Royal Affair by Parker Swift

Author:Parker Swift
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2017-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

He told me to head down to the Market on my own and that he’d find me. Presumably it wouldn’t do for us to be walking hand in hand, not that I even knew if he would be into that if we weren’t in stealth mode. Lloyd had brought him clean clothes, and we’d eyed each other appreciatively while we dressed. He had caught me grabbing panties from my drawer, and it earned me another slap on my naked ass, one which he’d had the indecency to ask me to bend over the bed to receive. The disciplinarian side of him was enticing, seductive, but I also felt him taking my temperature, gauging how much I liked it. The answer: way more than I probably should.

But so soon after such an intimate morning, I was outside in the world and would have to pretend not to know him. Didn’t I deserve more than this? This wasn’t what I wanted, but staying away was beginning to feel impossible—I was straight-up addicted.

After a few blocks, I stopped looking over my shoulder to see if Dylan was following. I wrapped my light jacket around me to protect me from the cool morning air—fall was definitely on its way—and I began to get absorbed in the Market. Many of the stalls and shops appeared to sell junk—cheap tourist trinkets or knock-off handbags and paintings. But there were several that perfectly represented what I’d imagined and hoped to find at a London street market.

One stall sold Scottish cashmere, and I fingered the scarves and blankets carefully, admiring the brilliantly colored plaids. I asked the vendor about the price of one particularly beautiful cream-and-blue scarf I was touching and he replied that it was four hundred pounds. I dropped it immediately. That was more than my new dress had cost, and certainly more than I’d ever be able to spend on a scarf.

Another stand sold stylish umbrellas with handcrafted wooden handles in the shapes of animals—a fox, a rabbit, a duck. A narrow storefront sold finely crafted letterpress stationary and cards—thick white cardstock with hints of antique-y fonts and historical inks. The market was quickly beginning to crowd with tourists and locals alike, everyone carrying their morning coffee, and no one in a rush.

I decided to duck into one of the larger indoor antique malls bordering the street market, when someone behind me held the door for me. I turned half=way and smiled as Dylan planted his palm at my lower back, urging me in. He walked past me, gripping my hand as he passed, and he quickly dragged me into a quiet shop selling large old paintings. I stood in front of him, barely an inch between my back and his front, admiring an English country landscape in a thick ornate gold frame. Suddenly I felt soft fabric being draped over my shoulders and around my neck. Looking down I saw the edges of the Scottish scarf I’d been admiring moments before.

“What? Dylan, I—” I whispered, not believing the extravagant gift being wrapped around me.

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