Chapter 13 Rangi
RANGI
Iwoke to a note on my pillow from Leo asking me to meet him at the west service entrance. It’s there that I find him dressed in casual jeans and henley, leaning against a dark SUV. His hair is windblown and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He’s also grinning like a teenager with a secret.
“You’re late,” he says.
I blink. “Late for what?”
“Our date.”
I arch a brow. “We have a date?”
Leo pushes off the car and opens the passenger door with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “We do now. Get in.”
Chuckling, I step pass him and slide into the front passenger side seat. Leo leans in to steal a quick kiss before shutting the door, then he practically runs around the car before getting in and taking off.
“So, we’re alone?”
Leo flicks his eyes to the rearview mirror and lets out a long sigh. “Not quite. Security details is in the black sedan.”
I glance at the car tailing us. “Did you really think we’d manage to sneak off without anyone noticing?”
“I mean… I probably would have been successful but,” Leo takes a sharp right turn onto a narrow country lane, the car hugging the curve perfectly.
“Victoria caught me grabbing the keys. Gave me the whole ‘royal protocol’ lecture. Apparently, even with a soldier as my companion, a prince can’t just vanish. ”
I laugh, watching fields and hedgerows blur past the window. “Victoria is a mighty force to be reckoned with.”
His hand finds mine across the console, warm and familiar. “Victoria can lecture all she wants. Last I checked, I still outrank her.”
We drive in comfortable silence, the hum of the road lulling me, until Leo slows and turns into a small village nestled between two low hills. Stone cottages with flower boxes line the narrow main street, their roofs covered in weather-worn slate.
The village green has been overtaken by the market—rows of colourful stalls spilling out across the grass, bunting fluttering overhead in a soft breeze.
Laughter rises from a group of children clustered around a woman handing out balloons, and somewhere nearby, a busker plays a lilting folk tune on a fiddle.
It feels like we’ve stepped out of time.
Leo parks among a dozen other vehicles, then twists around to grab something from the backseat. He pulls out a canvas bag and offers me a flat cap and a worn waxed jacket.
“Seriously?” I laugh as he hands me one of each. “Disguises?”
“Not disguises,” he says, tugging on a beaten leather jacket that makes him look rugged in a way that’s deeply unfair. “Consider it camouflage.”
I shrug on the jacket then put on the cap. “You know this isn’t fooling anyone, right?”
He grins, excitement dancing in his eyes. “You’d be surprised. This get-up has saved me many a time from locals snapping photos for the tabloids.”
We step out of the car and into the bustle of the market, cobblestones warm beneath our feet and the air rich with the scent of baking bread, cut grass, and fresh strawberries. For a few minutes, I’m stiff, scanning for cameras, but no one gives us a second glance.
Today we’re just another couple, brushing shoulders as we move between stalls filled with handwoven blankets, potted herbs, glazed pottery, and rows of vegetables still dusted with soil.
Leo moves easily through the crowds, exchanging friendly hellos with vendors and asking questions as he peruses their offerings.
He buys a crusty loaf of olive-studded bread, a wheel of soft cheese that smells strongly but tastes delicious, and a small jar of honey labelled “From Bee to Me – Cold-Pressed and Local.”
“Building quite the picnic,” I observe as he adds a bottle of wine to his growing collection, its label handwritten and peeling slightly in the sun.
He hands me one of the tote bags, already bulging. “That’s the idea.”
He hands me one of the tote bags. “That’s the idea.”
We pass a bakery stall, where the air smells like sugar and cinnamon, and then stop at a flower vendor’s cart brimming with wild blooms—baby’s breath, cornflowers, golden wattle, and dusky lavender. Leo hesitates, his hand hovering over a messy bouquet of sun-warmed colour before laughing softly.
“Too much, right?”
I reach over picking up the bunch he’d been considering, and shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
The vendor, an elderly woman with sun-weathered skin, beams at us. “Special occasion?”
“Just a day away,” Leo replies, with a boyish grin.
“Been together long?” she asks, wrapping the flowers in brown paper.
“Not long enough,” he says, pressing a note into her hand.
The woman’s smile widens as she holds out the bouquet. “Well, you make a handsome pair. Enjoy your day, loves.”
As we walk away, I nudge his shoulder. “Not long enough?”
He shrugs, a hint of colour touching his cheeks. “Is it a lie?”
“No,” I agree softly.
His hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining as we continue our leisurely stroll.
The breeze carries the scent of citrus and woodsmoke as we stroll hand in hand past the fudge stall and a woman selling second-hand books from crates. Music drifts through the air, mingling with birdsong and the distant bark of a dog.
We follow a path leading away from the village, climbing gently into rolling hills dotted with ancient oak trees. and low stone walls half-swallowed by bramble. The chatter of the market fades behind us, replaced by the quiet hush of rustling leaves and the crunch of gravel beneath our boots.
The security detail is nowhere to be seen, though I have no doubt they’re monitoring from a distance. Still, it feels like we’re alone.
“How did you find this place?” I ask as Leo leads us toward a secluded hilltop overlooking a patchwork of farmland and forests, the fields stitched together in greens and golds.
“I used to come here as a teenager when palace life became too suffocating,” he says. “There’s a perfect spot under that tree where you can see three counties on a clear day.”
The oak stands like a sentinel, thick-limbed and sprawling, its leaves flickering in the light like a thousand little flags. Beneath it, the ground is soft and shaded, the grass thick from decades of shelter.
