Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Evangeline
Luxembourg greeted us with a blanket of fresh snow; the city transformed into a winter wonderland during our absence.
From the car window, I watched students trudging between buildings on campus, their colorful scarves providing the only relief against the pristine white landscape.
After the suffocating formality of the palace and Alexandra's funeral, returning to university felt like finally exhaling.
James sat beside me in the car, silent and stone-faced. We'd established boundaries in Bellavista — agreed that our night together was simply that. One night, nothing more. Yet the space between us crackled with tension, with everything we refused to acknowledge.
The penthouse felt cold and abandoned when we finally entered. My plants had died, the milk had spoiled in the refrigerator, and dust had settled on every surface.
"Everything is secure," James reported after his methodical inspection. "I'll bring up the luggage."
I nodded, sinking onto the sofa as he disappeared into the hallway.
The past weeks had been a blur of grief and royal obligations—Alexandra's funeral, the state dinner I'd attended in her place, endless meetings with advisors about the transition of responsibilities.
Through it all, James had been my shadow—present but unreachable.
January passed in a flurry of classes and study sessions. I threw myself into my academics with singular focus, finding it easier to immerse myself in animal anatomy than to confront what awaited me after graduation—a crown I'd never wanted, responsibilities I'd never been prepared for.
By month's end, I'd submitted applications to three veterinary practices in Sicily. The prospect of three months practicing medicine before assuming royal duties felt like a precious gift—one final taste of life before embracing the life chosen for me.
"I've applied for some internships in Sicily," I said during one of our silent dinners. "For the three months I have after graduation."
James looked up from his plate. "Sicily?"
"Yes. There are excellent veterinary practices there that work with both domestic and wild animals." I pushed my food around my plate. "My mother has agreed to give me these three months before... before I return to Bellavista permanently."
A flicker of something crossed his face. "I know Sicily well."
This surprised me. "You do?"
"My father is half Italian. My grandfather had a farm there—still does." For once, his voice held genuine warmth. "I spent nearly every summer there as a boy with my brothers."
I tried to imagine him as a child—this imposing man who revealed so little of himself. "That sounds wonderful."
"It was." His expression softened momentarily. "My grandfather taught me everything about farm life—how to milk cows, care for horses, deliver lambs. It's where I learned to love animals."
The revelation stunned me. In all our time together, he'd never shared something so personal. "Is that why you seemed interested when I talked about my veterinary studies?"
He nodded, then seemed to catch himself, his professional mask sliding back into place. "I'll need to make security arrangements for Sicily, assess the locations."
"You'll come with me, then?" The question slipped out, more vulnerable than I'd intended.
His eyes met mine. "Where you go, I go. That's the arrangement."
The word stung. It was as if his presence in my life was nothing more than a security guard.
"I know what your job is, James," I muttered under my breath. "But I'd like to think we're more than just client and security detail by now."
"Are we?" His expression was unreadable. "We agreed to maintain professional boundaries."
"Professional doesn't have to mean cold." I met his gaze. "Surely we can have actual conversations."
He considered this for a long moment. "What kind of conversations did you have in mind?"
"Real ones," I replied. "About real things. Like what happened five years ago that someone tried to use against me."
His expression sharpened at the mention of the past threat. The kidnapping in Luxembourg, the dead kitten at my door—both connected to a secret I'd kept buried for years.
"You weren't ready to talk about that before," he said carefully. "What's changed?"
"I trust you."
Those three words hung between us, changing something fundamental in the atmosphere. James leaned forward, his full attention focused on me with an intensity that made my heart race.
"Then talk to me," he said, his voice low. "Tell me what happened five years ago."
I closed my eyes briefly, gathering courage. When I opened them again, his gaze was still fixed on me, patient but unyielding.
"Five years ago, I made a terrible mistake," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "I was young, rebellious, chafing against royal restrictions. There was a butler at the palace—Anton. He was handsome, attentive, and made me feel like a normal girl instead of a princess."
