Chapter Two
Dominic
For once, Sophaya doesn’t argue. Just trails behind me as we navigate the crowded dance floor and move into a smaller salon.
Candles flicker atop tall tables draped in violet silken cloth.
Another bar is set up along the wall, with couples and small groups clustered together as they dine on grilled scallops and raw oysters.
Fortunately, other than a curious glance, none of them pay us any attention.
Sophaya pauses only once at the foot of an elaborate staircase. “Where are we going?” Her voice is bland, almost bored. As if she doesn’t care that she literally risked her life pulling a stunt like this.
“Up,” I snap.
“Why?”
“Several men were looking at you.”
“I know you might find it hard to believe, but sometimes men find me attractive.”
I plow forward, ignoring her words even as guilt pricks the base of my neck. I have nothing to feel guilty about. The woman violated my orders, orders that are keeping her alive. She lied to me. She could have been photographed or, worse, hurt.
I tighten my grip as we walk up. Her fingers tense in mine, then slowly relax.
My fingertips press against her palm. Heat sears my skin.
I ignore it. It’s been months since I’ve had sex.
Her Highness may be an irritant I can’t rid myself of, but she’s attractive. My reaction is physical, nothing more.
We reach the third floor. I look in the first room, filled with half a dozen people drinking champagne and examining the art on the walls.
But the second room, boasting a gold floral motif on the wall and a speckled marble fireplace, is empty.
I pull Sophaya in and release her hand before I close the sliding doors behind us.
I exhale. Then, slowly, I turn.
She stands in the middle of the room, the dark blue of her dress a calming presence in the sea of gold wallpaper and black marble along the base of the wall. The wing-like fabric around her arms rustles softly. If Her Highness had her way, I have no doubt she’d fly as far away from me as possible.
“How did you spot me?”
“Your perfume.”
She frowns. “My perfume?”
“It’s distinctive.”
“Made by a perfumier in Ardavela.” Her sigh is quiet, resigned. “Found out by cedarwood and orange blossom.”
“Why did you come?”
She gives me a slight smile. “As you’ve said on several occasions, I like to do what I want when I want.”
An answer I expected. But as I watch my client, I notice the subtle signs that tell me there’s something more going on than a spoiled royal wanting her own way. A slight strain about her mouth, tension in the tendons of her neck, the tight clasp of her hands.
“The real reason, Your Highness.”
She blinks as if surprised. Then, slowly, she looks away, drifts toward the balcony doors as if she’s moving through water. She stops in front of the glass doors, sapphire fabric trailing behind her. “Freedom.”
The word hangs in the air between us as the emotion in that one word hits me hard. Gone is the aloof royal. Now she’s simply a woman sharing something I never expected her to share.
She crosses her arms, her gaze still trained on the ancient city just outside the window. “I lead a privileged life, Mr. Hawke. Blessed, some might say.” She breathes in, the motion making her chest rise and fall. “But a cage is still a cage, no matter how gilded.”
Before I can respond, the doors slide open behind me. I spin around, my hand going for the gun secured in my shoulder harness beneath my tuxedo jacket.
A woman stands in the door, her skin pale and her eyes unfocused. She walks in with stumbling steps as I advance toward her, placing myself between her and Sophaya. “Can I help you?”
“I…” Her face twists into an expression of pain. “I’m sorry. I thought…” She starts to stumble.
Before I can reach out, Sophaya brushes past me and wraps an arm around the woman’s shoulders.
“Your…” I cut myself off before I say Sophaya’s title out loud. “Let me help her.”
“I can help, too.” Sophaya doesn’t even glance at me as she takes on the burden of the woman’s weight and helps her to one of the couches.
I move to the woman’s other side and take hold of her arm. Her skin is clammy, her face flushed.
“What’s your name?” Sophaya asks quietly.
“Maryanne.” The woman shivers as we ease her onto a couch. “I’m so sorry. I thought my boyfriend was in here and…” She stops speaking and swallows hard.
Sophaya glances at me. “Is there a doctor here?”
I nod and pull out my phone. Aiden answers on the second ring.
As we speak, Sophaya talks quietly with Maryanne, then begins examining her. Her movements are confident, assured. She checks Maryanne’s eyes and mouth, then gently presses her fingers under Maryanne’s jaw, her lips moving as she counts heartbeats.
A memory tugs at me. The bio I had written up about her life before her brother’s abdication.
She went through medical training during school, including a nursing assistant program before she graduated from upper secondary school, and then a paramedic program before she enrolled in college.
There had been photos in her file of her touring hospitals, helping out at a clinic.
I’d assumed it had all been a PR stunt, something to make her relatable to the people.
I hang up. “Doctor’s on his way.”
“Okay.” Sophaya glances up at me. “My first guess is food poisoning.”
Maryanne groans. “Lunch. I thought my clams tasted off.”
