Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
James
Three days. Seventy-two hours since I'd walked away from Bellavista. Three nights since I'd held Evangeline in my arms.
I stared at the London skyline from my office window, rain streaking down the glass in rivulets that matched my dark mood. The city sprawled beneath me—familiar, busy, indifferent. Nothing had changed here whilst I'd been gone, but everything had changed in me.
The memory of that night in the stable-master's quarters haunted me.
Her skin beneath my hands, her taste on my tongue, the sounds she made when I pushed her past the edge of control.
I'd had women before, of course, but never like that.
Never with that intensity, that connection that went beyond physical pleasure to something deeper.
Something dangerous.
I'd left the morning after our night together, despite every instinct screaming at me to stay. I meant to stay for another three days but I physically couldn’t be near her again after fucking her that night, so I gave Dara some spill that I was needed in London.
What else could I do? Although Halliwell might be incompetent, they installed him, and my security company needed my attention.
But leaving her in his hands felt like abandoning her to wolves.
Evangeline had awakened curled against my chest, her golden hair spread across my skin like sunlight. When her eyes opened, I saw the moment she realised what we'd done, what lines we'd crossed.
Neither of us spoke about it. There were no tearful goodbyes, no desperate promises to stay in touch.
We re-dressed ourselves, and we walked back to the palace in the frigid December dawn.
She'd gone to her royal duties, I'd gone to pack my things, and six hours later, I was on a plane back to London.
Professional. Clean. Finished.
Except it wasn't finished. Not for me.
My phone rang, pulling me from the memory. Spencer's name flashed on the screen. I answered it, grateful for the distraction.
"James, I need confirmation you'll be at Sunday dinner," my brother's voice came through, skipping pleasantries as usual. "Mum's planning a full spread, and she'll have my head if you don't show."
"I'm busy," I replied automatically. The last thing I needed was my family's scrutiny. They'd take one look at me and know something was wrong.
"You're always busy. Cancel your plans," Spencer countered. "Everyone will be there. Even Rupert is flying back from Thailand with Veronica. Andrew's bringing Apolonia."
"Who?"
"His assistant. The girl he doesn't realise he's in love with yet," Spencer explained with the weariness of an older brother who's seen it all. "Look, I don't ask for much, but I need you to be there. Dad's been asking about you."
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Fine. I'll be there."
"Good. Now what's wrong with you?"
The question caught me off guard. "Nothing's wrong."
"Bollocks. You sound like someone ran over your dog."
"I don't have a dog."
"That's not the—" Spencer cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. "Is it the princess? Something was in your voice when you deflected those questions at dinner."
My blood ran cold. "There's nothing to discuss."
"So that's a yes," Spencer said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
"I knew it. Call it brotherly intuition, but you've been different since you returned. More... brooding than usual, if that's even possible."
"There's nothing to discuss," I said firmly, though my free hand had clenched into a fist. "The assignment is over. She has her life; I have mine."
"If you say so," Spencer replied, clearly unconvinced.
"Just be at dinner on Sunday. Three o'clock sharp."
After hanging up, I turned back to the window.
Rain continued to batter the glass, the sky was a dull grey that matched my mood perfectly.
Nothing had felt right since I'd returned.
Food had no taste, sleep offered no rest, and work—the one thing that had always centred me—felt hollow and meaningless.
My phone buzzed with a text message from Melissa, a corporate lawyer I'd met at a security consultation. After hearing through mutual contacts that I was back in London, she had reached out yesterday, suggesting dinner at some overpriced restaurant in Mayfair.
Looking forward to tomorrow night. Should I wear the red dress or the black?. x
I stared at the message, trying to summon even a flicker of interest. Melissa was beautiful, intelligent, and uncomplicated. Any normal man would count the hours until their date.
But all I could think was: She's not Evangeline.
I didn't bother responding. What could I say? Sorry, I'm hopelessly fixated on a princess from a country most people can't find on a map? Sorry, I've become the worst cliché in the security handbook—the bodyguard who falls for his principal?
Falls for. The words sent a jolt of panic through me.
