Chapter 15
BASH
The private jet sitting on the tarmac at SeaTac looked like the kind of bird that only showed up for VIP extractions in movies about special ops teams with a sleek white exterior, gleaming in the morning sun.
The interior was even more impressive, with cream leather seats that looked like they belonged in a five-star hotel, polished wood trim, and enough legroom to house a small family.
I’d seen luxury before, like expensive hotels and fancy restaurants while on the job, but this was on another level entirely.
I was afraid to even touch anything, but Eddie walked in as if he was entering a McDonald’s, completely at ease.
At least it made it relatively easy to keep an eye on what was happening around us, as the environment was much more contained with us as the only passengers. And since this company was pre-screened by Rebecca Hartwell, I didn’t have to worry about doing background checks either.
A uniformed flight attendant greeted us with professional courtesy, offering beverages and explaining the flight time to Asheville. “Enjoy your flight,” she said.
“Thank you,” Eddie said, polite as ever.
I just gave her a nod. Words were a little hard to come by, not gonna lie.
“So this is how you travel,” I said, as I buckled my seatbelt and settled into a seat that probably cost more than I made in a month.
“It’s practical for security purposes,” Eddie said, but there was something defensive in his tone, like he was apologizing for having resources I could barely comprehend. “It affords us at least some level of privacy.”
“I can see that.”
And I did. I understood the need for this, but it still felt so… foreign to me. So out-of-this-world luxurious.
As the plane taxied down the runway, I stared out the window.
God, the difference between Eddie’s world and mine was so vast. He’d grown up with this level of wealth, this casual knowledge that money could solve any logistical problem.
Private planes, royal protection, resources that appeared whenever needed without question or concern about cost.
Meanwhile, I was sending half my paycheck home to help cover medical bills, and my biggest luxury was splurging on name-brand coffee instead of the generic stuff.
This harsh reminder was exactly what I needed as we headed toward North Carolina.
For the past few weeks, it had been easy to forget the reality of our situations, living in our campus bubble, playing house and exploring this attraction between us.
But now, sitting next to a man for whom private planes were normal, I was forced to confront the truth.
He was a prince.
He was my protectee.
He was my job.
And I had better remember that because if I didn’t, if I allowed the friendship and closeness we had developed over the last months to come first, I risked losing everything.
My parents knew me better than anyone, and they’d pick up on any hint of impropriety between Eddie and me, my mom especially.
She could sniff that stuff out like a bloodhound, though she was all bless-your-heart Southern charming about it.
And if they found out we’d been… messing around, well, that would have consequences I couldn’t bear to think about. Nothing weighed heavier on me than my parents’ disapproval, especially after Glenn had died. I was the only one left, the one to honor the family name.
So I’d have to keep my distance from Eddie, had to hold the line. I had to make sure my parents wouldn’t even catch a whiff of what had happened between us.
Besides, this wasn’t real. Whatever intimacy Eddie and I had been building, whatever soft feelings I had for him, it existed in a fantasy world that had nothing to do with our actual lives.
He was a prince, and when this assignment ended, Eddie would go back to his royal duties and his palace life, probably with a suitable partner chosen by his family.
And I’d go back to the Secret Service, hopefully after paying off my parents’ debt and with a recommendation from the British, and that would be that.
There was no future for us.
Hell, there wasn’t even an us.
The sooner I accepted that reality, the better off we’d both be.
By the time we landed in North Carolina, I’d managed to shift back into professional mode.
It wasn’t easy. Every time Eddie smiled at me or made some casual comment, I had to remind myself that this was work, not a romantic getaway.
But I’d done it before, compartmentalizing my feelings when a job required it, and I could do it again.
Semper Fi meant something, and that included putting duty before desire.
Even if it felt like swallowing glass every time I had to step back from the intimacy we’d been building.
“You’ve gotten quiet,” Eddie observed as we disembarked from the plane. “Everything alright?”
“Just thinking about the next few days,” I said, which was true enough. “Making sure I have all the logistics worked out.”
What I didn’t say was that I’d been thinking about how to survive four days of pretending Eddie meant nothing more to me than a professional obligation.
