Then again, if I hadn’t, Christian might not have agreed to pull his many strings for me. He didn’t do anything purely out of the good of his heart.
“Either way, remember why you’re there,” he said calmly. “You are to protect Princess Bridget from bodily harm. That’s it.”
“I’m aware.” I exited the airport and was immediately hit with a blast of frigid air. Winter in Eldorra was cold as shit, but I’d survived colder in the Navy. The wind barely fazed me. “Gotta go.”
I hung up without another word and took my place in the taxi line.
What had Bridget’s reaction been when she found out I was returning? Happy? Angry? Indifferent? She hadn’t refused my request to be reinstated as her bodyguard, which was a good sign, but I also wasn’t sure the palace gave her a choice.
Whatever it was, I’d deal with it. I just wanted to see her again.
I’d left because I thought it was the right thing to do. We’d agreed what happened in Costa Rica would stay in Costa Rica, and I’d tried my best to distance myself afterward. To give us both a fighting chance. Because if we stayed near each other, we would end up in a place that could destroy her.
Bridget was a princess, and she deserved a prince. I wasn’t that. Not even close.
But it only took a day away from her for me to realize I didn’t give a damn. I couldn’t act on my feelings, but I also couldn’t stay away, so here I was. Being by her side without actually being with her would be a special form of torture, but it was better than not being near her at all. The past six weeks were evidence of that.
“You dropped this.”
My muscles coiled, and I did a quick five-second assessment of the stranger who came up behind me.
He looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. Sandy hair, expensive coat, and the soft hands—both in full view—of someone who’d never done more taxing physical labor than lifting a pen.
Nevertheless, I kept my guard up. He wasn’t a physical threat, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a threat in other ways. Plus, I didn’t take well to random people approaching me.
“That’s not mine.” I flicked my eyes to the cracked black leather wallet in his hand.
“No?” He frowned. “I thought I saw it fall out of your pocket, but it’s so crowded. I must’ve seen wrong.” He examined me, his hazel eyes piercing. “American?”
I responded with a curt nod. I hated small talk, and something about the man unsettled me. My guard inched up further.
“I thought so.” The man spoke perfect English, but he had the same faint Eldorran accent as Bridget. “Are you here on vacation? Not many Americans come in the winter.”
“Work.”
“Ah, I came back for work too, in a manner of speaking. I’m Andreas.” He held out his free hand, but I didn’t move.
I didn’t shake random strangers’ hands, especially not at the airport.
If Andreas was fazed by my rudeness, he didn’t show it.
He slid his hand into his pocket and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Enjoy your stay. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
To some, it might’ve sounded friendly or even like a come-on. To me, it sounded vaguely like a threat.
“Maybe.” I hoped not. I didn’t know the guy, but I knew I didn’t trust him.
I reached the head of the taxi line, and I didn’t spare Andreas another glance as I tossed my suitcase in the trunk and gave the driver the palace’s address.
It took almost an hour to reach the sprawling complex thanks to traffic, and my body tightened with anticipation when the familiar gold gates came into view.
Finally.
It’d only been six weeks, but it felt like six years.
It was true what people said about not knowing what you had until it was gone.
After the entrance guard cleared me, I checked in with Malthe, the head security chief, then with Silas, the head of the royal household, who informed me I would stay in the palace’s guesthouse. He showed me to the stone cottage, located fifteen minutes from the main building, and rambled on about household rules and protocol until I interrupted him.
“Is Her Highness here?” I stayed at the guesthouse every time I came to Eldorra, and I didn’t need to listen to the whole song and dance again.
Silas heaved a deep sigh. “Yes, Her Highness is in the palace with Lady Mikaela.”
“Where?”
“The second-floor drawing room. She’s not expecting you until tomorrow,” he added pointedly.
“Thank you. I can take it from here.” Translation: Go away.
He let out another huge sigh before leaving.
After he left, I took a quick shower, changed, and headed back to the palace. It took a full half hour for me to reach the drawing room, and my steps slowed when I heard Bridget’s silvery laugh through the doors.
