Chapter 38 #2
"I want you," she said simply, she leaned down and pulled at my collar. I slowly moved her legs that were draped over my shoulders, making sure she could stand. Slowly I stood up with my hand resting on her hips. Evangeline's hands were working at my belt. "All of you."
I helped her free me, the pressure of my cock straining against my zip now at a painful level, the freedom came with a rush of adrenaline.
I spun her around, then lifted her slightly, positioning myself at her entrance.
We both groaned as I slid inside her, the feeling of being joined with her still overwhelming after all this time.
"Christ, Evangeline," I breathed, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had her deep clawing into the tree bark now.
I withdrew a little, leaning against her ear. I said, "I love you so much."
"Show me," she demanded, her voice breathless and commanding even in this moment of vulnerability.
So I did. I made love to her against that tree with all the passion and desperation and joy that had been building inside me since the moment I'd woken up and realised I was still alive, still hers.
I poured everything into the connection between us—every fear I'd had of losing her, every dream I had for our future, every ounce of love in my damaged but healing heart.
When we were both finally shattered, it was with her name on my lips and mine on hers, the forest around us bearing witness to this claiming, this promise of forever.
Afterward, I held her close as we caught our breath, smoothing her hair and pressing soft kisses to her temples.
"We should probably head back," she said eventually, though she made no move to leave my arms.
"Probably," I agreed, equally reluctant to return to reality.
But eventually, we straightened our clothes and made our way back through the forest, fingers intertwined, both of us slightly disheveled and completely content.
The palace felt different now—warmer somehow, more like home. We found our way to the private sitting room, where Evangeline immediately curled up beside me on the sofa, her head on my shoulder.
I reached for the remote, intending to find something mindless to watch, when the television flickered to life on a news channel. My finger froze over the remote as Evangeline's face filled the screen.
"...in what many are calling the most candid royal interview in decades, Her Majesty Queen Evangeline has officially confirmed her relationship with security consultant James Banks..."
I glanced down at Evangeline, who was watching the footage with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. On screen, she sat poised and regal in the palace's blue drawing room, fielding questions from the BBC's royal correspondent.
"Your Majesty, can you confirm the nature of your relationship with Mr. Banks?"
The televised Evangeline smiled, and I recognised that particular expression—the one she wore when she was about to say something that would either delight or scandalise the press.
"James Banks is the man I love," she said simply. "He's my partner, my closest advisor, and the person I trust most in this world. Beyond that, I think the specifics of our relationship are between us."
The interviewer pressed on. "There's been speculation about an engagement, about wedding plans—"
"Has there?" Evangeline's tone remained pleasant, but I caught the warning underneath. "How interesting. Though I suspect that speculation has more to do with public fascination than actual facts."
"So you're not engaged?"
"I'm not discussing my private life beyond what I've already shared. Next question, please."
I felt Evangeline tense beside me as we watched her onscreen deflection. "You handled that perfectly," I said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"Did I? I felt like I was being evasive."
"You were protecting us. There's a difference."
The interview continued, covering topics of policy and public service, but I found myself studying Evangeline's face more than listening to the words.
She looked every inch a queen—confident, composed, born to lead.
But I also saw the subtle signs of the woman I'd fallen in love with: the slight smile when she talked about education reform, the passion in her eyes when discussing veterans' services.
When the segment ended, Evangeline reached for the remote and switched off the television. "Well, that's done," she said. "No taking it back now."
"Regrets?"
She turned to look at me, her expression serious. "Only that I waited so long to say it. The world knows I love James Banks. I should have said it months ago."
The next morning, we flew to Sicily. I'd insisted on this trip, needing to show Evangeline the place that had shaped me, the sanctuary where I'd learned to imagine a different kind of life.
The farmhouse looked exactly as I'd left it—weathered stone walls, climbing roses, olive groves stretching toward the azure waters. Nonna emerged before we'd even stopped the car, her face creased with joy and relief.
"Giacomo!" (James) she cried, pulling me into a fierce embrace that made my still-tender ribs protest. "Mio caro ragazzo, (my dear boy) you gave us all such a fright."
"I'm fine, Nonna," I assured her, switching to Italian. "Better than fine."
She pulled back to study my face, then turned her attention to Evangeline. "And you must be the princess who has stolen my grandson's heart."
Evangeline stepped forward, offering a respectful bow. "Your Majesty," she said in careful Italian, "it's an honour to meet you."
Nonna waved off the formality, pulling Evangeline into her own embrace. "None of that nonsense. You are family now, yes? You call me Nonna."
I watched the interaction with a full heart, seeing Evangeline relax into my grandmother's warmth. This was what I'd wanted to show her—this sense of belonging, of being loved not for titles or positions but simply for who you were.
The day passed in a blur of introductions to neighbours, tours of the property, and stories from my childhood that made Evangeline laugh until her sides ached. As evening approached, I found myself growing nervous about the plans I'd made.
"Come," I said as the sun began to set, taking Evangeline's hand. "There's something I want to show you."
I led her down the path to the beach, where I'd spent countless hours as a boy, dreaming of adventures beyond the olive groves.
Tonight, the sand was dotted with dozens of small candles, their flames dancing in the evening breeze.
A table for two sat near the water's edge, set with Nonna's best china and a bottle of wine I'd been saving for a special occasion.
"James," Evangeline breathed, her eyes wide. "This is beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you," I said, meaning every word.
We dined on fresh seafood and local wine as the stars emerged overhead.
