Twenty-five minutes later, she pulled back into the driveway of her home to a shiny black sedan with tinted windows in the driveway.

Her heart began to drum a frantic beat and she wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement.

It wasn’t him . . . was it?

A short man in a sport coat leaned against the side of the sedan, smoking a cigarette. It wasn’t Griffin . . . not that she wanted to see him, anyhow. This man was short and balding, unlike her lean, scholarly, and snobby viscount. The stranger cast her a bored look as she pulled up next to him.

Maylee got out of the truck with her grocery bag and gave the man a friendly smile. “Hi, can I help you?”

He took another drag on his cigarette and gave her a dismissive look. “I’m just waiting on someone.”

She frowned, confused. “Are you lost? This is a private drive.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Wish to God we were.”

That funny feeling began to bubble in her stomach again, but she ignored it and offered her hand. “I’m Maylee.”

“Kip,” he said.

Maylee’s eyes widened. Oh, no. No, no, no. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” There was a wealth of derisiveness in his tone.

“Oh, no,” Maylee breathed, and rushed up the steps of the single wide.

When she got into the house, she tore through the small kitchen into the tiny dining room. There, sitting next to her two pajama-clad sisters, was Griffin. His hair wasn’t its normal slicked down look but a messy sort of tousle. He wore his Bellissime court regalia and one hand was wrapped in a fluffy white towel. And he peered through his glasses at what looked to be a bowl of grits set in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” Maylee exclaimed.

“Maylee,” her mother said. “Be nice. We have a guest.”

“I don’t have to be nice to him!”

Griffin got to his feet and stood despite the cramped quarters, hugging his towel-covered hand close to his chest. The sight of that made her heart flip-flop painfully. Had he somehow injured himself? Why did she care, damn it? As he stood, he adjusted his glasses with his free hand and then gave her a sharp nod. “Miss Meriweather.”

Her sisters looked over at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

Maylee handed the bag of sausage to her mother and refused to look Griffin in the face. “You need to leave, Mr. Verdi. I’m done with being your assistant.”

“This gentleman needs a burn talked, Maylee,” her mother said in a do-not-argue-with-me voice. “He came here because of that.”

Guiltily, Maylee glanced at his hand, still swathed in the towel. She couldn’t tell anything from it. How badly had he hurt it? And could she ignore a man in need, even if he was the one who broke her heart and made her feel like she was less than dirt? “All right. Come on.” She waved him forward.

“Thank you,” he began, but she shot him a scathing look and he stopped. “Right. No thanking.”

“Exactly.” Without stopping to check if he was following, Maylee went out onto the porch and sat down on the first step. A moment later, Griffin eased his body down next to her, medals and braids clinking on his ceremonial coat.

She didn’t look over at him, staring off into the distance so she could compose her thoughts. “Nice jacket,” she said, and was proud of how nonchalant her voice sounded.

“It gets me places,” he admitted.

Like into my mother’s trailer, Maylee thought but said nothing. With a long sigh, she braced herself and then turned to face him. “All right, show me the hand.”

He held out his wrapped hand to her, his gaze intent on her face.

Maylee took the bandaged hand in hers, holding it gingerly so she wouldn’t hurt him worse than he already was. “Okay,” she murmured softly. “You know how this works. Whatever you do, you can’t thank me for this.”

“Very well,” he said in a voice so soft that it made shivers go up and down her skin.

She held the thick wrappings for a moment. “Talk to me about the pain.” The first step was always to get the person talking and concentrating on telling her what was wrong.

“It’s with me day and night,” Griffin said in a low voice. “Won’t go away no matter how much I try to distract myself. And I keep saying it’s my own fault, but somehow, it doesn’t help things. All I know is that you’re the only person who can fix it for me.”

“Mmm.” Maylee gently took the wrappings and began to undo them, ignoring the flutter of her heart at his words. “What did you do?”

“I was an idiot and wasn’t paying attention to where I should have placed my hand.”

It was hard being so close to him, she realized. Maylee could smell the clean, spicy scent of his cologne, could feel the warmth of his big body next to hers, felt the heat of his gaze on her face. Her stupid body remembered his touch, though. Her nipples reacted, hardening under her bra, and she wanted to hunch her shoulders in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice. This man had been terrible to her—so why was she still attracted to him?

She pulled the last of the fabric free and was surprised to see his hand was curled into a fist. She put her fingers on his and began to gently uncurl them. “Oh, Griff, you really should relax your hand if you’ve hurt it—”

He flattened his hand and revealed pink, perfect skin.

On his palm, he’d written This hand is the property of Maylee.

She frowned down at it, then looked up at him. “I don’t understand. You’re not hurt?” Why was she so relieved? And confused?

Griffin’s face was solemn as he gazed down at her. “I’m a prat, Maylee. An unthinking prat who hurt your feelings over and over again. I should have held your hand when you asked me to, and then maybe you wouldn’t have assumed the worst when you saw those tabloids.”

She shook her head, releasing his hand as if she was the one scorched. “I don’t understand. How did you—”

“The driver explained a lot to me, and I found the magazine. It was easy to put two and two together,” Griffin said gently. “I never flirted with the princess of Saxe-Gallia. I never flirted with anyone but you. Hell, I’m not even sure I flirted with you, because I’m truly fucking rotten at it.” He raked his hand through his messy hair, ruining whatever hope of style he might have tried to accomplish with it. “I came here to ask you to come back with me, and to offer you this.” He held his hand out to her again, and she stared at the words written on his hand. “It’s yours whenever you want it.”

