Chapter TwelvePrint this Page
Philippe watched Ella skate rather erratically over to the exit and then stomp toward a bench to remove her skates. She looked utterly furious and yet also forlorn. They'd been having such a lovely time. How had it come to this end, and so quickly?
He watched her fumble with the laces, her fingers obviously frozen, and with a kind of exasperated sympathy, he made his way over and sat down next to her. "Let me help you."
"I don't need"
She shrugged and stretched one foot out, her face set in stubborn lines. Philippe worked at the knot, feeling tension thrumming through Ella's body. And he knew with a sudden, sharp insight that this wasn't just about today, or about him. Their one day. One date. "Ella," he said as he slipped the skate from her foot, "who hurt you?"
She glanced up at him, eyes wide with both shock and alarm. "What?"
"Someone hurt you, didn't they? A man. A man, I suspect, a bit like me, at least on the outside."
She shook her head slowly, her eyes still wide, and he just waited. Finally she whispered, "How did you know?"
"Because your reaction was, I have to say, just a little over the top. There's more going on here than just our one date." He undid the laces of her other skate and slipped it off. "So tell me."
She looked down, her hair slipping from its chignon and falling in front of her face. But he could still see the smooth roundness of her cheek, her skin flushed petal-pink with cold.
"It's not a very interesting story," she said quietly, and his heart gave a little lurch.
"It's interesting to me."
"Classic boy-dumps-girl story, I'm afraid," she said, trying to sound light and failing miserably. "It's been told a thousand times before"
"Not to me."
Sighing, she looked up, a tiny smile curving her lush mouth. "You are very persistent."
"And you're freezing. Let me buy you a hot chocolate and you can give me all the details." He took her by the hand, gratified when she didn't resist. Yet as he led her toward the café by the side of the rink, he wondered why he was making such an effort with this woman. Why he cared so much.
He'd started today understanding it could only be that: one day. He was a prince, about to be king, and he had royal duties. A life elsewhere. There couldn't be more between them, and he'd known from the moment he'd met Ella Jamison that she was not someone to be toyed or trifled with, not like the other women he'd dated. So why was he still here?
Because he wanted to be. Because Ella Jamison was so different from any other woman he'd ever met, and he wasn't ready to let her go yet.
Even if, all too soon, he would have to do just that.