A Royal Christmas Proposal

“It’s not quite the same thing,” she said. “But I’ll make do. If I burn it enough and put it on top of peanut butter, it won’t matter that much.”

“Peanut butter?” he echoed, impressed by her determination.

She nodded and turned back to her frying pan. “My brother-in-law from Texas turned me onto this when I was pregnant. It has turned into one of my favorite stress foods.”

She flipped the pancetta onto a paper towel while she slathered a slice of bread with a peanut butter.

“Hey,” Treat said. “Do you have any extra bacon?”

“Pancetta,” she corrected.

“It smells great,” he said.

She chuckled. “Here you go.”

“I think I want to try it with peanut butter,” he said.

She slid him a sideways glance. “I don’t have a lot of extra peanut butter,” she said. “My sister from Texas sends it to me.”

“Okay,” Treat said. “I’ll just take the bacon.”

She gave a heavy sigh and pulled out two more slices of bread. Slapping some peanut butter on a slice, she followed with a helping of crispy pancetta and squished the sandwich together. She handed it to him on a plate. “Eat at your own risk.”

“I’ll brave it,” he said, then took a big bite and savored the flavors. He took another bite to assess. “It’s delicious. The pancetta’s a little strong, but it’s still delicious.”

“Agreed,” Ericka said. “I’m trying to figure out how to get American bacon, although I know I’ve just offended every Italian I’ve ever met.”

“The pancetta’s not bad,” he said, taking another big bite of the sandwich.

“No, but I want cheap bacon,” she said, and took a bite of her own sandwich.

“If anyone should be able to get it, you should,” he said. “You’re a princess.”

“We have importation rules,” she said, and continued to eat her sandwich. “I wonder if I talked to Stefan. Or if I kept my mouth shut and asked Tina to send me American bacon...”

“What a scandal that could be,” he said. “Princess Fredericka imports forbidden bacon.”

She slid a quelling glance at him, then chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. I could be importing so much worse.”

He swallowed the rest of his sandwich and nodded. He brushed off his hands. “So right. Time for bed?”

She met his gaze and choked on her sandwich.

Treat smacked her on her back. He wondered if he should perform the Heimlich.

Ericka coughed then stepped away from him. “I’m fine,” she insisted, coughing.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, still coughing.

He poured a glass of water and offered it to her.

Ericka sipped it then took a shallow breath. “I think you’re right. It’s time to go to bed.”

Treat nodded. “Let me know if you need me for anything.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Walker,” she said.

“Call me Treat,” he said.

“Treat?” she echoed and shook her head. “What an interesting name.”

“Montreat,” he said. “The name was shortened.”

“Oh,” she said, and then nodded.

“Kinda like Fredericka was shortened to Ericka.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Mr. Walker. Good night.”

“Good night, Princess Fredericka,” he said.

“I need to clean up,” she said.

“I can do that,” he said. “Go on up to bed. You need your sleep.”

She paused a moment. “If you insist, Mr. Walker.”

“Treat,” he corrected.

She paused a long moment. “Treat,” she finally said in a soft voice. The sound of his name from her lips did something to him. He would have to figure that out later.

“Night,” he said as he watched her leave the room. Treat cleaned the pan and dishes then prowled the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, he heard the sound of Leo crying. He knew Ericka would get up and cradle her baby. He also knew she needed rest.

Treat climbed the stairs. He nearly bumped into Ericka.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I’m checking on your baby,” he said.

“I can take care of that,” she told him.

“But maybe you shouldn’t,” he said. “Even Saint Ericka needs a rest.”

She scowled at him. “I’ve never said I’m a saint.”

“Then stop trying to look like one,” he said. “Go back to bed.”