And I was—not just to leave the café, but for whatever came next between us. For the first time, I allowed myself to acknowledge what I truly wanted: not just the safety James provided, but the man himself, complicated and dangerous and thoroughly essential to me now.
Sicily awaited us. Three months away from palace pressures and protocols. Three months to discover who we could be to each other, before duty reclaimed me.
Three months might not be enough. But it would have to do.
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 lessonshad 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.