“Seafood is a common source of food poisoning.” Sophaya glances over her shoulder. “Mr. Hawke, would you bring me that pitcher of water?”
I grab the pitcher and bring it to her.
Sophaya takes it and dips the end of one of the long pieces of fabric trailing down from her sleeves into the water. She wrings it out, then gently sits on the couch next to Maryanne before laying the wet material of what I’m assuming is a very expensive couture gown over Maryanne’s forehead.
Maryanne lets out a shuddering sigh. “Oh, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I turn away and stalk over to the window Sophaya was looking out just moments before.
It’s unsettling to see her like this: caring, knowledgeable, kind.
Part of me wants to believe it’s just an illusion.
But as I glance over my shoulder and see the kind smile on her face as she offers words of encouragement to Maryanne, I know it’s just wishful thinking on my part.
There’s another side to Her Royal Highness, one she’s managed to keep hidden during our time together.
A side that’s unraveling the perception I’ve created, a belief that’s enabled me to keep my distance.
I shove my hands into my pockets, stare out the window as gondolas pass by on the darkened water below. I’m attracted to her. And now, with this new viewpoint, I’m intrigued.
The quiet murmur of her voice reaches my ears, whispers across the back of my neck.
My fingers tighten into fists inside my pockets.
This glimpse of the woman behind the crown doesn’t mean anything.
Even if it wasn’t my duty to protect her, I would never sleep with her.
That small flicker of interest, of something more than just simple lust, rules that out.
I have zero interest in getting involved with a woman beyond dinner and sex.
Life taught me early on that most offers of so-called love come with conditions, painful ones that can rip your soul apart while the people you should be able to depend on walk away without a backward glance.
The room fades away. In the span of a heartbeat, I’m back on my grandmother’s sagging porch, struggling against her surprisingly strong grip as my mother climbs into the car without a single glance, my father at the wheel as he drives away.
Instead of the distant din of voices and music, all I can hear is my own crying as I beg them to come back.
I blink. No one is worth that kind of pain, including Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Sophaya de Marivela. There’s been no indication the princess is even aware of my baser feelings. Her lack of attraction to me makes it easier to step back, to stay in control.
I breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. My heart rate slows.
I identify the emotions—betrayal, abandonment—then mentally store them.
When I served in First Recon’s Wraith Company, we’d talk for ten minutes with each other after every mission.
The danger we faced, the lives we took and the lives we saved.
I hated sharing, but I did what was required.
Now I simply lock it away. It’s my pain to deal with, no one else’s. The fact that Sophaya’s presence is making me even think about my damned childhood is yet another sign I need to distance myself.
The doctor arrives a minute later, along with Maryanne’s frazzled-looking boyfriend.
“Is she okay?” the boyfriend asks. His mask is crushed in one hand as he combs the other through his hair, his eyes fixed on Maryanne.
“She’ll be okay.”
The boyfriend swears as the doctor kneels in front of Maryanne. “She told me she wasn’t feeling good. But I pushed her to come because I…” His voice trails off, and he glances down at his pocket. “I was going to propose.” He shakes his head. “Stupid.”
Normally I’d agree with him. But judging by the way he’s looking at Maryanne like a forlorn puppy, I take pity on him.
I reach into my tuxedo jacket and pull out a Hawke Security card. “Email me. My brother rents out the palazzo every year. He can put you in touch with the owner. When she’s feeling better, bring her back and propose to her in private.”
The man’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”
I nod.
The boyfriend raises his arms like he’s about hug me. I lower my chin and pin him with a stare that has his arms drifting back down to his sides. “Um…thank you.”
I look back just in time to see Sophaya watching us. She turns back to Maryanne and whispers something to her before standing and giving the doctor room to work.
I walk over to Sophaya and gently take her elbow. “Let’s give them some privacy.”
Sophaya nods. I quietly open the doors to the next room, which is also thankfully empty. Lights catch the gold vines painted across the red walls. Paintings trimmed in dark wood cover one wall. Couches done in the same vivid red are scattered around a plush rug.
I close the door gently behind me as Sophaya moves to one of the couches and sits, the voluminous folds of her skirt billowing out across the cushions.
“You did well.”
She glances up at me, her eyes slightly narrowed as if she doesn’t quite believe me. But after a moment, her lips curve up into a small smile. A real one that stabs right through me.
“Thank you.” She lets out a long sigh. “I’m ready to go back to my hotel now. I’ll text Claude and—”
“No.”
The smile disappears. I can practically see the crystals forming in her eyes as her lips thin into a narrow line of royal disapproval. “Excuse me?”
The warmth shifts, morphs into a heat that simmers deep in my gut. Before, when I thought she was just spoiled, her little shows of defiance were irritating. But now her insolence sends that heat spreading through me.
I advance toward the couch. She doesn’t back down, doesn’t shrink. No, she straightens her shoulders and lifts that pointed chin once more.
“You broke my trust tonight, Your Highness. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”