No. It wasn't like that. It was attraction, chemistry, maybe even obsession, but not... that. I'd never believed in that kind of emotional surrender, and I wasn't about to start now.
Yet I couldn't stop wondering what she was doing right now. Was she safe? Was that incompetent Halliwell keeping a proper watch? Did she think about our night together, or had she already filed it away as a momentary lapse in judgment?
The thought of returning to Bellavista had crossed my mind more times than I cared to admit. I could create some excuse—a security consultation, a check-in on Halliwell's performance. But what then? Beg for her attention? Become her dirty secret, hidden away from the royal court?
No, I had my pride, my professionalism. It was better this way—a clean break, a return to my ordered life in London.
Even if that life suddenly felt like a prison sentence.
Sunday arrived with unseasonable sunshine, as if the universe were mocking my dark mood.
I drove to my parents' home in Surrey with a sense of dread.
For generations, my father's family had owned the family estate, a sprawling Georgian manor tucked away behind iron gates.
Growing up, I'd always felt most at home in the stables or the wooded grounds, away from the main house with its strict rules and expectations.
My mother answered the door herself, beaming at the sight of me.
"James! Finally, the prodigal son returns," she said, pulling me into a hug, her familiar perfume enveloping me. You look thin. Haven't you been eating properly?"
"I'm fine, Mum," I said, returning her embrace before stepping into the foyer. The house smelled of roasting meat and her famous Yorkshire puddings, a scent that usually brought comfort but now only reminded me of Evangeline's cooking in Luxembourg.
"Everyone's in the garden having drinks. Your father's grilling Spencer about some policy matter." She hooked her arm through mine, guiding me towards the back of the house. "I want to hear all about your time with the princess. What was she like? Is she as beautiful in person as in photographs?"
Even more beautiful. More intelligent. More everything.
"She was a standard principal," I lied.
"Professional relationship, nothing more." Perhaps if I lie enough to other’s, I'll start believing it too.
My mother gave me a knowing look but, thankfully, didn't press further.
We stepped into the garden, where the rest of the family had gathered on the stone patio.
Spencer was deep in conversation with our father, both men gesturing animatedly as they discussed some political nuance.
Andrew lounged in a chair next to a petite blonde who must have been Apolonia, whilst Rupert wrapped his arm around Veronica's waist, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh.
Family. Normal life. This should have felt like coming home.
Instead, it felt like I was watching a play from the audience, disconnected from the scene before me.
"Uncle James!" My niece Maja spotted me first, running over to launch into my arms. I caught her automatically, settling her on my hip.
"Hey, troublemaker," I said, managing a small smile for her benefit. "Been keeping your dad in line?"
"Daddy says I'm his boss," she announced proudly.
"And don't you forget it!," Andrew called over, raising his glass in a mock toast.
The afternoon progressed with a chaotic rhythm unique to our family gatherings.
We ate in the dining room, passing dishes around the massive oak table as multiple conversations flowed.
Questions about my time in Bellavista came frequently, each one twisting the knife a little deeper.
I deflected as best I could, giving vague answers about palace security protocols and the beauty of the countryside, all whilst my mind kept drifting back to Evangeline—wondering if she was safe, if Halliwell was proving as useless as I'd feared.
"So you're done with the royal assignment?" my father asked, passing me the gravy boat. "Seemed like it might have been a good long-term position for you."
"It was always temporary," I replied, avoiding his gaze. "Just covering for someone."
"Shame. Good connections in royal circles," he mused. "Though I suppose with Spencer and Andrew's profiles, we're not exactly hurting for connections."
After dinner, we moved to the sitting room. I positioned myself near the doorway, and old habits made me choose the spot with the best sight lines and quickest exit route. Maja sat on the floor with a book whilst the adults settled into various chairs and sofas.
"Let's see what's going on in the world," my father said, reaching for the remote control and switching on the television.
Spencer and I both groaned simultaneously. "Dad, not the news," Spencer protested. "It's Sunday, family time."
"You two go help your mother in the kitchen then," Dad replied, unmoved. "Tomorrow's vote is important, and I want to see the coverage."