Page 18 of Reckless Royalty

You’re safe, Madison. I’m here. It’s just me and you.

Her breathing starts to slow, just a fraction, but it’s enough. I keep whispering to her, steady and calm, like I’m willing her heartbeat to slow down, to let her know she’s not alone.

“Follow me,” I say softly. “Just breathe with me. In, out. In, out.”

She presses closer, her hands clutching the fabric of my shirt as if it’s the only thing anchoring her. I feel the shivers starting to ease, her breathing becoming steadier now, less frantic. I stay still, holding her, letting her ride out the panic until it finally starts to fade.

After a few minutes, her breaths are even and soft against my neck. I don’t move, afraid that if I shift even an inch, she’ll slip back into that dark place.

Then, as the room settles into silence, I finally notice what she’s wearing. My breath catches as I take it all in.

Holy fucking shit.

She’s in a simple white tank top and a pair of shorts that reveal more than I’ve ever seen of her. But it’s not just her clothes—no, it’s what I hadn’t realized was underneath them.

Her arms are covered in tattoos with intricate designs that snake down from her shoulders to her wrists. There’s even a chest piece—a deer with its antlers stretching across hercollarbone, and on her thigh is a huge, vibrant peacock tattoo, its feathers spiraling down her leg.

Jesus fucking Christ. Is this what she’s been hiding underneath all those layers?

I don’t know why it shocks me so much, but it does. It’s like I’ve been looking at her through a fog this whole time, thinking I had her figured out, only to realize I’ve barely scratched the surface.

She’s curvy, softer than Sofia in a way that draws my attention more than I’d like. Her white tank is stretched tight over her chest and I can just make out her lacy black bra. My mind starts wandering places it shouldn’t, and I force myself to stop, clenching my jaw.

This isn’t the fucking time, Mihai.

I swallow, forcing my gaze away, focusing back on her face. Her eyes are closed, her expression peaceful now, but I’m still holding her close, still feeling the remnants of that panic attack in the way she clings to me.

But damn if she isn’t beautiful. Not in a way that’s polished or perfect, but real. Raw. Like there’s an untamed side to her that she’s kept locked away, one that’s only now peeking through.

Madison stirs slightly, looking up at me, her brown eyes still a little glassy but focused. She blinks like she’s just now realizing she’s sitting on my lap, wrapped in my arms.

I give her a small, reassuring smile. “You okay?”

Her eyes widen as she takes in the situation, her gaze flicking down to where she’s settled in my lap. I can practically see the horror dawning on her face as the reality of it sinks in.

In an instant, she scrambles off me, nearly tripping over her own feet as she backs away, her face flushed with embarrassment. She wraps her arms around herself, a nervous expression crossing her face as I get to my feet.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, lifting my hands, palms up, to show her there’s no need to freak out. “You just… had a moment. Happens to everyone.”

She stops retreating, standing there in the middle of the room, still hugging herself and her cheeks a fiery red. She looks down, her breath shaky, and I can tell she’s still embarrassed. But she’s calmer now, her breathing even, her shoulders relaxing as she processes my words.

My gaze sweeps over her, taking in the intricate ink that winds along her skin, the strength and softness that she somehow carries so effortlessly.

Gorgeous as fuck.

The thought slips through before I can stop it, and my mind wanders, just for a second, down paths I shouldn’t be going.

My eyes return to her tattoos, studying the art and the stories they might tell. I can’t help but notice the way the designs follow the curves of her arms, the way they move with her. Each piece feels deliberate, carefully chosen, and I realize just how much I don’t know about her.

“They’re beautiful,” I say, nodding toward her tattoos. “All of them.”

She looks down at her arms, then back at me, her face softening a little, though she still seems a bit unsure. There’s a vulnerability in her expression, like she’s not used to being seen like this, with so much of herself exposed.

She doesn’t respond—of course, she doesn’t. She just tilts her head to the side, watching me, waiting, like she’s still trying to figure out why I’m here.

And, fuck me, she looks cute as hell.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus.

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