“What am I doing now?” He cocked his head to one side, feigning an innocent look, which probably would not work because of the spark of mischief that brightened his eyes paired with a cheeky grin that would have melted a thousand women’s hearts.

Castillo di Firenze, in all its glory, had a vast amount of floor area that even when it employed hundreds of citizens and housed the queens most trusted nobles, it was never crowded. The hallway, for instance, was thankfully empty at that hour. The double doors remained shut as the production crew packed-up the equipment while the director, Jonas, and Ms. Viscomi were probably doing a post mortem of the broadcast. Luke doubted that his and the princess elect’s voices could penetrate the concrete walls. However, with the increasing volume of his fiancée’s voice, any curious passer-by would overhear the conversation. That somebody might be spying on them was not among his concerns that night.

When the princess elect forcefully tore her body away from its contact with Luke’s, the latter did not protest. Instead, he remained where he stood while amusing himself with the fruits of his actions flashing on the farmer girl’s face. Gone was the confidently charismatic woman in front of the cameras, who, in another life would have inadvertently caught the prince’s attention. In her place was a doppelganger that panicked at Luke’s half-hearted attempt at flirting. Her cheeks were bright pink, just a few shades lighter than the color of the roses she cradled on her chest. She was speaking in a voice which pitch had climbed a notch. Her feet were taking her farther and farther from him. Luke was not a sadist, but her obvious discomfort brought a cheeky grin on his face.

“For somebody who did not even bat an eyelash at the prospect of getting naked with a stranger, you are being prude, Ms. Black.” Luke unclasped his gadget from the wrist. He raised it to his face and perhaps she would be able to deduce, though no camera was visible at the back end of the device that faced her, that he had just snapped a photo of her crimson face. Satisfied, he placed the gadget back where it belonged. Then, with a few short gestures, an image of the stolen photograph was hovered a few inches above the black band for her to see. “Has anybody ever told you that you look lovelier when you blush?” Wooing, as she called whatever she thought he was doing, was more than just the touching of skin or lips. The most meaningful of relationships would always start with words, and if hew as not allowed to torment her with his body, then he would do so with his mind.

Therefore, he avoided taking the bait, refusing to acknowledge what he had been trying to accomplish since that morning, which was to make sure that she didn’t get the wrong idea. For the purpose of his petty revenge mission, he was willing to forego his values as a gentleman – whatever that meant. “If you are looking like that or acting like a lady worthy of my mother’s crown like you did earlier tonight, I cannot promise that I can hold myself back from wanting to be near you and kiss you.” He shrugged, tentatively taking a step towards her, like he was approaching a scared kitten. If she saw his advances as a threat and ran the opposite direction, they were both in trouble. “Hardly my fault, isn’t it?"