Chapter 16
Theo
Istood in front of my closet, fingers hovering between shirts. Not that it mattered what I wore. This wasn't a date, just a “friendly visit” with a client. Yet, that haunted look in Ricard's eyes when he'd asked to talk? Yeah, that was now living rent-free in my head.
So much for all that “professional boundaries” crap I fed myself yesterday.
One word from him and I folded like a cheap lawn chair.
Dr. Winters would probably have a field day with that.
Twenty-four hours after promising myself professional boundaries, here I was, treating Ranch rules like they were optional toppings at a froyo place.
I settled on a simple black t-shirt and my least-worn jeans.
Casual but not sloppy. I glanced at my reflection, raking a hand through my messy hair.
Great job looking like you tried without trying too hard, Bennett.
It's not like he's expecting you to show up looking like a TikTok thirst trap, anyway.
The apartment was eerily quiet; my roommates were either working or off enjoying the resort's amenities on their day off. Thank God for small miracles. I slipped out the door, relieved to avoid any awkward small talk about my plans.
As I headed toward Ricard's villa, my stomach did that weird flippy thing it used to do before high school presentations.
The responsible part of my brain, the part that sounded suspiciously like Casey before the accident, kept reminding me that this was exactly how people got fired from places like The Ranch.
Breaking rules, getting attached to clients, putting feelings before professionalism.
But then I remembered that look on Ricard's face when he'd mentioned his brother, and somehow, the risk seemed worth it. Some things just mattered more than rules, you know?
Don't read too much into it, I told myself. He just needs someone to talk to. Literally anyone with ears would do.
But deep down, I knew that was BS. The connection we had built had grown into something bigger than the professional bounds we were supposed to keep. I could feel it in his gaze, in his touch, every whisper of my name felt like a secret only we shared.
I knocked softly against his door, rocking back on my heels until it swung open. Ricard stood there in a simple white linen shirt and dark pants, hair slightly damp as if he'd just showered. His eyes lit up when he saw me, relief washing over his features.
“Theo,” he said quietly. “Merci d'être venu. Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” I replied, trying to ignore the way my heart raced. “You seemed like you needed someone to talk to.”
He stepped back, gesturing for me to enter. “I did. I do.”
As I followed him into the living area, I noticed a tablet on the coffee table beside an untouched glass of bourbon, a sad reminder of whatever storm was brewing inside him.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, politeness still present even in moments like this. “Water? Wine? Something stronger?”
“Water would be great,” I admitted, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. “It’s like a furnace out there.”
He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, perhaps hoping to gather his thoughts. I settled onto the plush cushions, trying to create some distance while a weird feeling gnawed at me.
“Please sit,” he said, returning, his gaze intense. “What’s going on?” I asked softly. “Is everything okay?”
Ricard let out a humorless laugh. “Not particularly, no.” He handed me the tablet. “My brother has arrived in the United States. He’s looking for me.”
I took the tablet, scanning the screen. My stomach dropped. The headline read: ROYAL SCANDAL DEEPENS: CROWN PRINCESS HELENE DEPARTS FOR HOMELAND AMID INFIDELITY RUMORS.
“Jesus,” I muttered, reading how his sister-in-law had left his brother, taking their kids with her, just days before a major royal celebration.
All because of allegations that Crown Prince Remy had fathered a child with an American model.
I handed the tablet back, still stunned. “Your brother is here? In Texas?”
“In Dallas,” Ricard confirmed. “Vincent got a message from my assistant. Remy thought I was there. He’s holed up in a hotel, waiting for me.”
“Great,” I said, trying to keep the bluntness in check. “What’s the plan?”
Ricard ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t know. Vincent has offered a private jet to take me to Dallas tomorrow morning. I guess I’ll have to see what Remy wants.”
He looked lost in that moment, a world away from the confident man I first met. This was Ricard stripped bare, emotionally vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache.
“What do you think I should do?” he asked, catching me off guard. “I know it’s unfair to ask, but I value your perspective.”
His admission sent butterflies tumbling through my stomach. “Honestly? I’m not sure I’m the best person for royal family drama,” I said, forcing a smile that felt weak.
“You have a brother, though,” Ricard pointed out. “You’ve mentioned him.”
