It Started with a Royal Kiss by Jennifer Faye

Author:Jennifer Faye
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2022-05-10T19:34:55+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE FOOD WAS DIVINE.

The decor was amazing.

But the company was sublime.

Indigo couldn’t believe she admitted that about Istvan. He was supposed to be the enemy, but the more time she spent with him, the more she found herself enjoying their time together.

He was fun. He was thoughtful. And he was compassionate.

How was it possible Istvan was part of a family that could so coldly and meanly disown their own family member, as well as the staff? It baffled her. There was a lot more to Istvan than she’d ever imagined possible.

And there was the fact that he’d brought her here to do his portrait. In his world, she was an unknown artist—an untested talent. And yet he was willing to stand up to his parents and insist on using her services over those of an established artist. It was the biggest compliment anyone had ever paid her.

The evening had gone by far too quickly, and now they were driving back to the palace. She glanced over at Istvan. In the glow of the dash lights, she watched as he skillfully worked the manual transmission as though it were an extension of his body. He maneuvered the sports car easily over the winding road. With great effort, she forced her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t want to be caught staring at him.

And then they were pulling into the palace drive. She suppressed a sigh that the evening was over. She wanted to hear more about him, about his travels. Throughout dinner she had been busy answering his questions about her career and how she’d ended up at the Ludus Resort.

At first, she’d been hesitant to tell him too much about herself. She’d thought it would make her feel vulnerable. But Istvan was very laid-back, yet appropriately engaging. He didn’t make her feel awkward. Talking to him, well, it was like talking to an old friend.

As the car slowed and they moved toward the back of the palace, she chanced another glance at him. He was a complex man. He was more than a prince, a brother, a dutiful son and an heir to a throne. He was caring and funny. He could even make jokes about himself. Somehow she couldn’t imagine his mother laughing at herself—not a chance. She wondered if the king was more like Istvan.

The car pulled to a stop beneath a big tree. “And we’re home.”

She let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You describing this grand palace as a home.”

He arched a brow. “Is it not my home?”

“I suppose. But when I think of a home, I think of someplace not so grand and definitely not so large. I mean, you could fit four, no, maybe eight or more of my apartment buildings inside the palace walls.”

He shrugged. “I had nothing to do with its construction.”

“But you don’t mind living there—even though it’s more like a museum than a home?”

He was quiet for a moment, as though giving her question due consideration. “I guess it’s just what you are used to.

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