Evangeline told me about her plans for education reform, her eyes lighting up as she described new programmes for underprivileged children.
I shared stories about the farm, about summers spent learning the rhythms of rural life that had kept me grounded through years of military service and corporate ambition.
"I want to bring you here every summer," I said as we finished the last of the wine. "Away from protocols and cameras and the weight of the crown. Just us."
"That sounds perfect," she said softly. "Though I suspect your grandmother will spoil me terribly."
"She already adores you. I could tell the moment she met you."
Evangeline smiled, reaching across the table to take my hand. "She reminds me of you, you know. That same protective instinct, that same way of seeing straight through to what matters."
The moment felt perfect—the stars above us, the gentle sound of waves on sand, this woman I loved more than life itself smiling at me in the candlelight. I stood, my heart hammering against my ribs, and walked around the table to kneel beside her chair.
"Evangeline," I began, pulling the ring box from my pocket with hands that weren't quite steady. "Three weeks ago, I nearly lost everything that mattered to me. Not because of the bullet, but because I'd been too proud, too afraid to fight for what we had."
Her eyes filled with tears as I opened the box, revealing the ring I'd chosen—a simple but elegant solitaire that caught the candlelight like captured starfire.
"I don't want to waste another moment being afraid," I continued.
"I love you, Princess. I love your courage and your compassion, your terrible sense of direction and your stubborn streak that rivals my own.
I love the way you make me want to be better, to be worthy of the trust you've placed in me. "
"James," she whispered, tears spilling over.
"Marry me," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "Not because of duty or protocol or what anyone else expects. Marry me because you love me and I love you and life's too precious to spend it apart."
"Yes," she said without hesitation, launching herself into my arms with enough force to nearly knock us both into the sand. "Yes, yes, of course yes!"
I slipped the ring onto her finger with shaking hands, then kissed her with all the joy and relief and overwhelming love threatening to burst from my chest.
That's when the cheering started.
We broke apart, startled, to find figures emerging from behind the rocks near the beach path.
Spencer appeared first, grinning broadly and applauding, followed by Laura, her pregnant belly prominent even in the evening light, and a grinning Maya.
Rupert whooped with joy, while Andrew appeared more composed but no less pleased.
Veronica was crying and laughing simultaneously, and even my parents had somehow materialised, my mother dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Surprise!" my mother called out, her voice bright with joy as she emerged from behind the rocks. "Did you really think we'd let you propose without support?"
Spencer appeared beside her, raising a bottle of champagne with a rare smile that transformed his usually serious face. "Congratulations, brother," he said simply, but the warmth in his voice said everything.
"Laura coordinated everything," Spencer explained, popping the cork with a satisfying thud. "Flights, accommodations, making sure Nonna had enough food to feed an army. Your fiancée might have mentioned her preference for intimate family celebrations."
I looked at Evangeline, who was beaming despite the tears streaming down her face. "You knew?"
"I suspected something was up when your grandmother kept smiling mysteriously all day," she admitted. "But I didn't know about this." She gestured to our assembled family, now converging on us with congratulations and embraces.
The next hour passed in a blur of champagne toasts and tearful hugs.
Laura produced a camera from somewhere, insisting on documenting every moment.
My mother pulled Evangeline aside for what looked like an emotional conversation, while my father clapped me on the back with enough force to rattle my teeth.
"You did good, son," he said gruffly. "She's perfect for you."
"She's perfect," I said gruffly, watching Evangeline laugh at something Rupert had said. "Still can't believe she put up with my bullshit long enough to say yes."
"Your bullshit is part of your charm," Andrew said dryly, appearing at my elbow with champagne. "Though I'm fairly certain she saw through your noble sacrifice routine from the beginning."
"It wasn't a routine—"
"Course not," Andrew smirked. "Just like how you 'accidentally' kept finding excuses to check on her security detail every five minutes."
I was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his observations when Apollonia appeared beside Andrew, looking politely bored despite the celebration around us.
"Congratulations, Mr. Banks," she said with professional courtesy, though I caught the slight eye roll when Andrew wasn't looking. "I'm sure you'll be very happy."
"Of course you can," I said, scooping her up for a hug. "We'll need someone to keep everyone in line."
"I'm very good at that," she informed me solemnly. "Mama says I'm bossy, but in a good way."
As the evening wound down and our family began to drift back toward the farmhouse, I found myself alone with Evangeline on the beach, her ring glinting in the starlight.
"Any regrets?" I asked, echoing her question from the night we'd watched her interview.
"Only that we waited so long," she said, then paused. "Actually, no. I think we needed all of it—the separation, the misunderstandings, even the shooting. We needed to learn who we were apart before we could be together properly."
"Very philosophical for someone who just agreed to marry her bodyguard," I teased.
"Former bodyguard," she corrected. "And future husband. I like the sound of that better."
I pulled her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, still hardly believing this was real. After months of uncertainty, of loving her from a distance and wondering if we'd ever find our way back to each other, we were here. Together. Forever.
"I love you, Mrs. Banks-to-be," I murmured against her ear.
"I love you too, Mr. Future-Royal-Consort," she replied, then pulled back to grin at me. "Think you can handle the title?"
"As long as it comes with you, I can handle anything."
She kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of promise, while the gentle waves lapped at the Sicilian shore and our family's laughter drifted from the farmhouse.
It was perfect—not because everything had been easy, but because we'd fought for it, suffered for it, and chosen each other despite every obstacle the world had thrown our way.
We were going to be magnificently, chaotically, completely happy. And we were going to start right now.