I nodded, a pang of guilt hitting me at the thought of Casey. “Yeah, I do.”
“What would you do?” Ricard pressed. “If your brother really… screwed up and needed your help? If he was in trouble?”
That hit home, but not in the way he probably thought. My reasons for being here, working at The Ranch—it all came down to that drive. “I’d go to him,” I said finally. “The whole reason I’m here is to help my brother. To get him the medical treatments he needs.”
Ricard’s eyes widened. “C’est pour ca que… That is why—”
“Yeah,” I nodded, hearing it out loud felt freeing. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do to protect my brother. It’s a special bond, you know? Being brothers.”
Ricard's expression shifted, something like recognition flickering in his eyes.
“I understand that more than you might think, though from the opposite perspective.” He hesitated, then added, “Remy was always the charming one, the one people were naturally drawn to. I was the serious child, always with a book, always following rules.”
“But you still clean up his messes,” I observed.
“I do,” he admitted. “Not because I admire him as you do Casey, but because without him, the monarchy crumbles.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Your devotion comes from love. Mine comes from duty.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked. “Because it sounds like love to me. Just a complicated version.”
Ricard looked startled, as if this possibility had never occurred to him. “Perhaps you're right,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps beneath all the obligations and expectations, there is something as simple and profound as brotherhood.”
“But,” I added, meeting Ricard’s gaze, “that doesn’t mean you should throw away your happiness for him. You deserve to be happy too. To be free.”
Something flickered in his eyes—recognition. He reached out, fingers brushing against mine, a connection that reverberated between us. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For understanding. For being here.”
Silence stretched, and awkwardness crept in, making me consider leaving him alone to process everything.
“If you need to go, you can,” he said. “I don’t want to tie up your day off.”
“I can stay for a bit,” I replied, settling back. Then, trying to lighten the mood, I smirked, “But no hanky-panky.”
Ricard chuckled, warmth returning to his face. “Okay, whatever you want. What were you planning to do before I interrupted?”
I shrugged. “Watch a movie, maybe take a nap. The latest Marvel movie is streaming, and I didn’t get to see it in theaters because of all the drama with Casey.”
A grin spread across Ricard's face, transforming him back into something boyish. “That sounds wonderful. What are they about?”
I stared at him, mouth agape. “Wait. Have you seen any Marvel movies?”
Ricard’s blank look said it all.
“Oh my God. We need to fix this immediately,” I laughed, the excitement bubbling up. “We're starting with Iron Man. No debate. This is like a cultural emergency.”
For the first time since I’d arrived, Ricard’s smile reached his eyes fully. “I surrender to your expertise.”
He showed me how to access the villa's entertainment system and soon the opening scenes of Iron Man were playing.
The surround sound made the opening explosion in Afghanistan feel like it was happening around us.
We settled back on the sofa, initially keeping a respectful distance.
As the movie rolled, that gap began to shrink.
While I shared commentary—explaining references, pointing out Easter eggs, sharing trivia—Ricard listened with genuine interest, chuckling at the right moments. He completely lost it at the “box of scraps” line, laughing harder than I'd ever seen him laugh before.
By the time Tony Stark built his first suit, we had shifted positions entirely.
The formal distance had dissolved into something much more comfortable; me slouched against the armrest, Ricard stretched out with his head practically in my lap, my hand absent-mindedly playing with his hair.
“I see why this is popular,” Ricard murmured.
“What would you do?” I suddenly asked, looking down to face him. “If you could do anything, be anyone?”
Ricard pondered for a moment. “I’d live simply,” he said.
“Somewhere quiet, away from cameras and protocol. I’d read the books I want, not just the required ones.
I’d watch movies like this without worrying about public perception.
” His arm tightened around my waist. “I’d spend weekends like this, just enjoying time with someone who makes me laugh. ”
His words made my heart skip a beat, and suddenly my imagination ran wild with impossible scenarios.
I pictured us in some cabin somewhere, maybe in those mountains he talked about.
Morning coffee on a porch, Ricard in worn jeans instead of designer clothes, hair messy from sleep.
Weekends spent hiking or watching movies or just existing without someone taking our picture or expecting us to be anything other than ourselves.