Chapter Three #3
“Sentenced. Condemned.” If my mother heard me talking like this, especially to a member of the staff, she’d have a heart attack.
“There are things I like. But I wanted…” My voice trails off.
For whatever reason, Dominic is being kind.
Polite. That doesn’t mean I have to burden him with my poor little princess sob story. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”
“What did you want?”
My head snaps up, and my eyes lock onto his.
He’s staring at me. He’s not aloof or judging.
No, he’s curious. About me. Sophaya, not Her Royal Highness.
I was used to curiosity about my royal status growing up, but I still had traces of myself.
Now the only things people care about are my title, my image.
Which makes Dominic’s interest in me all the more seductive.
The heat spreads. My dress grows tight as I draw in a deep breath, press my thighs together.
Despite my bare shoulders and back, my gown covers me.
Yet I feel like I’m on the verge of being stripped bare. Laid out for Dominic to see entirely.
God help me, I want him to see me. For just one night, I want someone to see me as more than the Crown Princess of Siravelle.
“I wanted to get a nursing degree, but my parents encouraged me to do biology. To keep my options open.” Bitterness creeps into my tone, but this time I don’t bother to hide it.
“They were more concerned about how it would look for a princess to become a nurse. But I thought I could still get another degree later on, maybe even go to medical school. I’d never be able to work full-time in health care, but I could do some classes and training to keep myself current with the industry, work a shift here and there.
Every royal has to pick a charity to oversee and an organization to get involved in.
I wanted to manage our children’s health foundation and work with the primary hospital in our capital city, Villeluz. ”
I can still remember the day I got the call.
The one that turned my life upside down.
I’d been sitting in the library at Oxford working on my application for Yale.
I’d been cautiously optimistic. One of the few things that could sway my parents was clout.
Yale had the kind of prestige they fawned over.
Until I saw my mother’s name appear on my screen.
Until she’d uttered the two sentences that had changed my life forever.
“I finished my degree last summer but stayed on for an extra class and a workshop. I liked Oxford better than being home. I was hoping to talk my parents into letting me go to Yale for a graduate degree in nursing that accepted students like me with health care experience and related degrees.” My throat tightens.
“My mother called in November. She told me my brother had decided to abdicate, and I was now in line for the throne.” I force a small smile.
“I finished my classes. Packed up my apartment and moved back to Siravelle. My formal acceptance of the role of heir to the throne was announced around Christmas. And here I am.”
I hate the catch in my voice, hate the vulnerability as Dominic’s eyes narrow slightly. “When I read that you volunteered in healthcare, I imagined visiting patients and taking photos.”
“I do that, too. I still get to. But I also take…took vitals, changed dressings, helped with baths. I managed to talk my bodyguard at Oxford into letting me volunteer at a couple of medical clinics in town.” My smile this time is genuine. “I even did a few ride-alongs with some of the ambulances.”
“And now you’re going to be queen.”
The memories disappear, replaced by the cold stark reality of my present. “Yes,” I murmur softly. “Queen Sophaya de Miravela of Siravelle.”
Dominic shifts again, just slightly, but enough for me to suddenly realize how much he’s pressing himself into the seat so he’s touching me as little as possible.
The same thing I’ve been doing, but the man is easily six foot four, perhaps even a touch more.
Not the easiest of feats for a man Dominic’s size when we’re sitting side by side in a skinny boat.
“You can stretch your arm out if you need to.”
He arches a brow at me. “I’ve been in far more uncomfortable places than this.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I reply dryly. “Seriously, stretch out. We’ve already danced together. Putting your arm behind me isn’t exactly a marriage proposal.”
He stares at me for a long second, his whiskey brown eyes almost black as we navigate the narrow stone and stucco corridors of the Floating City.
Then, slowly, he brings one large arm up and places it behind me.
The sleeve of his tuxedo jacket brushes my bare back.
I arch forward slightly. If I was just a woman and Dominic Hawke was just a man, I would lean back against his arm, enjoy the heat of his body next to mine.
Let him warm parts of me that have been frozen for so long.
But I’m the future leader of my country. And Dominic is my bodyguard. There will be no sensual affair, no sudden declarations of true love.
I may be a princess. But my life is nowhere close to a fairy tale. And there’s no chance in heaven or hell that Dominic Hawke is my Prince Charming.