Chapter Eleven
Dominic
I never dreamed of being a king as a kid. Fed, yes. Sleeping in a bed instead of a dumpster or a cardboard box. Occasionally, I’d imagine what it would be like to live in one of the penthouses I’d gaze up at when I ventured to the Upper East Side in search of fatter wallets.
But being a secret prince or heir to a kingdom never crossed my mind. And after a week of living in Siravelle, I don’t understand why anyone would want that. It’s hell.
I look at myself in the mirror. I wore suits back in New York, especially when I had client or investor meetings.
But I also wore my share of T-shirts and jeans.
Some of the rougher, grittier jobs demanded it.
I doubt I’ll be wearing many pairs of jeans from here on out.
Tailored suits like this will be my uniform from now on.
I frown. I don’t regret the decisions I’ve made.
Turning Hawke Security over to my vice president was hard.
But Henry Tucker served with me in the Rangers, as did a handful of my bodyguards.
Men who, like Aiden and Cassian, proved they could have my back.
We may not have been best friends. But I knew I could count on them when it mattered.
It’s strange, I don’t even miss New York that much.
I spent over thirty years of my life there.
There were some good memories, sure, but plenty of bad ones, too.
Horrific memories that, if I ever let my guard down, would drag me back down into a painful place I’m not sure I’d be able to crawl out of again.
Walking out onto my balcony that first day, breathing in the salt air and seeing the glimmering green forest, the deep blue of the sea, was like waking up and realizing the dream is real.
One of the few bright spots in my new life. A life Sophaya tried to warn me about.
The first day was as close to as normal as I got, and that was including witnessing Sophaya’s parents’ nasty argument and abysmal treatment of their daughter. No wonder the woman was ice-cold when I first met her. Probably the only way she could survive those two.
After Sophaya left, I spent the rest of the day exploring the palace.
Most people eyed me with curiosity, but the black badge trimmed in gold kept people from asking questions.
I didn’t see Sophaya again until dinner.
Probably for the best, since my temper was still simmering from her offer to let me indulge myself elsewhere after we were married.
My second day was getting assigned my own aide, Enrique, and receiving a formal tour of the palace. Our engagement was formally announced to the press that evening.
Thankfully I’d told Aiden and Cassian about my engagement before I flew to Siravelle. Cassian had been shocked. Aiden had been surprised, too, but hadn’t asked even half the questions Cassian had, as if he’d suspected something all along.
The last two days have been back-to-back meetings, introductions and more meetings.
Our wedding is three weeks away, an official month after the announcement of our engagement went out.
Thankfully my French is passable enough I don’t have to undergo tutoring to learn Siravelle’s official language.
Even though the majority of the population speaks both French and English, adapting to their customs is the right thing to do.
But there’s still plenty of learning. In addition to the crash course on Siravellian politics, geography and history, I’m also attending meetings on the wedding, an event that seems to focus more on making a spectacle than on Sophaya and I actually getting married.
There are moments when my temper flares, when I have to bite back my words.
My schedule is planned out before I wake up.
Unless I’m in the privacy of my suite, someone is with me at all times.
It’s like being yanked back into the foster care home I lived in before I took to the streets, a place where the refrigerator was kept locked and I had to provide a full accounting of my whereabouts if I was more than five minutes late getting home from school.
I’m putting up with it. For now. For Sophaya. But I won’t tolerate it for much longer.
My frown deepens. I’ve barely seen Sophaya unless it’s in passing, usually at meals as I’m on my way in and she’s on her way out. To others she may seem calm, composed. But I see the signs of the strain: the darkness under her eyes, the paleness of her skin, the listlessness in her movements.
Today, though, I’ll get to see her for more than five minutes. Our formal engagement photos are being taken in the palace gardens.
I slip my hand into my pocket, my fingers closing around the blue velvet box.
After seeing the way Sophaya is moved around like a doll, I ventured outside the palace yesterday.
Enrique squawked that I should have a driver, or at the very least a bodyguard as I walked out to the twelve-car garage.
My retort that I had not only served as a private bodyguard for the Crown Princess herself but also had six years as an Army Ranger under my belt fell on deaf ears.
