The moment shattered, leaving me disoriented. Face burning like a schoolgirl caught passing notes, I thanked the librarian who had found the book I'd been searching for. When I finished speaking with her, James had already packed all my stuff and stood waiting, his expression unreadable once more.
"We need to leave. I have a security meeting regarding the threats you've received," he said, his voice deliberately neutral. "Someone's been tracking your movements on campus."
A chill ran down my spine at his words, but I pushed the fear away. I refused to let faceless threats control every moment of my life. I nodded, still reeling from our almost-moment. I couldn't help glancing at him as we walked to the car, wondering what would have happened if we hadn't been interrupted. My ploy with Frederick had worked better than I'd anticipated—perhaps too well. The jealousy in James's eyes had been unmistakable, but now he'd retreated behind his walls again.
"Any word from your ex-boyfriend?" James asked as we reached the car, his tone deliberately casual.
I hesitated, realising I'd been caught in my own game. "Frederick isn't actually in Luxembourg. I may have... exaggerated that part."
His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, something like satisfaction flickering in their depths before disappearing. "I know," was all he said.
His expression remained neutral, but I could tell he was filing away this information—another reminder that he'd probably already verified Frederick's whereabouts the moment I mentioned him.
Back at the penthouse, James locked himself in his bedroom for nearly two hours. I used the time to prepare for the parliamentary banquet Queen Sophia had insisted I attend this weekend—reviewing protocols, memorising names of dignitaries and their spouses. Royal duties didn't pause for personal dramas. When James finally emerged, his hair was damp from a shower, and I was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
I'd learnt to cook during my semester abroad in Italy—a quiet rebellion against the palace's formal dining protocols. Tonight I was making one of the few dishes I'd mastered, partly to distract myself from the afternoon's events, partly because I needed to recalibrate my approach.
The Frederick strategy had reached its conclusion. If I wanted to see beneath James's professional veneer, I needed a different tactic. Something more... direct.
The day before, whilst James was out conducting his evening security sweep of the building, I'd slipped into his room. I discovered several DVDs, even though I was looking for clues about threats. I found it surprising that people still used physical media, but it gave me insight into his preferences—mostly fast-paced action thrillers, including several Mission Impossible films. My new plan was formulated, and Octavia and Gabriela got the message, with the group chat exploding.
"What's for dinner?" James asked, sitting down with his mobile. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, and I could feel perspiration gathering at my temples. All of Europe was suffering through a final heatwave in this first week of September.
"Steak with chips for you and salad for me," I replied, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. He nodded and returned to his mobile without mentioning what had happened in the library. We'd only known each other for just over a week, but hispatterns were becoming familiar—retreat, regroup, reestablish boundaries.
Twenty minutes later, we were both sitting at the table. I picked at my salad whilst James devoured his steak with surprising efficiency.
"You must have been hungry," I said with a smile.
"Very much so. This is delicious," he replied, the left corner of his mouth lifting slightly in what, for him, constituted a genuine smile. "You're an excellent cook, Princess."
The compliment—and that hint of a smile—caught me off guard. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks. "Thank you. That's very sweet," I replied.
After a few more minutes of companionable silence, I took a sip of the expensive red wine I'd splurged on and initiated the next phase of my plan. "Since the latest Mission Impossible film was just released, I thought perhaps we could watch it together? With caramel popcorn?"
"Ghost Protocol?" His eyebrow raised slightly. "Do you watch action films?" There was genuine surprise in his voice, as if this revelation didn't fit his assessment of me.
"Is that so hard to believe?" I challenged. "There's something compelling about watching ordinary people face extraordinary danger. It's rather like my life lately, isn't it?" I stood to clear the plates. James rose quickly, intercepting me before I could take his.
"Let me, Princess. You cooked. Go relax on the sofa. I'll make the popcorn," he said, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver through me. He took the dishes and walked to the kitchen.
"Mr. Banks, I believe that's the closest thing to a voluntary sentence I've heard from you," I called after him, pleased my plan was working. Still, the attraction I felt was becoming harder to dismiss as mere curiosity. There was something about him that affected me unlike anyone before.
I settled on the sofa contemplating my next move. The Frederick bluff had provoked jealousy, but James had quickly reasserted control. Tonight I wanted something different—a glimpse of the man beneath the bodyguard, something genuine rather than reactive.
James glanced at his mobile one last time—checking the building's security feed, I assumed—then deliberately set it aside. For once, he seemed to allow himself simply to exist in the moment rather than constantly scanning for threats.
I was wearing leggings and a t-shirt; my hair was in a messy bun—hardly the polished image I maintained for public appearances. But I didn't need to impress my security detail with formal attire. A moment later, James joined me with a large bowl of popcorn. He sat at the far end of the sofa, but when I shifted to get comfortable, my leg briefly brushed against his. I felt him tense immediately, though he didn't pull away entirely. The casual contact sent electricity through my body.
"That smells delicious," I said, taking a handful of popcorn. I shifted slightly closer, eliminating the small gap between us. He tensed but didn't move away, and suddenly our bodies touched from shoulder to knee, the casual contact sending electricity through my body.
"We should start the film," he said, his voice rougher than usual. I pressed play on the remote, hyperaware of his proximity. James had a powerful build, with all lean muscle and coiled strength. I pressed my thighs together, surprised by the intensity of my physical reaction to him.
The penthouse was warm despite the air conditioning, the late summer heat persisting even as evening approached. For about ten minutes, we watched in silence. I pretended interest in the film, though action movies had never particularly captivated me unless they contained a significant romantic subplot. I wasmore of a period drama enthusiast, though I found myself drawn into this film's intricate plot despite my usual preferences.
From the corner of my eye, I observed James. He didn't touch the popcorn but seemed genuinely absorbed in the film. His guard was lower than I'd ever seen it, though a certain alertness never fully left him—old habits, I supposed. If I were going to understand him better, this might be my only opportunity.
"Was it like this when you were in the field?" I asked softly, suppressing a shiver as his arm brushed mine when he shifted.
