Chapter 21
Ricard
My car waited at the resort’s entrance, but I lingered at my villa, my hands gripping the patio's stone balustrade as if anchoring myself to this beautiful but temporary escape.
Behind me, the sliding glass door opened, revealing Vincent Stone's confident stride.
He joined me, his gaze fixed on the distant hills shimmering in the afternoon heat.
“Beautiful view,” he said, his tone casual yet somehow imbued with the weight of understanding.
“I never tire of it, even after all these years. Something about those hills makes everything else seem... ordinary.”
“I can see why,” I replied, though the beauty of Dove Canyon paled against the ache in my chest, an ache born not from the landscape but from the fleeting nature of my time here.
“Your car is ready whenever you are, Your Grace. No rush. I wanted to check if you needed anything before you leave.” Vincent’s voice carried a professional kindness that surprised me, a warmth beneath the polished veneer that seemed particular to him rather than part of the establishment's practiced hospitality.
“Thank you, but everything is in order. Sébastien has the logistics handled for my arrival in Dallas,” I assured him, doing my best to sound composed.
Vincent nodded, then hesitated, as if weighing his next words. “I hope your stay with us was... satisfactory,” he said. “Given the circumstances of your departure, I understand you may not have experienced everything Dove Canyon has to offer.”
A hollow laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “On the contrary,” I said, unable to keep the edge of bitterness from my voice. “I believe I found something far more significant than what was advertised in your brochure.”
His smile acknowledged the weight of my words without needing elaboration. For a moment, we stood in silence, both aware of the unspoken name between us: Theo. I could still hear his parting words, still feel the ghost of his touch, still sense the hollow space his absence had carved within me.
“Will we see you again at Dove Canyon, Your Grace?” Vincent inquired, his tone deliberately light. “When your situation has resolved itself?”
“I hope so,” I said, knowing I was only half-convinced.
The uncharted sea of my future loomed with responsibilities I wasn’t prepared to face.
If Remy renounced his claim to the throne…
“This place has been transformative,” I continued, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“Though perhaps not in the way I initially anticipated when Julius recommended it.”
“In my experience, Your Grace, the most valuable experiences here are rarely the ones listed in our amenities package.” Vincent touched my shoulder, a surprisingly comforting gesture. “The door is always open. I believe you found something here worth holding onto, something beyond pleasure.”
I didn’t respond, but I appreciated his insight. Vincent understood the deeper yearnings that motivated people to come to Dove Canyon—yet how could I place those desires alongside my duties?
“I should go,” I said, straightening my posture. “My brother is waiting in Dallas.”
Vincent nodded, stepping back to allow me to pass. “Of course. I’ll walk you out.”
We moved through the resort in silence, my thoughts drifting back to Theo's face when we fought. The hurt in his eyes haunted me. I'd been harsh, defensive—hiding behind duty and title when I should have been honest.
"I handled things poorly with Theo," I admitted, surprising myself by speaking aloud.
Vincent paused. "Endings are rarely elegant, Your Grace."
"I suppose," I trailed off, unsure what I actually wished I'd said. That I cared? That in another life, things might have been different?
"Is there a message you'd like me to pass along?" Vincent asked quietly.
I considered it, picturing Theo's face, remembering how he'd looked at me like I was just a man, not a title. How freeing that had felt.
"No," I finally said. "Some things shouldn't be delivered secondhand."
At the resort's entrance, the sleek black car awaited. A driver stood at attention by the rear door, ready to open it at my approach. But next to the car stood Ibrahim Nassar, the imposing Master of the ranch, dressed impeccably in white leather.
“Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “I wished to bid you farewell. I hope you found what you needed during your stay,” he added, extending his hand. “And if not, we’ll be here when you return.”
I grasped his hand, surprised to find sincerity in my voice. “This visit was life-changing. Whatever happens next, I won't forget what I experienced here.”
Vincent smiled. “That’s the best compliment we could receive.”
As I slid into the waiting car, the door closed with a firm thunk, sealing me in the leather-scented interior.
