AND THEN THERE'S SIR ALEX. Every time I messed up—and that was every two seconds—he stepped in behind me.
Warm.
Tall.
Stoic.
Knightly.
Basically illegal.
He'd lightly touch my wrist to adjust my grip.
And every single time:
I hyperventilated.My soul left my body.My brain forgot the alphabet.My heart said BA-THUMP-PA-THUMP-WE-WILL-DIE-TODAY.
But I PRETENDED to be okay.
Professional. Calm. Unbothered.
Meanwhile Sir Alex? He was pretending not to notice my internal collapse.
The man was made of honor, granite, and denial.
And whenever I flirted—even the tiny, innocent, barely-there teasing—
HE STIFFENED LIKE A SPOOKED DEER.
Absolutely terrified. He looked like he needed divine intervention.
I swear if I winked too aggressively, he'd probably run straight into the woods and never return.
It was adorable. He was adorable.
Bless his noble knightly soul. He was destined for the princess—the actual female lead of this novel.
