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.