The rental car was waiting for us—a basic SUV that felt painfully ordinary after the private jet, but it wouldn’t stand out.
As we drove through the familiar countryside, I relaxed slightly.
These roads I knew, this landscape I understood.
Whatever else was complicated about this situation, at least I was back on familiar ground.
“It’s beautiful,” Eddie said, looking out at the rolling farmland and dense pine forests. “Very different from the Pacific Northwest.”
“Different from England too, I imagine.”
“Yes, though there’s something about the countryside that feels familiar. The sense of history, of families living in the same place for generations.”
He wasn’t wrong. We passed farms that had been in the same families for a century, small towns where everybody knew everybody else’s business, the kind of rooted community that probably felt both foreign and appealing to someone from Eddie’s background.
“There,” I said, turning into the long driveway to my parents’ house. “That’s home.”
The house I’d grown up in looked smaller than I remembered, though that might’ve been perspective.
It was a modest ranch-style home on about five acres of land, with a detached garage that served as Dad’s workshop and a vegetable garden that Mama tended with religious devotion.
Not much to look at compared to whatever palaces Eddie was used to, probably but it had been in my family for four generations and had been my home for twenty-six years.
I’d texted them our time of arrival, so both my parents were waiting on the front porch when we parked in front of the garage.
Mama was wearing her best dress, the one she saved for church and special occasions, prettier than Sunday morning.
Dad had clearly made an effort with his appearance as well, trading his usual jeans and T-shirt for slacks and a button-down shirt.
“They’re nervous,” I explained as I turned off the engine. “They’ve never met royalty before.”
“I’ll try to put them at ease.”
Something in his voice made me look at him more carefully. He looked calm, composed, every inch the gracious prince I’d seen him be with professors and university administrators.
We got out of the car, and I led Eddie toward the porch, my heart racing as my two worlds collided.
I hugged my mom fiercely. I studied her for a few seconds once I let go.
She’d definitely lost some weight, but she had color in her face and her eyes were sharp.
“So good to see you, Mama. You look well.”
“I’m feeling good today, honey. And I’m so tickled you’re home.”
“Me too, Mama.”
“Good to see you, son,” my dad said as we exchanged a firm handshake. “Glad you could make it home.”
I heard what he didn’t say: that it meant a lot to my mom.
“Mama, Dad, I’d like you to meet Prince Gregory.”
Eddie stepped forward with that natural grace that probably came from a lifetime of formal introductions, offering a slight bow to my mom that managed to be respectful without seeming excessive. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Puller.”
“Likewise, Your Highness,” Mama said, and I could hear the nerves in her voice despite her attempt at formality.
“Please, call me Gregory,” Eddie said warmly, taking her offered hand. “Or Eddie, as that’s the undercover name I’m using. I’m deeply grateful for your hospitality in welcoming me to your home.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Mama said, immediately flustered and pleased. “Any friend of Bash’s is welcome here. And you call me Ellen, none of that Mrs. Puller business.”
Dad stepped forward, offering his hand with the kind of straightforward courtesy that had always made me proud of him. “Jim Puller. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m looking forward to experiencing a proper American Thanksgiving.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Dad slung his arm around Mama’s shoulders. “Ellen’s been cookin’ up a storm since yesterday morning. I swear she’s planning on feedin’ half the county.”
“I just want to make sure we have enough,” Mama protested, but she was smiling. “Come in, come in. Bash, get the bags, honey.”
Bash swallowed. “We’re not staying here, Mama. We’re in an apartment on Lee Street.”
“But honey—”
“We don’t have the space, Mama, and besides, I’m on the job. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Dad nodded, understanding passing between us. He knew as well as I did that Glenn’s room was a shrine now, kept exactly as he’d left it, and that having strangers—even welcome ones—sleeping there would be too much for Mama to handle.
Mama nodded. “Alright, then.”
As I gathered our backpacks from the car—the only bags we would need right now—I caught Eddie looking around, taking in the workshop, the garden, that comfortable shabbiness of a home that had been lived in and loved for decades. His face displayed nothing but interest.