Royal Date by Sariah Wilson Page A

means.”
    “It means ‘it’s me.’ Remember? Your favorite prince.” Nico stepped into the faint kitchen light wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else. If I thought I’d been mesmerized before, it was nothing compared to a shirtless Nico. His upper torso was total perfection. Like he wasn’t real and somebody had sculpted him out of clay. In an I-was-pretty-sure-he-could-cut-glass-with-those-abs kind of way.
    I actually had to stop chocolate-flavored drool escaping from my mouth. “I don’t have a favorite real-life prince. The only one I know is cocky and kind of full of himself.” Which probably wasn’t fair, because he wasn’t anywhere near as arrogant as he could be. If I looked like him I’d probably spend all day staring in the mirror, telling myself how gorgeous I was.
    He had a plate in his hands and walked over to put it in the sink. He turned and leaned against it, directly across from me. “You have a favorite fictional prince then?”
    Nobody had ever asked me that. So many animated cuties to choose from. “Probably Prince Eric. From The Little Mermaid .”
    “Hmm.” He crossed his arms across his chest, which caused his shoulder and chest muscles to flex. I felt my internal temperature rise. “Was he the one with dark hair and blue eyes?”
    Darn him. “How would you even know that?”
    He looked far too smug. “I have three younger sisters, remember?”
    I tried to regulate my breathing. He was just a guy. Prince or not, handsome or not, bare-chested or not, still just a guy. I took another bite of my ice cream. “What are you doing up?”
    “I was hungry. And sometimes I deal with bouts of insomnia. Usually when I’m worried. And unfortunately, I’m almost always worried.” He shrugged. My heart ached for him, and I resisted the urge to go over and hug him. His words made me sad. I also felt bad that he had so much to worry about. But I think I felt the worst about the no sleep. Of all the things that I loved, sleep was probably my favorite, right after food.
    “And you?” He pointed at my ice cream.
    “I have this horrible habit of getting up to eat around midnight. Growing up it was the only time in my house when I could be alone and not have to worry about . . .” I sucked in a deep breath. I had almost just told him . . . things I’d never told anyone. I cleared my throat. “I guess it stuck.”
    He looked thoughtful, but thankfully, he didn’t push me the way that Lemon would have. But while we sat in silence, I became aware of a faint drumming sound. At first I wondered if it was my heartbeat, but then I realized it came from somewhere else. “What is that noise?”
    He turned his head to the left and listened. “Probably Dante’s nightclub.”
    “Dante’s nightclub?”
    “He converted part of the old dungeon. He must have it up loud tonight. Usually you can’t hear it. The dungeon was well soundproofed because no one wants to listen to people screaming and begging for their lives, apparently.”
    I took another bite and tried not to smile. That was probably where Lemon had been. “I wonder if Salvatore’s down there.”
    “Why would you care if Salvatore was there?” The tenor of his voice had changed slightly, his facial expression hardened.
    Oh my frak, he was jealous . Why did that make me giddy? “Because Lemon likes him. Easy there, Mr. Green.”
    “Are we speaking of board games again?”
    “No, the color your face just turned.” He was jealous. I saw it. And I had liked it.
    I was so in over my head. I took another big bite. He looked uncomfortable. He shifted his feet like he was going to leave. Which gave me a major compulsion to keep talking so that he would stay. “If we were speaking of board games, there would be no conversation. I would destroy you at any game you chose.”
    “Oh, really?” He raised one eyebrow at me.
    “Definitely. I would kill you at Monopoly. I had plans to go professional until I tore my rotator cuffs.”
    That