Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
James
The morning of our departure for Sicily dawned clear and cool, a perfect spring day in Luxembourg. The penthouse was in a state of organized chaos—suitcases lined the hallway, security equipment lay stacked by the door, and Evangeline moved through it all with the brisk efficiency I admired.
I was going through the final security protocols when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, her expression shifting from concentration to concern in an instant.
"It's my mother," she said, looking up at me with a flash of worry. "She never calls this early."
I nodded, stepping back to give her privacy. "Take your time. Our flight isn't for three hours."
She answered, her voice carefully controlled. "Mother? Is everything alright?"
From my position across the room, I couldn't hear the Queen's response, but I saw Evangeline's face pale, her knuckles whitening around the phone. Every instinct told me to go to her, but I remained where I was, watching her sink slowly onto the sofa.
"When did you find out?" She asked, her voice barely audible. Another pause as she listened. "And the prognosis?" A longer silence followed, her eyes closing briefly. "I see."
The conversation continued for several minutes, Evangeline’s medical training taking control, asking precise, detailed questions. Finally, she took a deep breath.
"I can be on a plane to Bellavista today. The Sicily arrangements can wait."
Whatever the Queen said in response made Evangeline's shoulders slump slightly. "Are you certain? I don't want you to be alone with this." Another pause. "Alright. But I want daily updates, and if anything changes—" She stopped, listening again. "Yes, Mother. I understand."
When she ended the call, she sat motionless for several long moments, staring at nothing. Only when I moved towards her, did she seem to remember my presence.
"My mother has multiple sclerosis," she said, her voice unnervingly steady. "The doctors finally have a diagnosis."
I sat beside her, careful to maintain a respectful distance despite the urge to pull her into my arms. "I'm sorry," I said simply.
She nodded, still staring ahead. "They caught it relatively early, which is good. The progression can be managed with medication. But it explains the fatigue, the occasional confusion, the vision problems she's been having."
Her clinical detachment worried me more than tears would have. This was Evangeline the medical professional, not Evangeline the daughter.
"Do you want to postpone Sicily?" I asked. "We can be in Bellavista by evening."
"No," she said, finally turning to look at me. "Mother was quite clear. She wants me to proceed as planned. She says there's nothing I can do at this stage, and she'd rather I complete my internship before..." She trailed off, swallowing hard.
"Before you return to assume royal duties," I finished for her.
"Yes." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "She did emphasize, however, that this isn't an extended vacation. Three months in Sicily, then straight back to Belavista for the transition."
I nodded, understanding the implicit message. Queen Sophia was setting boundaries, reminding her daughter of duty even in the face of personal crisis. It was a burden I'd seen Evangeline carry with increasing heaviness since her sister's death.
"Would you mind giving me a few minutes?" she asked, finally showing the first crack in her composure. "I'd like to set up a video call with her before we leave. To see her face, to make sure she's really alright."
"Of course." I stood, moving toward the door. "I'll finish loading the car."
As I carried our luggage downstairs, I found myself reflecting on Queen Sophia.
I'd only met her briefly during our time in Belavista, but she'd impressed me with her regal bearing and sharp intelligence.
The news of her illness explained the accelerated timeline for Evangeline's ascension, but also raised new concerns about the pressure my princess would face in the coming months.
My princess. I caught myself on the thought, surprised by the possessive turn of my mind. She wasn't mine—could never be mine. And yet, in some fundamental way, I thought of her as belonging to me, just as I belonged to her. Not as security to a client, but as man to woman.
It was a dangerous path, one I'd been carefully avoiding since our confrontation over Frederick. The self-defense lessons had been a particular challenge—her body close to mine each morning, my hands guiding her through movements, her scent enveloping me as we practiced escapes and holds.
I'd maintained strict professionalism during those sessions, but each night I dreamed of her—of her skin under my hands, her breath against my neck, her body yielding to mine as it had that night in Bellavista.
I'd wake hard and throbbinging, my resolve crumbling, only to rebuild my walls by morning.
