Chapter 11 #2
“The headlines,” Theo said, understanding dawning in his eyes. “About the affair.”
“One of many indiscretions,” I confirmed. “Though this one has particularly unfortunate timing, with the fortieth anniversary celebrations approaching.”
“And you have to clean up his mess?”
“Someone has to,” I said, unable to keep the weariness from my voice. “My parents are... traditional. They struggle to adapt to modern media scrutiny. So it falls to me to manage the PR crisis, to ensure the monarchy emerges unscathed.”
“That's a lot of responsibility for something you didn't cause.”
I smiled ruefully. “Welcome to royal life.”
Theo was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “You know, my brother Casey. Before his accident, he was always the responsible one. The planner, the caretaker. I was more like your brother, I guess. Living in the moment, not thinking about consequences.”
“What changed?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Everything,” Theo said simply. “When someone you love needs you, you step up. You become the person they need you to be.”
His words resonated deeply, articulating something I'd felt but never expressed. “Yes,” I agreed softly. “That's exactly it.”
Theo glanced at the clock on the oven and sighed, regret evident in his tone. “I really should get back. I have a session with Dr. Winters.”
“The staff therapist?” I asked, remembering Vincent mentioning the mandatory counseling for companions.
Theo nodded. “Yeah. She's pretty cool, actually. Helps me process... all this.” He gestured vaguely between us, and I understood he meant not just our arrangement but the complicated feelings that had developed alongside it.
“I'll walk you,” I offered, standing and gathering our dishes back onto the tray.
Theo hesitated. “You don't have to. It's not far.”
“I want to,” I insisted, heading inside to change quickly into casual clothes.
When I emerged from the bedroom, Theo was waiting by the front door in his briefs and robe, looking like the perfect companion. The transformation struck me, from the open, vulnerable man who'd shared coffee with me to this professional persona.
I found I much preferred the former.
The path back to the staff quarters wound through beautifully landscaped grounds, past other private villas and the main lodge. We walked in silence, our shoulders occasionally brushing, each point of contact sending a small thrill through me.
I was acutely aware that this might be our last time together.
The day after tomorrow I'd be on a flight back to Avaline, and those resort rules Theo had mentioned—about companions not seeing the same client two days in a row—meant our time had reached its natural conclusion.
The thought hollowed out something in my chest, leaving an ache I wasn't prepared for.
What awaited me in Avaline felt increasingly like a prison sentence rather than a return home.
The choreographed press conferences addressing Remy's indiscretions.
The anniversary celebrations requiring perfectly timed appearances and speeches.
The Council of Ministers expecting detailed proposals on diplomatic initiatives.
The endless parade of suitable potential partners my parents would subtly position in my path.
And beneath it all, the suffocating certainty that no one there would look at me as Theo did, as a man rather than a title. No one would challenge me to answer honestly, laugh without calculation, or share unguarded moments of simple connection.
As we neared the staff quarters, a more modest building set apart from the main resort, I felt a rising desperation, a need to say something, to do something that would extend this connection beyond the artificial boundaries of the resort.
But what? Exchange phone numbers? Email addresses? Make vague promises about staying in touch? All of it seemed inadequate, farcical even, given the disparate worlds we inhabited.
We came to a stop outside the entrance to the staff quarters, facing each other awkwardly. Theo glanced around, perhaps checking if we were observed, though the area seemed deserted.
“This feels like the end of a date,” he said with a small laugh that didn't quite hide the note of uncertainty in his voice.
“Does it?” I asked, stepping closer, my hand lifting to cup his face almost of its own accord.
He leaned into the touch, his eyes drifting half-closed. “I wouldn't know, actually. I haven't been on many dates.”
The confession tugged at something protective within me. “Their loss,” I murmured, my thumb tracing the contour of his cheekbone. “And my gain.”
Before he could respond, I leaned in and kissed him, pouring into it all the confusing, conflicting emotions swirling within me.
