Royal Weddings. Joan Elliott Pickart

at the foot of her bed.

      But this time she had no illusions that he might have given up and returned to Gullandria without her. She tossed back the covers and went into the bathroom to wash her face and get dressed. When she got back to the bedroom, there he was, dressed in a fresh black shirt and black slacks, his square jaw smooth from a recent shave.

      Waiting.

      Elli sighed. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

      “As you wish.”

      Over scrambled eggs and toast, he suggested again that she pack so that they could leave.

      Elli just looked at him, a long look. She knew a bleak satisfaction when he was the first to glance away.

      Hilda came knocking at a little before noon. She scowled when she saw that Elli had a houseguest.

      “Why is he here? He doesn’t need to be here.”

      Elli finessed an answer. “I told you, he’s my escort. We’re leaving together tomorrow.”

      Hilda never stopped scowling the whole time she was there. Elli put the cats in their carrier and Hauk helped her haul all the cat supplies down to Hilda’s 4×4.

      “Do I get a goodbye hug?” Elli asked the housekeeper just before she drove away.

      Hilda relented enough to bestow the hug, but kept her scowl in place. And of course, about fifteen minutes after she and the cats departed, Ingrid called.

      “You didn’t tell me that thug was staying at your apartment.”

      “Oh, Mom. It’s no big deal. I have a spare room.” Too bad Hauk refused to sleep in it unless she did.

      “Still, he has no right to—”

      “Mom. Let it be. Please.”

      A silence echoed down the line. Then her mother murmured, “Yes. I suppose you’re right.” She wished Elli well again and reminded her to call.

      “I will. I promise.”

      They said goodbye. Elli hung up.

      Hauk was right there, maybe three feet away. Watching. Listening.

      Elli decided she might possibly go insane if she had to stay cooped up in her apartment all day with two hundred-plus pounds of Viking observing her every move. She reached for her purse. “Come on.”

      He frowned at her. “You wish to leave now?”

      “That’s right.”

      “You have yet to pack your belongings.”

      “You are so very, very observant.”

      He might have flinched at that one. But if so, it was a tiny flinch—so small it probably hadn’t really happened at all. “You don’t wish to take anything with you?”

      “To Gullandria?”

      “Yes. To Gullandria.”

      “Well, as a matter of fact, I do intend to take a few things to Gullandria.”

      “Then hadn’t you better pack them?”

      “Not now.”

      He looked at her steadily, his expression especially bleak. He knew by then that she was up to something.

      And she was. “We’re not going to Gullandria. Not yet, anyway.” She waited. She wanted him to ask, Then where are we going? But apparently, he’d decided not to give her the satisfaction. Fine. She told him anyway. “We’re going to a movie.”

      “A movie. Why?”

      “Because it’s Wednesday. Because I can.”

      She took him to the latest James Bond thriller. Who could say? Maybe he’d be able to relate. At the snack counter, she bought a jumbo tub of popcorn drizzled with butter flavoring and a large Sprite.

      “We can share the popcorn,” she told him. “Want a Coke or something?”

      “No, thank you.”

      She accepted her Sprite from the guy behind the counter, who kept shooting sideways glances at Hauk. Elli supposed she wasn’t surprised. Hauk was hardly your average Joe. He stood at least a head taller than anyone else in the sparse weekday-afternoon crowd around them. And then there were all those muscles, that proud military bearing—not to mention the shoulder-length golden hair. Even with his shirt on, so you couldn’t see the blue-and-gold lightning bolt that blazed across his chest, Hauk could have walked right off a martial arts movie poster.

      Elli realized she might actually be starting to enjoy herself a little. She grinned. Oh, yes. Enter the Viking. Or maybe Warriors of the North.

      “You’re smiling. Why?” Hauk’s voice was low. Somehow, it sounded right next door to intimate.

      Elli felt a shiver run beneath her skin. How odd. “Oh, nothing. Here.” She shoved the tub of popcorn at him. He took it and she got herself a straw and a handful of napkins and led the way up the ramp to the little stand where the ticket taker waited.

      There were thirteen theaters in the building. Each of them had Dolby sound and big, comfortable seats, like easy chairs, well padded with high backs and plenty of room between the rows. Still, in deference to Hauk’s massive frame, Elli chose the row in back, which had an extra-wide aisle between it and the next row down.

      Once they were seated in the dark, he offered her the popcorn tub. “Oh, you go ahead and hold it,” she said.

      “I don’t care for any.”

      She started to take it from him. And then a naughty whim took her. “Hold it anyway—because I am your princess, right? Because, after my father, you serve me.”

      He looked at her for a long time, his eyes shining at her through the darkness. “That’s right. I serve you.”

      A small tremor went through her, a quivery feeling. Her heart beat too fast and her cheeks felt warm.

      Was something happening here?

      Oh, of course not.

      The dark screen lit up and the preshow snack-bar advertisements of dancing paper cups and singing candy boxes began.

      The movie was your usual James Bond flick. Fast-paced, fun to watch, with lots of drop-dead-gorgeous women and Pierce Brosnan, the perfect James Bond, dark and sleek, killer handsome, delightfully urbane.

      Elli sipped her Sprite and intermittently munched her popcorn and wished her silly heart would stop pounding so fast every time she reached over and grabbed a handful out of Hauk’s lap.

      Okay, she’d blundered. She should have taken the tub when he tried to give it back to her. She should have thought about how awkward it was going to be, how…intimate, to keep groping for fistfuls of popcorn while he was holding the container.

      Intimate.

      It was the second time that particular word had come to mind since they’d entered the theater complex.

      But what was so strange about that?

      Not a thing. Not considering the way it was between them, the way she had to be with him virtually round-the-clock. Even though they weren’t really intimate, it was hard not to think of the word. Intimate, at least in part, meant to be physically close. And that they were.

      Oh, yes, they were.

      She could feel the heat coming off his big body. And the outer side of her upper arm touched his, just barely, all the time. And then there was the scent of him, that scent of cedar and spice and…maleness. That scent that she did find so dangerously attractive.

      He whispered, out of the side of his mouth, “You’re not eating your popcorn.” She could have sworn she heard humor in his voice.

      Humor.