Chapter Twelve
Sophaya
I walk out of my room and nearly slam into six feet four of tall, muscled man.
“Oh.” I step back and crane my neck back to look up at my fiancé. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
Dominic’s deep voice wraps around me. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are warm, his face relaxed.
After the tension of our engagement photos a few days ago, we’ve both kept our distance.
It was hard having that moment of mutual happiness, only to be reminded our every move is being analyzed.
The only reason we came together in Venice was because we were out of the spotlight.
We have chemistry. A child. But I don’t know if it’s possible for us to recapture the magic that happened that night.
I shake off my melancholy and glance down at my watch. “I’m sorry to rush off, but I have an engagement.”
“At the Hospital of Her Majesty Villaluz.”
I frown. “Yes. How’d you know?”
One dark eyebrow arches up. “For all his faults, Enrique is very detail-oriented. I receive both yours and my itinerary every night.”
I press my lips together. “I didn’t get to know him well, but I do recall him having four sisters, including one who is a wedding planner in Italy.”
His mouth quirks slightly. “Of course you do.”
“He’s nice. And efficient.”
“That’s one way to describe him.”
I hesitate. Part of me wants to invite Dominic along, to show him the hospital that provided such incredible care to my grandparents and started my passion for healthcare.
But another part of me remembers the barely constrained frustration during our engagement shoot, the suppressed irritation as he’s dragged through meeting after meeting.
How long until he realizes this life is no longer what he wants?
Except he’s been putting himself through this for nearly two weeks now. No, it’s not a lot of time. But frightened as I am, it’s not fair to make assumptions. He’s showing up right now, and in a big way. That’s what I need to be focusing on instead of the what-if’s.
“Would you like to come with me?”
“Yes, I would.”
Thrilled at his response, we walk to the elevator.
“You met with security yesterday,” I say as the doors close.
I can sense the change in his mood, the darkening of his temper as he pushes the button for the first floor. “I did.”
“I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”
“Better than I expected. My expectations, however, were not overly high to begin with.”
He doesn’t elaborate. I want him to confide in me, would like to have more conversations that don’t revolve around summaries of our days or quiet inquiries about how I’m feeling.
But at least we’re talking. That’s better than what my parents have.
Although my mother has been different these past few days. Ever since Dominic gave me the ring. She’s still reserved, still judgmental. Yet she’s smiled at me more than once, even engaged Dominic in conversation at dinner. I want to embrace this change, want to enjoy it. But I still don’t trust it.
How can I after a lifetime of distance? I never got to see the woman she was before she finally gave up on my father loving her.
It’s hard to imagine her as anything but cold and domineering.
Yet those wistful looks, the small physical touches, have me wondering if she’s thinking back to the beginning of her marriage when she thought she might still be able to have a happily ever after.
The possibility of her reliving that vicious cycle of hope and devastation makes my heart ache even as it serves as a warning. If I let down my guard too much, I could suffer the same fate.
As we walk out the front doors and down the steps to where the limo is waiting, Dominic takes my elbow and quickens his step to move just ahead of me.
He never touched me when he was serving as my bodyguard, but he always stayed close, angling himself between me and potential threats.
Back then it was for the job. Now it’s for the baby.
I’m enjoying it, but I can’t help but wonder how long this tenderness will last.
Dominic promised his fidelity, demanded mine. Yet just like my mother’s changes, it’s hard to believe his dedication will last. Not when his entire life has been upended and the things he thought he would always have—privacy, freedom, autonomy—have been yanked away.
I push those thoughts away. I’m mentally prepared for the eventuality. But right now, I’m going to live in the moment.
The limo ride to the hospital is quiet, peaceful. We wind our way through Silvestra del Mar, the “forest of the sea.” The thick pines create a shadowed canopy, the forest stretching out for kilometers to the east and all the way to the coast to the west.
“You have a beautiful country.”
I look away from the forest to see Dominic watching me. Pleased, I smile.
“I do.” I turn back. “I need to remember that more. Focus on my duty.”
“Is that coming from you or your mother?”
Surprised and slightly irritated, I keep my gaze focused on the trees and the occasional patches of blue overhead. “Regardless of what you think of her, she’s right. I accepted this position. Now I have to do right by it.”
“Accepted? Or were you pushed?”
My jaw tightens. “Regardless, I’m here now. I need to work on accepting that and preparing to be the best queen I can for my country.”
Silence falls again, but this time it’s thick, uncomfortable.
My fear that Dominic will never fully understand royal life rears its head once more.
No, I don’t like that my choices were taken from me, that the dreams I had for my future were crushed.
But unlike my parents and brother, I’m not going to place my personal wants and needs ahead of my people.
The leaders my grandfather installed before relinquishing his crown after his sixtieth birthday have done well.
But I have the opportunity to get involved, bring the crown back to its former glory.
I want to be a part of supporting Siravelle instead of just enjoying the perks of being a royal.
Twenty minutes later the limo starts up the drive to the main entrance of the Hospital of Her Majesty Villaluz. Gleaming white walls and polished windows greet us, along with pots of purple and snow-colored aster blooms.
The hospital has expanded over the years, adding three floors to the initial four and wings for maternity, pediatric care, cancer treatment and other specialties.
My mother and I may not see eye to eye on pretty much anything, but I know she’s been heavily involved in raising funds for the memory care wing.
I stare up at the sixth floor as we round the bend.
The floor I spent most of my time on between my tenth and twelfth birthdays.
It’s bittersweet every time I visit. The memories of lying on my grandparents’ beds as my grandfather underwent treatment, and then my grandmother, are filled with grief.
