ELOISE
Ever since that day I shared my first kiss with George, things changed. How we interact, how he sees me and how I see him too, how he can't talk freely without touching my face and how I kept smiling whenever he says something.
Seriously, what is he turning this little friendship of us into? I don't see myself arguing with him like I used to do before. These days, he offered to give me a lift to work and another one home and I just park my car somewhere in my father's garage. And then, he kisses my cheeks before bidding me off for the day.
Mom and dad are noticing but they aren't saying anything about it. And for sure, I know they're not dumb. Especially dad. He's not worried if I arrive home late. If it was to be before, he'd call Maverick to check me out. But now, he's less concerned.
It's Monday morning. One of my hatest days. I had the files tucked neatly in my arm, half-dragging my feet as I made my way to my brother's office. He always left things behind, and somehow, I was the courier.
The closer I got, the clearer the voices became. His deep laughter first—familiar, warm. And then another. The other voice that made my stomach tighten.
Him.
I stopped outside the half-open door. Eavesdropping. Not my usual habits, but I find myself starting it today.
"…Modern royalty isn't what people think," he was saying, calm, steady, carrying that English grace as if it was part of his blood. "It's not castles and crowns every day. It's responsibility, balance… the weight of being seen before you're ever understood."
My brother chuckled. "That's why I don't envy you, man. But hey, you wear it well. Can't imagine waking up every day knowing I'm Prince George Arthur II. The Prince of great Britain and Ireland. The true heir to the throne of a great kingdom. Stressing."
My heart froze.
Prince of… what? He was Prince George Arthur II and I didn't know?
The file nearly slipped from my hands. I pressed my back against the wall, pulse racing. Prince of Britain and Ireland? Him? The same man who'd teased me over late-night calls, who kissed me by my gate, who made me laugh until my ribs hurt?
My head spun as I caught more words.
"I'll be leaving tomorrow," he continued casually. "Not exactly my choice, but duty calls."
Tomorrow.
I staggered back, heat rushing through me. My brother said something, but I couldn't hear anymore. All I knew was that he was leaving. Tomorrow. And he hadn't told me.
By the time I dropped the file on the secretary's desk and stormed out, my chest felt like it was caving in.
I didn't wait for him to drive me home. I ignored his calls that night. One, two, three… ten. I stared at his name lighting up my screen and pressed decline each time. Let him wonder. Let him feel just a fraction of this anger boiling inside me.
But of course, he didn't let it go.
The next day, my office door burst open without a knock. He walked in—tall, composed, with that look in his eyes that dared me to keep ignoring him.
"Good morning," I said flatly, not lifting my eyes from the papers spread across my desk.
"You didn't answer my calls, neither reply to my texts." he said, voice low.
I flipped a page. "Didn't feel like it. Moreover, busy."
He stepped closer. "You're angry."
I finally looked up, my glare sharp. "You think? You knew you were leaving, and you couldn't tell me? I had to find out like some… some stranger outside your life!"
Why the hell are my shouting?
He froze, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I was going to tell you. I wasn't leaving like that, not without—"
"Not without what?" I snapped. "Without squeezing me in last minute between your duties? Between being the Prince? Or without telling me you were Prince George Arthur II?"
Yes. He heard me right.
The word dripped bitterly from my lips. He winced like he was injured somewhere.
"How could you see me as someone else to treat me like a stranger, George?" I swear how much I'm trying not to break down in front of him. "I thought we were something. I thought this thing we had was something real. And then you hide your identity of being the future king of Britain? Were you actually thinking that if you had told me the truth, I would befriend you because of who you are and what you had?"
His jaw tightened, then softened. He stepped closer, voice heavy with honesty. "No. I didn't tell you because I wanted time with you to be real. Not weighed down by a title, or the world, or expectations. Just you and me. And yes, something urgent came up. But believe me when I say—if I could choose, I'd stay. And please... don't ever consider yourself cheap. You're worth life's best gift to me."
My chest ached, traitorous and tender. His words cut through my anger, but I wasn't ready to give in. Not yet.
"I hate that you make me care this much," I whispered, my voice breaking before I could stop it.
His eyes darkened at that. "And I love that you care at all."
Then, before I could form another protest, his lips were on mine.
The kiss was fire. It swallowed my anger, melted my resistance. My hands flew up to his chest, not to push but to hold, and he deepened the kiss with such hunger that I nearly forgot how to breathe.
He lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the desk, his hands framing my face, his mouth devouring mine like it was the only truth he knew. I clung to him, heart racing, every nerve alight with a sweetness I'd never tasted.
His lips trailed briefly to my jaw, his breath hot against my skin, but he didn't push further. He knew where to stop. His control was maddening, intoxicating.
"Say you don't feel this," he murmured against my lips, "and I'll never touch you again."
But I couldn't say it. My silence was its own confession.
Then—
A throat cleared at the door.
We jerked apart to see who interrupted.
My brother Maverick stood frozen, file in hand, his eyebrows raised so high they nearly touched his hairline. For a heartbeat, the air in the room turned solid. Especially to me who's skirt was already halfway to my inner thighs and legs wrapped around George, caging him between myself.
My face burned, and I scrambled off the desk, smoothing my skirt like that would erase what just happened.
George, however, had the audacity to laugh. A deep, amused, unbothered laugh. Like this was some kind of joke to him. "Bad timing, mate."
Maverick, clever enough to know what just happened, grimaced, "Clearly." He excused himself, chuckling as he left, while I buried my face in my hands.
George kissed my temple softly before following out, unashamed, his laughter still echoing in my chest.
And that was the moment I knew I was lost to him. Completely.
----------
GEORGE
I walked back into my friend's office, still grinning, still carrying the taste of her lips on mine. My heart was lighter than it had been in weeks.
He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his hands in his pockets, gaze far away. Not angry—but not entirely calm either.
"Are you going to kill me now?" I teased lightly.
He didn't turn. "Should I?"
I chuckled. "Depends on how protective you want to be."
Finally, he faced me. His eyes searched mine, weighing and measuring. "She's my sister. My little sister, your royal majesty." Does he have to address me in my title again? "For fuck sake, you of all people should know what that means. Of course I want her to enjoy her life however she wants it, George. But it is my duty to protect her as her elder brother. And you my friend, I've known you too well to be a player, just the way I used to be in my past."
I sobered, my smile fading into something steadier. "I know. And I wouldn't have kissed her if I didn't mean it."
He frowned, brows arched, "Mean what?"
I drew a slow breath, letting the truth roll out. "That she's not just someone I want. She's not just some girl I want to bed or toy around with. She's someone I need. She makes me forget titles, duties, expectations. She makes me… me. She makes me happy. She makes me lose my mind, my focus, my responsibilities, my career, myself. And I don't want this to be fleeting. I want to take this to a level where no one can question my intentions. Not you, not her, not the world. I am afraid I have fallen deeply in love with your sister, man. And I'm sorry it had to be her."
He studied me for a long while, the weight of brotherhood and protectiveness thick in his stare. Then, finally, he nodded once.
"Good," he said quietly. "Because if you weren't serious, I'd never forgive you."
I exhaled, relief washing over me. "I'm serious. More than I've ever been about anything."
His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. "Then God help my sister. She's in trouble now."
I laughed softly, but deep inside, I knew the truth—she wasn't the one in trouble. I was. Because I'd fallen, and there was no going back.