Big, Burly Bodyguard (Lone Star Security Romance #3)

Chapter 1

chapter

one

Evelyn

Every little girl dreams of being a princess.

Except me. Probably because I am a princess. Literally.

My father is the King of Saldania, a small island nation off the coast of Great Britain. Much like England, our monarchy is mostly symbolic at this point. While Parliament runs the actual government. That said, there are still a lot of expectations that go along with being a princess.

So yeah, being a princess is not a fairytale.

Instead, it comes with dress codes, schedules, posture corrections, and whispered reminders. Every choice is reviewed before it’s ever truly yours. Including what charities I could support and who I would marry.

In case you’re wondering, I have been betrothed to one Harold William Frederick Pendergast, a duke of immense wealth. Money he obviously needs because he must spend an extraordinary amount on hair pomades and shoes. He’s polite enough, but there’s no spark.

My parents aren’t cruel. That’s the part people don’t understand. They love me. They’ve always loved me. They’ve raised me to be polite and responsible and aware of the world beyond myself. They believe in duty, in legacy, in doing what’s required even when it’s uncomfortable.

I do too. Or at least, I’ve tried to.

There are rules for everything. What I wear. What I say. Where I go. Even how I grieve, how I celebrate, how much of myself I’m allowed to show in public. None of which are meant to punish me. They’re meant to protect the image. The institution. The idea of us.

And I understand why that matters.

But sometimes it feels like living inside a glass case—beautiful, admired, and untouched. Safe, yes. But sealed off from the air.

I don’t want to dismantle anything. I don’t want to hurt my parents or embarrass my country or set fire to traditions that have held for generations. I just want to breathe. To wake up and decide what kind of day I’m going to have without consulting anyone first.

I want a life where my worth isn’t tied to how well I perform. Where love isn’t strategic and choices aren’t weighed like negotiations. Where I can be quiet or loud or uncertain without it becoming a political statement.

I’ve spent my life being shaped to occupy space carefully. To speak only when appropriate. To smile, but not too broadly. To weigh every word, every step, every expression as if it might tip the balance of something fragile and invisible.

I’m good at a lot of it.

I know which fork to use and how to greet dignitaries and when to lower my gaze just enough to be gracious without seeming weak. I know how to stand still for photographs and how to make conversation that reveals nothing. I know how to belong everywhere without ever quite being anywhere.

What I’m not good at is wanting more.

God, that feels so greedy to even think. I’ve never wanted for anything in my entire life. At least nothing tactile. My every need is often met before I even know what it is.

And I am grateful for the opportunities, the care, the safety.

But gratitude doesn’t erase longing.

And longing doesn’t make me ungrateful.

It just makes me human.

So yeah, I want more. I want to be able to make mistakes, have a bad haircut, and walk barefoot in my garden. I want to eat something out of a can, learn to drive a car, and bake cookies from scratch.

I want to be a normal person. And more than anything, I want to fall in love. I know that’s unlikely, but I also know it will never happen as long as I stay in Saldania and marry Harold.

In my desperation, I reached out to an old friend and asked for help.

Birdie Crawford’s face fills my laptop screen a second before the sound catches up. We’ve been friends since we were children, and once upon a time, she was supposed to marry my brother. Instead, she escaped our small island nation and moved to America, and married for love.

Currently, she’s sitting at her kitchen table, hair pulled up, giant cup of something–most likely iced water–already in hand.

She’s comfortable and free.

Everything I’m not.

“Hello,” I say.

“Evelyn, tell me that isn’t a giant bow in your hair,” Birdie says. She leans closer to her screen as if to see me better.

I sigh. “I wish I could tell you that, but you know how my mother is.”

“Well, then I guess this call couldn’t have come at a better time,” she says.

“Does that mean you have good news?”

She grins broadly. “It absolutely does!”

My heart pounds, and I glance around my room to make sure that no one has silently appeared. You’d be surprised how often that happens. Evidently, the royal staff is trained by Navy SEALs. They’re very stealthy.

“Harrison and I found someone,” she says.

“Someone… like someone someone?” I ask.

“Yes. A man. And he’s handsome and kind and very rich.”

