just beneath the sweet oniony flavor was a layer of pepper and lemon. And was that the subtle hint of ginger? Truly a work of art. He was definitely going back to speak to the chef. Perhaps he might even steal the man away to come and work for him and Jan.

  As he used his knife and fork to craft another perfect bite, he addressed the woman waiting beside him. “How much are they paying you for the picture?”

  The dancer hesitated. Her gaze flickered across the way. It was the same direction that the flash had originated.

  “Tell me the number,” said Alex. “I’ll double it. If you’ll go away.”

  Her gaze went wide with greed. She told him a number Alex knew was a markup on the market price for a scandalous photo of him. He didn’t care. He opened his wallet and peeled off a few bills. He gave them to the girl with a hand shake, and she was off.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Zhi asked.

  “I’m engaged.” Alex lifted his fork and devoured the bite.

  “Does that mean you can’t have a little fun?” asked Zhi. “Don’t get me wrong, I like Jan. She’s far too good for you.”

  Alex ignored his friend, especially since he was right. Jan was too good for him. But he found himself wanting to be a better man, a man who deserved her. He decided that instead of arguing, he’d turn the tables.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Alex shot back. “I was speaking with Carlisle the other day.”

  The soon to be Baron of Balansya rounded out their threesome. The three men had grown up together, gone to the same schools, and eschewed
the same responsibilities together. Though Carlisle had always been the one behind his family’s business success as early as his teen years.

  “He told me he was worried about you,” Alex continued. “Said you haven’t been yourself. Is it your father? Is it worse than we believed?”

  “The man’s old. His title and his power can’t stop the inevitable.”

  Zhi wouldn’t meet Alex’s gaze. That’s how Alex knew something else was wrong. But he and Zhi had never been the type of men to cry on each other’s shoulders. No, they saved that for when they got drunk. Then they’d blubber on, confident that the other would forget the next morning. They never forgot. But they also never spoke of it.

  “You always said you’d never marry,” said Zhi. “And now you’re engaged to a pie maker? I repeat; what’s gotten into you?”

  Alex opened his mouth, but his tongue was tied. Just as he couldn’t lie to his blood brother, he couldn’t seem to lie to his chosen brother. The problem was Alex wasn’t sure what the lie was any longer. Was the lie that he was engaged to Jan? Or was the lie that he no longer wanted to get married?

  “You really like this girl?” said Zhi.

  “Yeah.” Alex could admit to that truth. “I do.”

  He looked down at the dish. It made him think of Jan; how well the sweet and the spice of the two of them paired together. Two pairings that didn’t appear to fit together, but once paired, they made perfect, palatable sense.

  “We’re good together,” Alex said. “She believes in me.”

  “I believe she will be good for you,” said Zhi. “You know, for a while there, I thought it was a ploy to get your inheritance.”

  Instead of looking up at his friend, Alex shoveled the last bite of the dish into his mouth. The last bite was even better than the first.

  “But it’s not. You’re really going to do this? You’re going to get married?”

  Once upon a time, that very thought would break Alex out into hives. He had never wanted to marry. He’d always wanted to make his own way in the world. The thought settled over him now like a warm cup of tea. The thought of spending the rest of his life with Jan felt … right.