God, I’d missed her laugh. I’d missed everything about her.
I pushed open the doors and stepped inside, my eyes immediately zeroing in on Bridget.
Golden hair. Creamy skin. Grace and sunshine, clad in her favorite yellow dress, which she always wore when she wanted to look professional but relaxed.
She stood in front of a giant whiteboard with what looked like dozens of tiny headshots taped to it. Her friend Mikaela was waving her hands around and speaking animatedly until she noticed me.
“Rhys!” she exclaimed. She was a petite brunette with a head of curly hair, freckles, and an unnervingly perky personality. “Bridget told me you were coming back. It’s so good to see you again!”
I tipped my head in greeting. “Lady Mikaela.”
Bridget turned. Our eyes met, and the breath stole from my lungs. For six weeks, I’d only had the memory of her to cling to, and seeing her in person again was almost overwhelming.
“Mr. Larsen.” Her tone was cool and professional, but a faint tremor ran beneath it.
“Your Highness.”
We stared at each other, our chests rising and falling in sync. Even from halfway across the room, I could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. The tiny beauty mark beneath her left ear. The way her dress hugged her hips like a lover’s caress.
I never thought I’d be jealous of a dress, but here we were.
“You’re just in time.” Mikaela’s voice shattered the spell. “We need a third opinion. Bridget and I can’t agree.”
“On what?” I kept my eyes on Bridget, who remained frozen where she stood.
“What should rank higher when it comes to a romantic partner, intelligence or a sense of humor?”
Bridget’s shoulders stiffened, and I finally dragged my gaze away from her to Mikaela. “Rank?”
“We’re ranking the guests for Bridget’s birthday ball,” Mikaela explained. “Well, I am. She refuses. But there’s going to be so many men there, and she can’t dance with them all. We need to narrow it down. There’s one dance slot left, and I’m torn between Lord Rafe and Prince Hans.” She tapped her pen against her chin. “Then again, Prince Hans is a prince, so maybe he doesn’t need a sense of humor.”
My warmth at seeing Bridget again vanished.
“What,” I said, my voice a full two octaves lower than normal, “are you talking about?”
“Bridget’s birthday ball.” Mikaela beamed. “It’s doubling as a matchmaking event. We’re going to find her a husband!”
Bridget
I wanted to die.
If the floor opened up and swallowed me whole, I’d be the happiest person on earth. Or under earth, as the case would be.
Sadly, I remained in the drawing room with a whiteboard covered with pictures of European bachelors, a stone-faced Rhys, and an oblivious Mikaela.
“It’s the event of the season,” she continued. “The timing is rushed, but Elin’s team is working on it around the clock and invites went out this morning. Dozens of people already RSVP’d yes.” She let out a dreamy sigh. “All those handsome men, all dressed up in one room. I could simply die.”
Yes, the big idea my grandfather had alluded to the other day in his office was a thinly veiled matchmaking gala. I’d protested, horrified at the thought of spending an entire evening—my birthday, no less—making small talk and dancing with over-inflated egos disguised as humans.
I’d been overruled.
Apparently, my twenty-fourth birthday was a good excuse to invite every eligible bachelor in Europe to the party, and it was coming up in a few weeks, which made for perfect timing, even if it was, as Mikaela had said, rushed.
“I didn’t realize you were looking for a husband, Your Highness,” Rhys said so coldly goosebumps erupted on my arms.
The current of electricity running between us froze, turning to ice.
At the same time, indignation kindled in my stomach. He had no right to be angry. He was the one who’d left and insisted on keeping things between us professional after Costa Rica. He couldn’t possibly think he could waltz in here again after six weeks because he changed his mind and expect me to have put my life on hold for him.
“It’s a politics and public image thing,” Mikaela said before I could answer. “Anyway, what were we talking about? Right.” She snapped her fingers. “Lord Rafe and Prince Hans. Never mind about that. Prince Hans ranks higher, of course.” She moved his headshot to the yes side of the board.