I wave my hand. “None of that is important. I just need to know if he’s willing to marry me. Legally?”

The screen freezes for half a second, like even the connection knows this part matters.

Her expression sharpens just a touch. “Yes, he absolutely is.” She takes another sip of her drink. “I just want to make sure you’re certain. It was one thing for me to escape a royal marriage. I wasn’t the royal one. But you… ” She shakes her head.

“If I stay here, I’ll be miserable. You know that. Thank God I’m not responsible for producing the heir. That would be wretched.”

“That was supposed to be my job,” Birdie says with a chuckle.

“Exactly, it’s not as if I’m their only option to make a good match. Or whatever that nonsense is. I have two younger sisters. Not that I want the same fate to fall upon them. But at least I know one of them won’t mind.”

“Francine,” we both say in unison.

I laugh. “I’m surprised she hasn’t poisoned me in my sleep. She has lofty goals for herself, but only where money and prestige are concerned. I just want to live a normal life.”

Birdie exhales, long and slow. “Okay. Then let’s plan this out.”

Relief loosens something in my chest and tears sting at my eyes.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “You’ll still be married and not to a man of your choice.”

“I know. But it won’t be permanent. It will ruin the betrothal to Harold, and once that is resolved, my American marriage will be able to end. Then I can at least have the opportunity to fall in love.”

“Or maybe you’ll fall in love with your American husband. Like I did.”

“Maybe.” But that seems unlikely for lightning to strike in the same way twice.

“If you’re certain, then we’ll make arrangements for you to come to America. The story is that you’re coming here for my baby shower and staying until the baby is born. A nice visit between old friends.”

“I would like to meet your baby. And your husband.”

She nods. “We can make that happen. After you’re safely married.”

“What will I need to do when I arrive?” I ask.

“Nothing. We’ll take care of everything. Mike will handle the paperwork. Lawyers. Optics. Whatever else is needed.”

“Mike? Is that his name?”

“It is. He’s a good guy, Evelyn. Even if things don’t work out between the two of you the way things did between Harrison and me, he won’t make you miserable.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thank you.”

“You won’t be alone,” she says. “Not at any point. Harrison’s already worked out the details with Mike. Quietly. We’ll keep this small. It’ll be a private ceremony. No cameras. No public announcements. Or trumpets.”

“That sounds… blissful,” I say.

“No giant bows in your hair,” she adds.

That makes me laugh. “Maybe I’ll bring this one with me so you can try it on.”

“How generous of you.” She stretches her back, and then one of her hands disappears, no doubt to rest on her baby bump.

A pang of jealousy pricks at me and I shove it away. I wouldn’t ever want to take anything away from Birdie. She’s an amazing person. I just want what she has too.

“Once you leave, things will move fast. Your parents will be angry. The press will speculate. There will be consequences.”

“I know,” I say again. This time steadier. “There are consequences if I stay, too. They’re just quieter. And more permanent. If I stay here and marry Harold, I’ll disappear, Birdie. It’s been hard enough staying myself with just my parents at the helm. But to be his wife.” I shudder.

She gives me a genuine smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask for help for a long time, Evelyn.”

That does it. A tear slips free before I can stop it.

“Hey,” she says gently. “No crying. This is the part where your life starts to belong to you.”

I laugh weakly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple,” she says. “But it’s worth it.”

I take a steadying breath and straighten my shoulders, even though no one of importance is watching. Old habits.

“Thank you,” I say. “For doing this. For not telling me I’m selfish or foolish or—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts. “You’re brave. And you’ve been brave for so long, enduring life in your gilded cage. Soon you can be brave and spread those wings.”

The words settle into me.

“I’ll send you a list of what you need to pack. Keep it light. We’ll buy anything else here.”

The idea of packing my life into a suitcase makes my chest flutter with equal parts terror and excitement.

“Okay,” I say. “Tomorrow.”

She smiles again, brighter this time. “Get some sleep, Princess.”

I roll my eyes. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

She grins.

The call ends, the screen going dark.

I stare at my own reflection for a moment longer, then I close the laptop.

For the first time in my life, the future feels terrifying in the best possible way.