Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“Barlo,” Bear had answered. I’d turned to face him with a look of confusion. Why was he calling me by my last name? “Georgia,” he added. “Barlo, Georgia. It’s northwest of Valdosta.”
“Oh, right,” I’d said stupidly. “Yes. Barlo. Like my name.”
The stylist had tilted her head. “Is the town named after your people? They must have been there for generations.”
I couldn’t for the life of me process what she was asking. “Other way around,” Bear had explained. “He picked his stage name to honor his hometown. Hey, ah… Sylvie. Would you mind giving us a minute? I need to go over some security details and need privacy.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
She’d stepped out, and Bear had come over, crouched down in front of me, and put his hands on the arms of my chair. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He frowned and reached up to press the back of his fingers against my forehead. “You don’t seem fine. You seem out of it.”
I brushed his hand away and shook my head, feeling it swim a little. “Totally fine. Promise. I’ll be glad to get to Chicago and catch up on sleep before the next show.”
And then, after one of the Chicago shows, I’d finally succumbed to the full-blown version of whatever virus I’d been trying to fight off, and Bear had found me vomiting in the hotel bathroom at four in the morning. He’d rubbed my back and washed my face with a cold washcloth for two hours while I humiliated myself in front of him.
“Fine, huh? You still fine?” he’d teased.
“It’s not that bad,” I’d insisted weakly.
“No, ’course not. Being un-fine would be so off-brand for you.”
“You don’t have to stay. Maybe we can call someone like a visiting nurse or something. You don’t have to—”
“Shut it, Zane,” he’d said firmly. “No one takes care of you but me.”
At the time, I’d known he was protecting me, looking out for my reputation and making sure no one else saw me in such a moment of vulnerability. Protecting my reputation was part of his job, after all. But after that, I’d had fantasies about him looking out for me because he wanted to.
Because he cared for me.
And I knew he did care… just not in the way I wanted him to. Not in the way I fantasized about.
“Zane?” he prompted now.
I blinked away my memories and tried to replay the last thing he’d asked me. “Uh… horseradish? Yeah. I like it fine. Every year on Rinny’s birthday, Gran would take us all out for shrimp cocktail at Ruby’s. I’d ask for extra horseradish to mix in my cocktail sauce and ate it till my nose ran.”
“Go get comfortable, then, and I’ll set everything out.”
I was already dressed fairly comfortably, but I was wearing jeans that would show if I got a Bear-boner… which was definitely going to happen since Lou didn’t seem to be joining us and since that kiss was still seared directly into my brain.
I detoured to my room and rifled through my clothes until I found the most shapeless full-coverage outfit I owned. The giant fleece onesie would not only be good for a cold autumn evening in Norway, but it would also cover up as much skin as humanly possible and hopefully keep Bear from discovering how often his inadvertent touches gave me goose bumps.
When I got to the dining table between the kitchen and gathering room, I noticed a platter in the center with several dishes of dips I didn’t recognize, surrounded by stacks of cut vegetables, meats, and breads.
“What is this?” I wondered.
Bear gestured for me to take a seat. “Did I ever tell you that horseradish is one of the primary condiments in Ventdestinian cuisine?”
I shook my head as I sat.
“Ventdestine is a hodgepodge country,” he explained. “Lots of French influence, a little German, and plenty of British—which makes sense, considering English is the most commonly spoken language there. But there’s also a huge Scandinavian influence, and horseradish is common there, just like it is here in Norway. I guess it grows well here.”
I took a cautious sniff in the direction of the platter. “Okay. So… we’re eating horseradish?”
“Yup. In Ventdestine, the royal family used to play a game called Hemmret Sovets… Secret Sauce, and I think it would be fun for us to play it, too… if you wanted?”
I could hear the words Bear wasn’t saying—that he was as desperate to get our relationship back to normal as I was—and that went a long way to dissolving my anger.
“Secret Sauce,” I repeated. It sounded sketchy but also intriguing. “Are you making this up?”
“Definitely not. The game started back when Asger’s father was king. A tabloid teased a story about a secret scandal involving an unnamed member of the royal family, which they’d reveal in the coming week’s issue. Asger’s father lost his royal mind. He called the whole family together—his own siblings, his wife, even little Asger himself, who was only eight at the time—and ranted at all of them, demanding to know what the scandal was so that the palace could get ahead of it.” Bear’s eyes twinkled. “Can you imagine what happened?”