"It's complicated, Rupert."
"Only because you're making it complicated. You want her. From what you've told me, she wants you. What's the problem?"
The problem was everything—her royal status, my position as her security, the limited time before she returned to Bellavista to become queen. The problem was that I'd already crossed that line once and barely survived the aftermath.
"I will not sleep with her again," I said firmly, the declaration as much for myself as for Rupert. "It was a mistake the first time. It would be an even bigger mistake now."
Silence on the other end of the line, then a soft whistle. "Again? You didn't mention there'd already been a first time."
I cursed under my breath, realising my slip. "It was in Belavista. Before Alexandra's funeral. It was a moment of weakness that won't be repeated."
"Why the hell not!" Rupert demanded. "Life's too short for this noble suffering bullshit, James. If you want her?—"
"It's not about what I want!," My jaw clenched, the words erupting like a shout, each syllable a furious demand for what she was owed. "It's about her safety, her future. In three months, she returns to Bellavista to become queen. My job is to ensure she gets there safely, not to complicate her life with an impossible relationship."
"Since when has anything worth having not been complicated?" Rupert challenged. "Look at Spencer and Laura. Look at me and Veronica. None of it was simple, but we figured it out."
"This is different."
"Is it? Or are you just scared?"
The question hit too close to home. Was I scared? Not of physical danger—I'd faced that all my life. But of the emotional vulnerability Evangeline inspired? Of the possibility that what I felt for her was more than desire, more than protective instinct?
"I have to go," I said, unwilling to continue this line of conversation. "Security check."
"Run away, then," Rupert sighed. "But remember what Dad always say’s—a man who denies what he truly wants ends up with nothing at all."
I ended the call, shoving the phone back into my pocket with more force than necessary. On the beach, Evangeline had rolled onto her back, one arm flung above her head, the picture of relaxed beauty. The sight of her—golden and perfect in the Mediterranean light—tightened something in my chest that had nothing to do with security concerns.
Living with her in paradise for three months. Three months of morning self-defense lessons, shared meals, and witnessing her live, work, and radiate in the warm Sicilian sun. Unending temptation for three months.
I straightened my shoulders, resolve hardening. I would not give in again. Would not cross that line. Would not risk her safety or future for my own selfish desires.
"I will not sleep with her again," I murmured to myself, the promise feeling both like armor and chains. "Not now. Not ever."
On the beach, Evangeline stirred, sitting up to look toward me. When our eyes met across the distance, she smiled—the slow, warm curve of her lips that threatened to undo all my careful promises in an instant. Visions of evangeline on her knees, those plump soft full lips wrapped around my cock, begging for relase as her cheeks hollowed out taking me fully. Infiltrated my head once again
Three months in Sicily. With her.
God help me. But he appears to be ignoring my calls.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Evangeline
The Sicilian sun beat down mercilessly as I stepped out of the air-conditioned veterinary clinic into the dusty farmyard. Three days into my internship at Vitale Animal Practice, and I was already in love with the place—the rustic buildings spread across a working farm, the diverse mixture of domestic and wild animals, and most of all, the blessed normalcy of being treated like any other intern fresh from university. After the intensity of my last semester in Luxembourg and everything that had happened with my mother's diagnosis, this felt like exactly the escape I needed before returning to Bellavista permanently.
Dr. Vitale, a stern but kind-eyed woman in her sixties, had introduced me simply as "Evangeline, our new intern from Luxembourg," with no mention of royal titles or security concerns. My fellow interns had accepted me without question—though perhaps with more interest than my credentials alone warranted.
"Evangeline!" Marcus, an Italian intern with a dazzling smile and expressive hands, waved from across the yard. "Dr. Vitalewants us in the barn. The pregnant mare is showing signs of distress."
I nodded, grabbing my medical kit and hurrying toward him. As always, I sensed rather than saw James adjust his position to maintain sight lines while keeping a respectful distance. He'd been meticulously professional since our arrival in Sicily, sleeping in the adjacent room at the beach house, driving me to and from the practice each day, watching over me with those intense blue eyes that revealed nothing of his thoughts.
"What's the status?" I asked Marco as we hurried toward the barn.
"The foal appears to be in the wrong position. Dr. Vitale is concerned about dystocia." His shoulder brushed mine as we entered the dim interior of the barn. "She says we need all hands on deck for this one."
Inside, Dr. Vitale was already examining a chestnut mare who lay on her side in a bed of straw, sides heaving with labored breaths. Beside her stood Diego, a Spanish intern, and Anton, a stoic Ukrainian with gifted hands. Both nodded in greeting as we approached.
