A female photographer was snapping photos furiously and suggesting poses.
The other display had a woman in a flowing blue ball gown descending a set of gray stone steps. A prince stood on the top step, reaching for her. Between them lay a single glass slipper, shimmering and iridescent.
By the time Kat's gaze swept to the third set, she realized what she was looking at. Fairy tale displays with live actors. Rapunzel, Cinderella, and the last … An empty glass coffin on a bed of flowers in a wooded glen, covered partly in snow. White birch trees sheltered the area, and snow falling from above created a fanciful dusting over the whole scene.
Snow White.
"Oh, you're perfect!" someone gasped.
Startled, Kat clenched a hand around Tristan's arm.
A petite young woman with spiky black hair and a face with delicate features beamed at her and Tristan. She brandished an expensive-looking camera.
"Perfect for what?" Tristan asked, one brow arching as he shot that imperious "I'll be an earl someday" look at the photographer.
"My photo shoot. I'm Jillian, by the way. The other photographers have found their couples, but I haven't found mine yet. Until I saw you two. Natural chemistry. You have to come with me." She grabbed Kat's free hand and dragged her toward a small changing room about ten feet away from the Snow White set.
"You're a size medium?" the photographer asked Kat, who, stunned by everything, just managed a tiny nod.
"Wonderful." The photographer dashed over to a costume rack, handed her a red velvet gown, and shoved her toward a fitting room.
"And you, Prince!" the woman snapped at Tristan, who blinked, glanced at Kat, then, with an amused grin, shrugged and followed the photographer to another fitting room beside Kat's. "May I have copies of the photos when they're ready?" He didn't want the rest of the world to see, but he certainly wanted copies for himself.
The photographer glanced down at her camera, then up at him.
"Sure. I can send you copies after I've retouched them for my portfolio." She handed him a business card with her contact information on it. "Though," she added. "You could do with a bit of good publicity, Mr. Kingsley."
Tristan halted. "You are not to breathe a word of this to anyone. I don't want these photos to go public." He glanced around the large area. "Is this a closed set?" He didn't want a customer from the department store who might recognize him stumbling into this area.
She pressed a fingertip to her lips. "Yes, I'll shut the doors in a minute. It will be closed." She winked at him, then pointed at the set ahead of them. "Go wake her up, dear prince."
He looked in the direction she pointed and lost his breath. Cushioned on silk inside a shallow glass coffin, Kat lay as if asleep. Her dark hair rippled in wild waves over the pillow and mingled with the light snow that had started to fall from the rafters above. A crimson apple lay at the tips of her fingers, and a pearly light illuminated her pale, perfect skin. It was startling and stunning in contrast to the red gown she wore.
The hustle and bustle of the holiday shoppers faded away. He was completely lost in this strange, surreal experience. Just him, alone with Kat, his Snow White.
"She looks like a dream … What do I do?" he whispered, half to himself and half to the photographer. For the first time in his life, the sight of a woman had halted in him his tracks.
The photographer nudged him gently in the back. "I want you to walk up behind the coffin, kneel down, and kiss her. Do it slowly so I can shoot various angles and poses as you move. I'll tell you when to stop."
Another nudge, this one much firmer, forced him to stumble forward a step. The knee-high buckskin boots made his steps almost silent as he approached the snow-covered glen.
Mirror, mirror on the wall … His lips twitched. I've found the fairest of them all.
The faux snowfall thickened, coating his hair and his clothes as he climbed up the rocky steps leading to the grassy area of the glen behind the coffin. Kat's breathing was so faint he could barely see the swell of her breasts against the bodice. Kneeling beside the glass structure that held her, he touched the clear edge of the coffin. She looked so delicate and vulnerable, but he knew how strong she could be, too.
Here, now, she's mine. I don't have to share her with anyone. He needed this moment, just the two of them; he needed her. It was a scary thing to realize, but there was no point in denying it any longer.
Hesitating for only a heartbeat, he leaned over Kat and kissed her. Her mouth trembled against his as he startled her as though waking her from a dream. Electric tingles of arousal and awareness sparked through him. Taunting, torturing.
I shall never get enough of her. He stroked his tongue along the seam of her mouth, and she parted her lips with a little exhalation of surprise. Tristan had always been one to enjoy kissing, but with Kat, it was something entirely different than it had been with any other woman. It was as necessary as breathing.
He didn't want to think about what would happen when this was over, when they had to return to the town house as stepsiblings and nothing more. As he kissed her, he let go of the world around them. The only thing left was her, and despite the snowflakes landing on their skin, he only felt her. Her mouth, her essence, the feel of his heart reaching out to hers. One of her slender hands cupped his jaw, gently keeping him close as their mouths mated.
She was the first to break the kiss, but only to gasp. Tristan opened his eyes, and for a long second they stared at each other. A hint of tears shimmered in her eyes, and he felt his own body quake and shudder with a rush of unexpected feelings. He tried to smile, but everything in him felt … raw.
With a great struggle to regain his wits, he attempted to put some levity into the moment, lest the strange flood of emotions carry him off. "Better than butterflies?" he whispered.
Her hand, still on his jaw, caressed his skin, as Kat nodded. "Better than stained glass?"
He blinked and glanced away, heat suffusing his face. He still couldn't believe he'd told her that. He'd never told that to anyone before because it made him look weak. It was bloody frightening, letting someone see that deep into his soul.
"I hate that we can't … " He sighed and kissed her again, stealing another all-too-fleeting moment of bliss. Why couldn't they stay like this forever?
"Me, too."
He touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes again, savoring this brief time to just be with her.
"That's perfect!" The photographer's shout cut through their secret fairy-tale world of half-bitten apples, glass coffins, and falling snow.
It had been perfect. Too bad it wasn't real. And he hated knowing it wasn't.
Together they turned to look at Jillian, who was grinning.
"You're going to love these shots!" she said, proudly parading about near the small camera tool table as she set her camera down.
Finally Tristan got to his feet and reached for Kat, lifting her above the edge of the coffin. She felt so good in his arms that he couldn't resist pulling her against his chest for a brief moment before setting her down.
Snow billowed out around her feet when her skirts swished as she took a few steps toward the edge of the set. He rushed after her, catching her arm to support her down the steps.
"Thank you," she murmured, leaning closer than necessary and gripping his arm.
"Anything for you," he said. And he meant every word.
A pink blush stained her cheeks and she pulled free, as though she'd realized she'd let herself slip in her intent to keep distance between them. They walked over to the table where the photographer was standing.
Tristan crossed his arms and faced the photographer, while Kat rushed off to the changing room.
"These won't be shared with the paparazzi, correct?" He wanted to make doubly sure that these photos wouldn't surface. "What about whoever judges the photos? I don't want them selling them to the press."
Jillian shook her head. "No, that can't happen. The photos are my intellectual property. If they were leaked, I'd be able to sue for damages. I won't let them get leaked. I promise."
"Good." He stared at the photographer a second longer before he we went to change back into his clothes.
As he stripped out of the doublet, his mind kept replaying the kiss. How soft Kat's lips were, how her little tongue played with his, and the way she'd stroked his jaw. Tender and trembling with excitement. Every time he kissed her felt like the first time. Something he hadn't thought possible after all the women he'd kissed in the past. It was as though Kat had been made just for him, a dream come true. It sounded like a foolish fantasy of a boy, but he didn't care. She made him feel … wonderful. There was no jaded bitterness from life when he was with her. Everything seemed possible.