It was gentle but insistent, a claiming and a plea all at once.
Theo responded in kind, his lips soft against mine, his hand coming to rest against my chest, directly over my heart.
When we finally broke apart, his eyes remained closed for a moment longer, as if he were trying to memorize the feel of it. Then they fluttered open, meeting mine with a vulnerability that made my breath catch.
A door opening somewhere down the corridor startled us both. Theo stepped back, his hand falling away from my chest, leaving a cold spot where its warmth had been.
“I should go,” he whispered. Theo's smile was sad, tinged with a wisdom beyond his years. “Goodbye, Your Grace,” he said softly, a finality in his tone that scraped at my insides like a dull knife.
Then he was gone, disappearing through the entrance before I could form a response, leaving me standing alone in the morning sunshine, an emptiness spreading within me that had no right to exist after such a brief encounter.
I stood there longer than was dignified, staring at the closed door as if willing it to open again.
When it became clear that wasn't going to happen, I turned and began walking, not back toward my villa but toward the main lodge.
A plan was forming in my mind, desperate and probably foolish, but I couldn't let things end this way.
The main building was bustling with activity as I entered, guests and staff moving about with purpose. I made my way to the administrative offices, following signs until I found what I was looking for—a door marked “Executive Office.”
A young man sat at a desk positioned between two doors, each bearing the name of an executive director.
I approached him with what I hoped was a confident smile. “Good morning,” I said. “I was wondering if I might have a word with Mr. Vincent Stone?”
The assistant glanced up, assessing me briefly before reaching for his telephone. He murmured something into the receiver, nodded once, then replaced it in its cradle.
“Mr. Stone is available,” he informed me, gesturing toward the door on the right. “You may go in.”
I thanked him and moved toward Vincent's office, my heart beating a rapid tattoo against my ribs.
I pushed open the door to find Vincent seated behind an imposing desk, his attention focused on a computer screen.
He looked up as I entered, surprise registering briefly before his professional demeanor reasserted itself.
“Your Grace,” he greeted me, rising from his seat. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I'd like permission to have Theo assigned to me for the remainder of my stay,” I said without preamble, closing the door behind me. “Surely that can be arranged.”
Vincent's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle tensing that suggested discomfort. “I understand, Your Grace. However, I must remind you of our policy regarding consecutive bookings with the same companion. It's in place for—”
“I'm aware of the policy,” I interrupted, moving further into the room. “But surely exceptions can be made.”
Vincent gestured for me to take a seat across from his desk, resuming his own seat only after I was settled. “I'm afraid not, Your Grace. The policy exists for good reasons; to protect both our companions and our clients.”
“Protect them from what, exactly?” I challenged, leaning forward. “Theo and I have a connection. We enjoy each other's company. What harm is there in allowing us another evening together before I leave?”
Vincent's expression softened, a hint of understanding in his eyes that I found oddly patronizing.
“The harm, Your Grace, is in the blurring of lines between fantasy and reality.
Our companions are trained to provide an exceptional experience, to make every client feel special, desired, understood.
It's what we excel at. But it's also a curated experience, a fantasy.”
His words hit me with the force of a physical blow, each one a pin to the balloon of hope I'd been nurturing. A curated experience. A fantasy. Was that all this had been? Had I fooled myself into seeing something more in Theo's eyes, in his touch, in the way he responded to me?
“I understand your skepticism,” Vincent continued, misreading my silence. “But consider our companions' well-being as well. They form attachments easily. It's part of what makes them good at their jobs. The two-day rule helps prevent those attachments from becoming... problematic.”
Attachments. I latched onto the word like a drowning man to a life preserver. “So you're saying Theo might have formed an attachment to me?”
Vincent studied me thoughtfully, his expression unreadable.
“I'm saying it's a possibility we try to manage for all our companions.
The nature of the work can blur professional and personal boundaries if we're not careful.” He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “May I speak frankly, Your Grace?”
“Please do,” I said, grateful for any insight he might offer.