Through the tinted window, Vincent and Ibrahim grew smaller, standing guard at the entrance to the world I was leaving behind, a world that had briefly offered the illusion of choice and authenticity.
I leaned my head against the cool glass, closing my eyes against the unexpected sting of tears.
Ridiculous, I told myself, moody over a brief dalliance with a young man I had barely known but who had affected me in ways I didn’t yet comprehend.
A duke of Avaline, heir to centuries of tradition, moved to emotion by a few days' connection with a brash young American who cared nothing for my title.
At least when I'm getting fucked, it's for a paycheck. You're the one who's really bound up, getting fucked over by your own family and calling it duty.
Theo’s parting words cut through my reverie. Had he seen something in me that I couldn’t recognize? Or was he just lashing out, unable to grasp the complexities of royal duty? The rawness of our last exchange left an emotional wound that refused to close.
I opened my eyes, redirecting my focus to the changing landscape. The lush grounds of Dove Canyon gave way to the rugged beauty of the Texas Hill Country, rolling terrain dotted with cedar trees, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Far removed from the manicured gardens of Avaline.
The car turned onto the main highway, smoothly accelerating toward the private airfield.
I reached for my new phone—a replacement for the one I'd impulsively hurled into the pool—and checked for messages.
A flurry awaited: several from Sébastien confirming travel arrangements, one from Julius wishing me well, and a single text from Remy: Looking forward to seeing you. We have much to discuss.
I set the phone aside without responding. What was there to say? I was returning to my duties, and a life preordained at birth. The brief interlude of freedom, and passion, at Dove Canyon would fade like a dream upon waking, leaving lingering feelings of loss.
The flight to Dallas was short, barely enough time for one glass of wine before we began our descent toward another airfield. Soon, I was stepping into yet another black car, en route to the hotel where Remy awaited.
Already I could feel the machinery of royal obligation whirring back to life around me.
My phone had vibrated continuously during the flight—messages from the Royal Chamberlain about the revised schedule for the upcoming anniversary ceremonies; an urgent note from our Ambassador to the EU regarding trade negotiations that might be affected by the current turmoil; a discreet inquiry from Cardinal Moreau about whether I would require a private audience upon my return to discuss “matters of spiritual significance”—code for exploring the theological implications of succession changes.
Sébastien met me at the entrance to the hotel, his familiar presence a comforting anchor amid my tumultuous feelings.
He looked impeccable as always, his crisp suit and perfectly knotted tie in stark contrast to my disheveled state.
His concern as he assessed me was evident.
“Your Grace,” he greeted with a slight bow. “Did you have a pleasant journey?”
“As comfortable as could be,” I replied, trailing him through the opulent lobby to the elevators. “Any updates I should know about?”
Sébastien pressed the button for the top floor.
“His Highness is anxious to speak with you,” he said in a low voice.
“He delayed our departure until tomorrow morning and is reportedly pacing the suite. The latest statements from the Palace about Princess Helene’s absence have stirred further speculation in the press. ”
I sighed, leaning against the polished wood paneling. “Of course it has. The vultures are circling.”
“Indeed,” he said, his tone neutral yet laced with understanding.
Sébastien was skilled at agreeing with me without judgment, a valuable talent in his role.
“I took the liberty of preparing rooms for you tonight. Your suite is adjacent to His Highness’s.
Once upstairs, I can unpack your essentials and press your dinner attire.
He has requested a private dinner at eight. ”
The elevator doors opened onto a hushed corridor carpeted in deep burgundy.
Sébastien led the way to a set of double doors guarded by two men in dark suits—Remy’s security detail, who nodded respectfully as we passed.
My own accommodations were similarly grand, decorated in muted golds and creams, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Dallas skyline.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” Sébastien asked as he followed me into the suite, closing the door behind us.
I loosened my tie, the weight of the day crashing down on me. “A drink, perhaps,” I replied, moving to the window to gaze out at the city. “Scotch, if they have it.”
“Of course.” Sébastien moved to the bar cart, the soft clink of glass the only sound in the room.