Chapter 18 #2
The remainder of the dinner passed in excruciating slowness.
Halliwell kept his distance, sticking to the opposite side of the room.
Smart man. When the event finally concluded, I watched Evangeline leave with her mother, her back straight, head held high—every inch the perfect princess. She never once glanced in my direction.
I needed air.
The palace halls were still bustling with departing guests and busy staff clearing away the evening's extravagance. I slipped out a side entrance, heading for the only place I knew would be quiet at this hour—the royal stables.
The night air was bitterly cold, and the stars were brilliant in the clear sky above.
My breath clouded before me as I followed the path down the gentle slope toward the stables.
Like everything else on the palace grounds, the structure was old but immaculately maintained.
Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of hay and horses.
Moving down the centre aisle, the soft whickers of curious horses followed my progress. At the far end, in the last stall, was the grey stallion I'd exercised a few times during my previous stay. Brutus, they called him. A fitting name for the massive beast.
He recognised me, ears pricking forward as I approached. I extended my hand, letting him catch my scent before I stroked his powerful neck.
"At least you're straightforward," I murmured. "No games, no pretence."
Unlike me, who'd been lying to myself for weeks, pretending I could walk away from Evangeline without regret. Pretending I didn't dream about her every night. Pretending I wasn't falling—
No. I wouldn't even think of the word.
Brutus bumped my shoulder with his head, demanding more attention. I obliged, finding comfort in the simple interaction. Animals never wanted more from you than you were willing to give.
"You always did have a way with horses. More than with people, it seems."
The soft voice froze me, and every muscle in my body went taut with awareness. I didn't need to turn to find out who it was. Her voice burned into my memory, along with every breath, sigh, and challenge she'd ever thrown at me.
Her scent reached me before I turned—vanilla and something uniquely her that made my mouth water and my body respond in ways that had nothing to do with professional duty. The sight nearly brought me to my knees when I finally faced her.
Evangeline stood at the entrance to the stall like something from a fairy tale, still wearing that emerald gown that had been torturing me all evening.
The heavy cloak draped over her shoulders had slipped slightly, revealing the elegant line of her collarbones.
Her cheeks were flushed from the night air, making her skin glow in the dim stable lighting, and her hair had come loose from its formal style, soft tendrils framing her face.
She was beautiful. Devastatingly, impossibly beautiful. And she looked at me like I was the only man in the world.
"Princess," I acknowledged, my voice rougher than I intended. The single word came out like gravel, betraying far too much. "It's late. You shouldn't be out here alone."
"I'm not alone," she said simply, stepping closer. "You're here."
The words hung between us, heavy with meaning I wasn't ready to acknowledge.
The space between us felt charged, electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.
I turned back to Brutus, desperate for something to focus on other than how she looked at me, her presence making the air feel too thick to breathe.
"Does Halliwell know where you are?" I asked, hoping she'd dismissed him rather than simply evaded him like she had with me in Luxembourg.
"Roger is enjoying the after-dinner drinks with the delegation from Spain. I dismissed him for the evening." Her voice was steady, but I caught the slight breathlessness underneath. "I didn't want him. I wanted to find you."
My heart hammered against my ribs as I heard her step closer, the soft rustle of silk against hay. The sound was intimate, domestic—entirely at odds with the formal dinner we'd just left. Here, in the warm darkness of the stables, she wasn't a princess. She was just Evangeline.
Just the woman who'd been haunting my every thought for months.
"Evangeline," I said, her name escaping before I could stop it. The informality felt like crossing a line, but I was past caring about lines. "You should go back inside."
"Should I?" She took another step closer. I could feel the heat of her body now and hear the slight catch in her breathing. "Tell me, James—do you want me to go?"
I closed my eyes, fighting for control. Three days until I left Bellavista. Three days to maintain my professional distance. Three days to resist the pull of gravity between us.
But when I opened my eyes and turned to face her, the determination and raw honesty in her gaze made me wonder if three minutes might be asking too much.
She was close enough now that I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat and count the freckles scattered across her nose like stars. Her lips were slightly parted, and I remembered how they'd felt against my skin that night she'd hugged me: soft, warm, and perfect.
"This is dangerous," I said quietly, but didn't step back. Couldn't step back.
"I know." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't care anymore."
She reached up, her fingers barely grazing my jaw, and the touch sent electricity through my entire system. Her skin was silk against mine, and I had to clench my fists to keep from pulling her against me.
"I can't stop thinking about last night," she admitted, her thumb tracing along my jawline. "About what you said. What I said."
"Evangeline—"
"Do you regret it?" she asked, her eyes searching mine. "Walking away from me?"
The honest answer would destroy us both. But looking into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, I couldn't lie.
"Every second since," I said roughly.
Her breath caught, and we stood there for a moment, the truth hanging between us like a live wire. Then she moved closer, eliminating the last inch of space between us, her body almost touching mine.
"Then don't walk away again," she whispered.
The words were barely audible, but they hit me like a sledgehammer. My hands moved of their own accord, one sliding around her waist, the other cupping her face. She was warm, soft, and everything I'd dreamed about during the long, sleepless nights since I'd first met her.
"This…this is madness," I said, even as my thumb traced the line of her cheekbone.
"Then let's be mad," she replied, rising up on her toes, bringing her lips dangerously close to mine.
For one perfect, terrible moment, I almost gave in. I nearly threw away my career, principles, and everything else, just to taste her mouth and claim what my body had been craving for months.
But as her lips nearly touched mine, reality crashed back. In three days, I'd be gone. In three days, she'd be left with Roger Halliwell and whatever consequences came from this moment of madness.
"I can't," I said, the words tearing from my throat. But even as I said it, I didn't let her go. Couldn't let her go.
"Why?" The word was broken, desperate.
"Because when I leave," I said, my forehead resting against hers, "I won't be able to return. And you deserve someone who can stay."
Tears gathered in her eyes, and the sight of them nearly brought me to my knees. "What if I don't want someone who can stay? What if I just want you?"
The question hung between us like a challenge, a promise, everything I'd ever wanted and could never have.
Three days had never felt like such an eternity.