But I also remember the kindness of the nurses, the doctor who explained the treatments and procedures to me as if he were talking to a colleague instead of a child.
A hand settles over mine. I slowly face Dominic.
He looks conflicted. He starts to say something, then glances past me and swears.
“What?”
I shift. There’s a crowd of reporters outside the main entrance. It’s not unusual for there to be a dozen or so. The palace’s press secretary frequently provides the media with updates of when the royal family will be out conducting visits or attending events.
But today there’s over two dozen, maybe more, many of whom I don’t recognize. The security detail who went on ahead is struggling to keep some of the more overzealous photographers contained as the crowd surges toward the limo.
Unease trickles down my spine.
“It must be because of the photos,” I murmur.
Our engagement photos were released just two days after they were taken. But the one of Dominic holding me close, of us sharing that secret smile before we remembered where we were, went viral across the world, with headlines like Princess and Bodyguard in Love and A Fairy Tale Come True.
I press a button in the door to signal to my driver that I’m ready to get out. “Part of the job.”
“No.” Dominic practically growls the word. “Duty does not require sacrifice of your safety or common sense.”
“Says the man who went into war zones,” I shoot back.
“I signed up for a job where danger was a requirement.” He stabs a finger in the direction of the crowd. “This isn’t just a press conference. That’s a mob.”
I reach for the door handle.
Dominic moves quickly and blocks the door, pinning me in place with his hard gaze. “Don’t get out until I’ve secured the scene.”
I bristle. “Is that a direct order?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He leans in. “Unless you’d rather I kiss you senseless in front of all those reporters.”
Heat bursts inside my chest, spirals through my veins. My gaze drops to his mouth. Has it really been over two months since we last kissed? Two months since I tasted him?
I look back up at him. My sharp inhale echoes in the limo at the glittering desire in his eyes. “Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Hawke?”
His jaw clenches as his nostrils flare. Seeing the effect I have on him is powerful, thrilling. He swears under his breath before opening the door and getting out, closing it with a firm click behind him.
My breath rushes out, and I sink back into the leather seats. I shouldn’t have taunted him. But it was glorious seeing him lose control, seeing the evidence of how much he wanted me in that moment.
Dominic approaches the crowd. They turn as one, pointing cameras and microphones at him, pressing forward as they shout questions.
I lower the window a sliver, lean back at the sheer noise of shutters clicking and people shouting.
Will I be able to even do visits like this for the foreseeable future?
Or will the paparazzi be too disruptive?
Dominic stands in the middle of the walkway and stares at the crowd. They continue to snap photos and lob questions at him for a couple minutes. But gradually the noise dies down as they start to look at each other with confused expressions on their faces.
Finally, there’s silence, save for the occasional click of a camera.
“You have a job to do. So do I. Stay behind the designated perimeter. Treat Her Highness and the patients and visitors of this hospital with respect, or the princess will return to the palace.” I can only see his profile, but I can imagine the intensity in his eyes as he sweeps his gaze over the crowd.
“And for those of you who are here on a media pass or a visa, any unprofessional behavior will result in an immediate revocation.”
My mouth drops open. If our press secretary were here, she’d have a heart attack at Dominic’s blunt speaking.
One man steps forward, not as big as Dominic but still taller than most, with a slender build and slicked back black hair. Wilford, I remember, a paparazzo from London who’s been visiting Siravelle ever since my brother abdicated. Pushy, condescending and oftentimes downright rude.
“Dominic Hawke.”
Wilford’s voice is arrogant, condescending.
Dominic slides his hands into his pants pockets. “Yes?”
“You’ve been here for what, two weeks?”
“Approximately, yes.”
Wilford nods, a smug smile on his narrow face. “We’ll forgive you for being new and not understanding protocol. But if you think you can just come in here and—”
Dominic pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of Wilford.
The reporter blinks, then frowns. “What was that for?”
Dominic doesn’t answer. He looks over Wilford’s shoulder as cameras start to click again, capturing the verbal showdown between the future Prince Consort and the reporter.
“Anyone else?”
No one says a word, including Wilford, although he looks furious.
Dominic nods and walks back to the limo. Cameras explode as he waves off my driver and opens the door. He holds out his hand. “Your Highness?”
I stare at his hand. In the last few months alone, my father’s told me to treat the attention like a game. My mother has reminded me of duty.
Yet Dominic is already forming a habit of standing up for me, caring for me. Habits I could get used to if I’m not careful. A part of me desperately wants to take everything he’s offering. But since my grandparents died, everyone who’s ever offered me anything has always let me down.
I’m nervous to take his hand. Afraid of accepting the help and support he’s offering me.
If I accept it now, if I let myself slip just a little bit deeper, will I become like my mother was after she first said I do?
Craving more of a relationship with my husband even as he keeps himself locked safely away behind his own walls?
But I can’t hesitate now. Not in front of the cameras. It’s just like the engagement photos. I’m playing a role. If I can remind myself of that, I can stay strong against my own feelings.
I lay my hand in his and look up at him. “Thank you, Dominic.”
Surprise flares in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
I stand and face the paparazzi. Dominic starts to withdraw his hand, but I tighten my grip.
I’m breaking protocol. Even my grandparents didn’t hold hands in public.
But as I face down the crowd, I find myself inspired by Dominic to flaunt tradition and do something I want for once.
Something small and personal that not only shows the world the united front we need to be presenting but gives me an extra sliver of strength.
Dominic hesitates. Then he wraps his fingers around mine as we walk into the hospital side by side.