Maylee had a sudden vision of taking his hand and smacking him in his own face with it. She jumped off the porch step quickly, trying to distance herself from him. “You were mean to me. Constantly mean. And you made me feel like I was never good enough for you! You kept trying to change me!”

He stood, looking distinctly uncomfortable in his ceremonial jacket. “I was,” he agreed. “I was cruel to you and I shouldn’t have been. When Hunter and Gretchen sent you to me, I hated you on sight because you were everything I dislike. You were dressed poorly, talked ignorantly, and I thought I deserved better and that Hunter and Gretchen had foisted you on me to make me miserable at a time in which I couldn’t afford to have anyone but the best at my side.”

“This is not making me feel better.”

“Just listen,” he said, and there was a desperate note in his voice that made her stop. “I kept you on because I was stuck.”

“And because I could tie a bow tie.”

“That, too.” A hint of a smile flashed on his face and then he reached for his collar and tugged at it uncomfortably. “And after a few days of spending time with you, my initial dislike changed.”

“To hate?”

“No,” he said very softly. “I saw that the terrible clothes you wore hid a very large heart and a woman determined to do what was best for her family, even if it wasn’t what was best for her. And I saw a woman who was completely out of her depth but went out of her way to make everyone around her comfortable and happy, from the staff in the kitchens, to the hotel workers, to photographers and drivers. To me, when I didn’t deserve it. You were nice to everyone, Maylee. And you were genuinely delighted to be on the trip, even though I was treating you like you didn’t deserve to be there. And you took all of my abuse because you knew the money would help your family, but I think you also took it because you are a genuinely nice person, no matter how much I tried to beat it out of you.”

She said nothing, simply scuffed her shoe and stared down at it so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.

“And no matter how much I tried to change you, that remained the same, Maylee. That you had an unfettered joy in life and all the people who surround you, and it made me realize that I needed some of that joy in my life, too. And it didn’t matter how you were dressed. Not anymore. In fact, when I kept changing your clothes and your hair, I kept feeling vaguely unsatisfied with the results, and now I know why.”

“Oh?” She shifted, arms crossed over her chest protectively. She felt a little uneasy at his words. Was he setting her up for another fall?

To her surprise, he leaned forward and touched the curls brushing her shoulders. “I love these ridiculous curls of yours, Maylee. To me, they embody everything about you—they’re a bit wild and carefree, but they’re so full of light and sunshine that you can’t help but cherish the sight of them. They’re untamed, and they should always be so.”

His hand in her hair was distracting her, as were his words. She trembled. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love your frizzy hair. I love your slow, drawling voice and how you want to go do your faith healing on everyone you meet. I love that you listen to me ramble about my digs and never tell me that I’m boring you. I love that you never ask me about my money, or if you can spend time with the royal family, and I know that it’s because those things don’t matter to you nearly as much as I do. That I’m a person to you, not just a title or a wallet. And that’s something that I’ve never been to anyone in Bellissime.” Behind his glasses, Griffin’s eyes were serious. “And that’s why I’m falling in love with you.”

And he extended his hand back out to her. This hand is the property of Maylee.

She stared at it, thinking. Then she looked up at him.

Griffin stood in front of her, utterly stiff. His collar was askew from tugging on it, and he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

She didn’t take his hand. She didn’t know if she was ready for that.

He seemed to realize this, too. Slowly, it curled up and he dropped it to his side. “It’s funny,” he said in a soft voice. “When you’re a member of the royal family, you don’t expect to have to work for anyone’s affection. It’s a given that it will automatically be granted. I’ve never had to work at convincing anyone to like me before. I . . . I’m not very good at it.” He sounded disgusted with himself. “And I wish I knew the right thing to say—or do—to convince you of my sincerity.”

For some reason, that rueful confession convinced her more than his declaration of love. Maylee looked up at him and gave him a faint smile. “Would you kiss the dog?”

“I beg your pardon?” He tilted his head, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

“My hound, Bubba. Would you kiss him to prove to me that you love me?”

He inclined his head at her, oh so gracefully. “If I must.”

She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. “Bubba!”

The dog galloped out of the trailer and toward her, all flying ears, cheeks, and ropes of slobber. He stopped in front of her and she knelt to rub him with affection. “Hello, Bubba,” she cooed. “This man is going to give you a nice kiss, okay, boy?”

“He’s quite a . . . leaky fellow.”

She giggled at that. “He’s a hound. They tend to drool.”

“So I see.”

And to her surprise, he bent down and kissed the top of the dog’s head. Then, he straightened with a grimace. “I’d rather be kissing you.”

“I see that.” Lordamercy, she should be given a medal for managing to contain her laughter.

“Am I forgiven?”

“I haven’t decided. I might need you to kiss a chicken next.”

He looked resigned. “How does one even kiss a chicken?”

“Very carefully,” she said, and got to her feet, dusting her hands off on her jeans. “You’d do that for me?”

“If that’s what it takes to convince you of my earnestness, I shall kiss every bit of fowl you place in front of me.” His tone was so austere and sincere.