When I returned to the penthouse, Evangeline was just ending her video call. I caught a glimpse of the Queen on the screen—still elegant and composed despite the circles under her eyes—before Evangeline closed her laptop.
"Everything alright?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
She nodded, though her reddened eyes told a different story. "She looks tired, but she's handling it with her usual grace. Says I'm not to worry, that the royal physicians are the best in Europe."
A small, sad smile etched across her lips.. "When I was little, I thought she was invincible. I suppose we all think that about our parents."
I thought of my mother—vibrant, relentlessly optimistic, formidable in her own way. "It's a hard illusion to lose."
She looked surprised at the personal response, then nodded gratefully. "Yes, it is." She straightened her shoulders, royal mask slipping back into place. "We should go. We don't want to miss our flight."
The journey to Sicily was uneventful—private jet to avoid security complications, minimal staff aware of our travel plans, additional security measures at both departure and arrival points.
Evangeline spent most of the flight reading medical journals about MS, making notes in a small leather book, occasionally asking my opinion on security logistics for our stay.
We landed in Palermo in the early afternoon, warm Mediterranean air greeting us as we descended the steps to the tarmac. A black SUV waited, driven by Marco—a local security professional I'd worked with on previous assignments and trusted implicitly.
"Welcome to Sicily, Mr. Banks," he said, shaking my hand firmly before turning to Evangeline with a respectful bow. "Your Highness, it's an honor and a privilege."
"Thank you, Marco," she responded with a warm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "James speaks highly of your capabilities."
As Marco loaded our luggage, I did a quick perimeter check of the vehicle and surroundings.
The protocols were second nature after years in the field, but I felt an added urgency now.
With Queen Sophia's diagnosis and the lingering threat from the Kozlovs, Evangeline's safety felt more critical than ever.
"All clear," I said, opening the door for her. "The house is about thirty minutes from here, overlooking a private section of coastline. Complete security system, limited access points, additional personnel stationed discreetly on the grounds."
She nodded, sliding into the backseat. "And the veterinary practice?"
"Twenty minutes inland. You start on Monday, giving us the weekend to secure all routes and locations." I joined her in the back while Marco took the driver's seat. "Dr. Vitale knows the security requirements, but someone instructed him to treat you like any other intern."
"Good." She response coated with distraction, as she looked out the window as we drove, taking in the vibrant landscape of Sicily in spring—wildflowers dotting green hillsides, ancient olive trees standing sentinel along winding roads, the deep blue of the Mediterranean appearing and disappearing between hills.
"It's beautiful," she breathed, her breath caught in her throat. "I can see why your grandfather stayed."
The mention of my grandfather caught me off guard. "He loves it here. Says the rhythm of farm life keeps him young."
"Will you visit him while we're here?"
I hesitated, caught between personal desire and professional obligation. "Perhaps. If security arrangements allow."
She turned from the window to look at me directly. "I'd like to meet him if possible. The man who taught you to love animals must be someone special."
The request unsettled me, blurring the lines I'd been so careful to maintain. My grandfather was part of my personal life, a world separate from my professional duties. Bringing Evangeline into that sphere would be another kind of intimacy entirely.
"We'll see," I replied noncommittally, turning the conversation back to security matters for the remainder of the drive.
The house exceeded even my expectations.
Located on a rocky promontory overlooking a small private cove, the whitewashed villa gleamed in the afternoon sun.
Bougainvillea cascaded over stone walls, and cypress trees stood like dark sentinels along the winding drive.
The villa offered seclusion without isolation, and luxury without ostentation.
"This is stunning," Evangeline said as we pulled up to the entrance. "When you said 'house on the beach,' I wasn't expecting something quite so..."
"Italian?" I was supplied with a rare half-smile.
"Romantic," she corrected, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she looked away.
Inside, the villa continued to impress—high ceilings with exposed wooden beams, cool tile floors, elegant but comfortable furnishings. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the sea, framing views that belonged in a painting.