Leo pulls the blanket from the tote and spreads it out with a practiced flick. It lands unevenly, one corner folding under, and I lean down to tug it straight, our hands brushing. The contact lingers a heartbeat longer than it needs to.
“You take blanket duty,” he says with a grin. “I’ll unpack the provisions.”
I watch as he pulls out the produce then rearranges the items three times until everything’s just so.
“Very anal of you,” I tease.
“I like symmetry,” he replies with a shrug. “Also, I refuse to let a loaf of bread overshadow the wine.”
He holds out two tumblers—borrowed from somewhere—and pours a careful splash of wine into each before handing me one.
“To a day away,” he says, raising his glass.
“To wildflowers and disguises,” I say, tapping mine gently against his.
We settle into the blanket, shoulders brushing, our thighs barely touching. He tears the bread in half and hands me a piece, his fingers grazing mine.
“I’ve never brought anyone here before,” he says quietly, almost like a confession.
The simple statement lands heavy in my chest, a soft thud of meaning. I glance at him—at the way his gaze flickers away and then back, unsure.
“Thank you for sharing it with me,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “It’s beautiful.”
His smile is soft. “So are you.”
We settle comfortably on the blanket, the valley spreading below us in stunning panorama. The world feels expansive yet intimate in this private space Leo has created for us.
“You know what’s weird?” I say, mouth half-full of the amazing cheese he picked up. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
He tilts his head to one side. “What do you mean?”
“Your sister walked in on us half-naked, we’re navigating a political mess, and there’s probably betting pools in the staff quarters about us... but when we’re together, it just works.”
“I’ll drink to that.” He clinks his cup against mine. “Maybe that’s all we need to know. And all that other crap is just... noise.”
“Your sisters would agree.”
Leo snorts. “Lottie would. Kit’s idea of ‘simple’ involves press releases, photo ops, and a six-month strategic communications plan.”
“She’s looking out for you.”
“Always has.” He flops back on the blanket, staring up through the oak branches. “Still not sure how I feel about being her latest project, though.”
I stretch out beside him, running my fingers idly through his hair. “If you could write the script yourself, what would it look like? For us, I mean.”
He’s quiet for a bit, just the sound of wind in the leaves above us. “More days like this,” he finally says. “Not sneaking around, but not performing either. I want to give us time to figure our own stuff out before everyone else weighs in.”
“What about work?”
“I don’t want to stop working together.” He turns his head to look at me. “I’m good at it, even if it is frustrating sometimes. I’m not ready to give that up.”
“Me neither,” I say, relief washing through me. “The heritage project matters too much. And without work, I’d be lost.”
“Exactly.” He leans against me. “Most royal romances crash and burn because there’s nothing holding them together once the excitement wears off.”
“That what you’re worried about? That this is just... physical?”
He frowns. “Not for me it isn’t. But this whole thing happened pretty damn fast.”
“Did it, though?” I run my finger along his jaw, feeling the rasp of his stubble. “Feels like I’ve been falling for you forever.”
He laughs, genuine and a little embarrassed. “God, I was so scared when we first met. Stayed up all night memorizing all the rules and regulations.”
“I could tell.” I grin down at him.
“But you didn’t say anything!”
“What, and interrupt? Nah.” I brush my thumb over his bottom lip. “Besides, I was too busy being impressed. And, you know, checking you out.”
Leo presses a kiss to my palm. “Don’t worry, I was checking you out as well.”
He tugs me down, and then we’re kissing – slow and sweet and building into something that makes my head spin. When we break apart, he keeps his eyes closed for a second, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment.
“It’s not just attraction,” he says, voice rough. “Not for me.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “No?”
“No.” His eyes open, lock onto mine. He doesn’t continue, and no matter how much I wish he’d tell me how he feels, for now it’s enough.
We spend the rest of the afternoon in our own little world, talking about everything and nothing – stupid childhood stunts, career dreams, books we love, embarrassing stories that have us both cracking up.
We kill the wine and most of the food, and when it gets cooler, we end up tangled together, watching clouds drift across the sky.
“We should probably head back,” Leo says eventually, making absolutely no move to get up.
“Just five more minutes,” I mumble against his neck.
He laughs, and I feel it rumble through his chest. “You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“Time’s different under magic oak trees. Common knowledge.”
I prop myself up to look at him – his face relaxed, golden in the evening light, happier than I’ve ever seen him. “Do you really want to go back?”
“No.” His hand comes up to my face, stroking his thumb across my cheek. “Thanks for being with me.”
“Thanks for bringing me here.” I brush my lips across his knuckles.
We start packing up as the light fades, neither of us talking much. Reality is waiting at the bottom of the hill – all the protocols and meetings and people watching our every move.
As we fold the blanket together, our hands meeting in the middle, Leo looks at me, suddenly serious. “Whatever happens when we go back – press, politics, my sister’s crazy schemes – remember today, okay? This is the real us. Everything else is just—“
“Noise,” I finish. “I know.”
He nods, throws the bag over his shoulder, and we head down the hill. Not touching, but close enough to feel each other there.
The security detail materializes as we approach the village, maintaining a discreet distance that suggests Leo’s “plan” worked exactly as intended.
As we climb back into his car, the day’s freedom gradually gives way to the responsibilities waiting at the palace, and I find myself unexpectedly at peace with the transition.