So I left. Drove to the small town of Ardavela an hour away, an artisan’s community tucked into the cradle of a valley next to a soaring mountain.
Woodworkers, the perfumier Sophaya mentioned in Venice, glassblowers, chocolatiers and gemstone setters operating out of stone cottages that looked like they came from a storybook.
It only took me half an hour to find what I wanted. I may not be able to give Sophaya much by way of emotion. But I can at least give her something that’s hers and hers alone.
Ten minutes later I’m walking the gallery that leads out to the garden. Unlike the private hallway outside Sophaya’s and my suites, the walls here are lined with formal portraits, paintings of current and past royals dating back centuries.
Including one of a dark-haired little girl with bright blue eyes seated on the edge of a chair, hands folded in her lap. Even as a child she looks distant, removed. The opposite of the vibrant, passionate woman I glimpsed in Venice.
It’s normal for me to miss her, understandable given our chemistry and history. She’s the only familiar element in a new environment. It’s not indicative of anything more.
I walk out into the gardens. The doors open onto a stone terrace with urns overflowing with jewel-toned flowers.
Steps lead down onto a well-manicured lawn that stretches toward a multitiered fountain.
Rose beds line the lawn, with deep red, ivory and pale pink buds still in bloom despite the early autumn chill.
The splendor is decidedly lowered by the number of people rushing about. I spy Enrique on the phone as his fingers fly over the screen of a tablet. The king and queen are off to the side with a small entourage, while two photographers are working on a set of very expensive-looking cameras.
But no sign of Sophaya.
I take a step forward. Movement to my left has me turning my head.
And I freeze.
Sophaya is standing off to the side behind a potted pine tree that hides her from view of the people running around on the lawn.
Her pale blue pencil dress clings to her curves, with a wrap skirt belted about the waist. Pink roses trim the hem of the neckline and the edges of the skirt.
Her dark hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders.
Elegant. Classy. And absolutely beautiful as she kneels down to speak to a small boy dressed in a suit. There’s a real smile on her face, a light in her eyes I haven’t seen in far too long. The boy says something that makes her laugh, a throaty chuckle that grips me tight.
I like this about her. She takes time to get to know people on a deeper level. I noticed this trait before, but I disregarded it, focused on her attitude towards me. I kept her at arm’s length to better ignore the physical attraction I couldn’t get rid of.
She glances up and smiles at me. My body tightens. It’s the first time she’s smiled like that since Venice.
She says something else to the little boy, who turns to look at me.
His eyes widen. “Are you really a prince?”
I crouch down, ignoring Sophaya’s muffled laughter. “Not yet.”
“But you will be one day.”
I nod. “Soon.”
“Wow.” The boy grins. “I hope I can be like you when I grow up.”
The words hit me square in the chest as the boy runs off.
It’s been years since I’ve interacted with children.
Once John took us in, I didn’t have much to do with kids.
But in the nearly ten years I spent on the streets, I took more than one under my wing, some not much older than that boy.
I used to think of them as my younger siblings.
And now, I’m going to be a father.
Sophaya’s barely smothered laugh has me glancing up at her. “Prince, huh? Nicely done.”
Sophaya grins at me as I stand. “I couldn’t resist.”
Dangerous. Every moment I spend with her now is reinforcing what I learned about her in Venice. She’s sophisticated, commanding and intelligent. But also kind, caring, playful. The more I see of the woman behind the crown, the harder it’s becoming not to let down my guard and engage.
“Who’s the kid?”
“One of the photographer’s assistants’ kids. No school today, so he got stuck following his dad around.” Her smile dims as she peers around the tree. “Ready for the circus?”
“Almost.”
I reach down and grab her left hand, then frown when I see a silver, diamond-studded band set with a large square diamond in the center on her ring finger. The stone is huge, as if the ring were selected purely for its size.
“Where did this come from?”
Her lips thin. “My mother. She had it ordered as soon as I told her about the engagement. I understand needing a ring after we made the announcement, but it’s just—”
“It’s not you.”
She blinks. “No. It’s not.”
I start to slide the ring off her finger. She flexes her hand. “I don’t like it,” she says in a hushed voice, “but I do need something for the photos.”
“And I have something.”