Chapter 15
Ramzi woke with a slow stretch, already anticipating the feel of Tabitha curled against him.
He was ready to pull her close and pick up right where they’d left off—maybe with a few improvements.
The night had been extraordinary, an unfolding of passion and whispered discoveries that still echoed through his body.
But when he reached for her, the bed was empty.
He blinked, surprised. She had spent the night. Of that he was certain. Every time she’d stirred beside him, he’d kissed her… touched her… and made love to her again. And again. Her soft murmurs and eager responses had been burned into his memory.
She hadn’t just enjoyed herself—she’d reveled in every moment. He knew her pleasure. He’d felt her body tremble around him, again and again, her whispered encouragements fanning his desire each time.
So where the hell was she?
He sat up, listening carefully, hoping to catch the sound of a shower running or a drawer closing.
Silence.
Then his gaze landed on the open window.
He fell back onto the pillows, stunned for a beat. Then laughter broke from his chest.
She’d climbed out the damn window.
For a full minute, he stared up at the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief. This woman. This incredible woman was going to be the death of him. This had to be the most unconventional courtship in the history of his country.
And he didn’t want it to end.
After a quick shower, he dressed in jeans and a soft cashmere sweater layered over a T-shirt, then headed for the hallway. The moment he stepped out of his room, he was greeted by the knowing smirks of his security team. They didn’t say a word at first, but their smug silence said everything.
“She climbed down the damn tree, didn’t she?” he muttered.
“She sure did, Your Highness,” one replied, grinning outright while the others diplomatically turned their heads to hide their amusement.
He waved them off and stalked down the hall, muttering under his breath.
“Good morning, Your Highness!” the elderly innkeeper called brightly as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Breakfast is ready whenever you are.”
He paused, her greeting prickling at the back of his neck.
So, the title had made its rounds. He shouldn’t be surprised.
He was a public figure, after all. A simple reverse image search could unravel any attempt at anonymity.
Still, he’d hoped to enjoy a few days in Hendersonville without the world barging in.
He turned to her with a faint smile and lifted a finger to his lips. “Let’s keep that quiet, shall we? I’d hate for my enemies to discover this little town. Too many children here.”
Her eyes widened. She nodded quickly, voice dropping to a whisper. “Of course, Your Highness. I won’t say a word.”
“Can you pass that along to the others?”
“I’ll make sure of it!” she said eagerly, puffing up like he’d entrusted her with national secrets.
He hoped the town could hold onto that secret a bit longer. Just a few days. Long enough to let him get to know Tabitha properly.
With a fresh spring in his step, he headed toward the porch and spotted the waiting SUVs. But he waved them off. Her house wasn’t far. And after last night, a quiet morning walk through the cool air sounded perfect.
As he walked, his thoughts drifted to his brother.
He imagined the look on Rylan’s face when he told him how he’d met his future wife.
Somehow, he doubted the story would begin with ballrooms and titles.
No, it would start with a woman in boots and sass, a kiss by a waterfall, and a stubborn streak that could outmatch a royal decree.
He imagined Tabitha wearing the crown jewels—diamonds glinting against her skin, her eyes bright with mischief.
And nothing else.
Of course, the tiara was out. It would never survive the way she shook her head—especially not last night when he’d tasted every inch of her delicious body and she’d come undone beneath him.
Necklaces, though? Absolutely. Diamond chokers.
Arm bands. Cuffs. Anklets. Every glittering piece in the family vault—yes to all of it. Just not a tiara. Not in bed.
He knew Tabitha was a wealthy woman, at least by most standards. Hell, he’d just handed her a seven-figure bonus on top of an already impressive salary. But she never wore much jewelry. Why was that?
She could easily afford anything she wanted. Her wardrobe was professional and sleek, but never flashy. He found himself wondering how she’d feel about designer clothing made specifically for her. Silks and linens tailored to her curves. Luxury stitched with intention. She would look breathtaking.
Not because she needed it.
But because he wanted to give her everything.
When he reached her front porch, he paused, noticing the gnarled tree just outside the second-story window.
A familiar gleam caught his eye: bark worn smooth by years of climbing.
So that’s how she did it. The mischievous woman had probably been sneaking in and out of this house since she was old enough to climb. Adorable.
He smirked and knocked on the door, even though he could already feel the twitch of curious curtains across the street.
The door opened a moment later, and Tilda stood there in another flowered dress, today’s apron a cheery yellow instead of yesterday’s red, ruffled gingham.
“Oh, come in!” she exclaimed. “No need to knock, my dear. You’re family now.”
Technically, he wasn’t. But the sentiment landed in his chest with surprising weight. Warmth. Belonging. It felt… nice. He wasn’t used to it. With his mistresses, the open invitations had always come with strings—or rent checks. This was different.
“Thank you, Ms. Jones,” he said automatically.
She scoffed. “Oh, pish! Call me Tilda.”
With that, she bustled toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Coffee’s hot—help yourself.”
He followed, pouring a cup just as she paused at the door, pulling on a wide-brimmed straw hat.
“Heading to the farmer’s market for some fresh tomatoes. Making my famous salsa for the bachelorette party tonight.”
He froze mid-sip, mug halfway to his lips.
Tilda glanced back with a knowing smile. “I suspect my girl snuck out last night.”
Ramzi’s grip tightened on the cup.
Tilda grabbed her enormous purse, slinging it over her shoulder. “She and Stacy probably stayed up all night giggling about wedding stuff.”
He exhaled slowly, setting the carafe back on the warmer. “I’m sure it was a lovely night for Tabitha,” he replied evenly.
It was, he thought. Because he’d made sure of it.
He took a seat at the kitchen table, letting the scent of something warm and sweet from the oven fill his senses. His body still hummed with memories of Tabitha—her laughter, her sighs, her impossible determination.
And somewhere deep in his chest, something quiet and certain settled into place.
She was it.