James's expression remained neutral, but I could see the intensity in his eyes.
"We began a secret relationship. Nothing serious—stolen kisses in corridors, secret meetings in the gardens.
It was the thrill of the forbidden more than anything else.
" I took a deep breath. "One night, we were discovered in an.
.. extremely compromising position. I was on my knees, and he was. .. well."
Understanding dawned on James's face. "Someone caught you."
"One of the older maids. She went straight to my mother.
" The shame of that night burned fresh. "The scandal was contained immediately.
Anton was dismissed with a generous severance package and a nondisclosure agreement.
But rumors still circulated. The palace staff knew.
Certain members of Bellavistan society were suspicious. "
"A Certain Member, you mean Viktor Kozlov?"
I nodded, surprised he'd made the connection so quickly. "My mother arranged the engagement shortly after. Viktor was politically advantageous—son of a Russian oligarch with ties to several royal houses. The perfect distraction from my indiscretion. The perfect way to rehabilitate my image."
"But he wasn't what he seemed," James prompted.
"No. In private, he was controlling, possessive. He'd criticize everything—my clothes, my friends, my interests. He monitored my calls, questioned my whereabouts. Small things that grew larger over time."
James's expression darkened. "He hurt you."
"Not physically. Not at first." I wrapped my hands around my water glass. "For three months, I endured it. Told myself it was my duty. That all marriages had challenges."
"What happened to end it?" His voice was tight with controlled anger.
"A palace garden party. Viktor had been drinking heavily.
He followed me inside and accused me of flirting with a Spanish diplomat.
" The memory was vivid—the dim corridor, distant laughter from the garden, Viktor's crushing grip on my arm.
"When I denied it, he called me a liar, a slut. That I should learn my place."
James's fingers curled into a fist on the table. "What did you do?"
"I told him the marriage was off. He didn't take it well—pushed me against the wall, said I had no choice." I exhaled shakily. "Then Nikolai appeared—Viktor's cousin. Nikolai pulled him away. There was a scuffle. Viktor was drunk, fell, and hit his head on a marble table."
I closed my eyes, seeing it play out again. The pool of blood. Nikolai's stunned face. My frozen horror.
"He was unconscious, bleeding heavily on an antique Persian rug," I whispered. "While guests drank champagne in the gardens, Viktor lay there barely breathing. For a moment, I thought he was going to die."
The silence that followed was absolute. I stared at my hands, unable to look at James, afraid of what I might see in his eyes.
"Nikolai panicked," I continued when the silence became unbearable. "Said his uncle would blame him, have him killed. He begged for help, and I... I called my mother."
"Queen Sophia covered it up," James concluded, his voice carefully neutral.
I nodded. "Within hours, Viktor was secretly taken to a private medical facility.
The marriage was annulled immediately while he recovered.
By the time he was well enough to cause trouble, my mother had already arranged his permanent departure from Bellavista with a substantial financial incentive to stay away. "
"And Nikolai?"
"My mother paid him to disappear. New identity, money to start over somewhere far away.
" I finally looked up, meeting James's gaze.
"But Nikolai was Viktor's cousin, and family loyalty ran deep.
When Viktor was murdered years later, Nikolai became convinced that Evangeline had arranged it - that she'd been planning Viktor's death all along, using the palace incident as cover.
He believed she'd waited years for the perfect moment to eliminate the one person who knew her darkest secret.
That's why he came after me in Luxembourg - he thought I was a calculated killer who'd escaped justice. "
"You thought it was over until the threats started," James said.
"Until the threats started, until Nikolai himself kidnapped me." I shrugged helplessly. "All I know is that for five years, I've lived with this secret. Knowing that a man was nearly killed because of me, that I was part of covering it up."
"Not because of you," James said firmly, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his. The contact startled me—his first touch since Bellavista. "Viktor was injured because he was violent. Because he attacked you. It was an accident, Evangeline. Not your fault."