Page 57 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

After the local police chief added his information about the investigation, the palace’s press secretary opened the floor to questions. There were a couple about Prince Rene—seemed this wasn’t the first time the guy had disappeared without warning—but then the reporters from the international press broke ranks.

‘Where is your new husband, Your Majesty?’ one of them asked. ‘Is it correct that he has left you to deal with this situation alone while returning to Colorado?’

Anger burned in Travis’s gut. How the hell did they know about that already? He’d only made the decision to go a couple of hours ago.

But before he could figure it out, the camera closed in on Belle’s face—and what he saw had nausea rising up to replace the fury he wanted to feel, with her, with himself, with the whole damn situation.

That same sick sense of guilt that had crippled him as a kid of nineteen—when he hadn’t stood by his mom. Because he’d been so damn terrified of admitting he might need her too.

‘He had important business to attend to,’ she offered.

But colour rose in her cheeks, and she blinked furiously, to compose herself, the reserve slipping to reveal the vulnerable, devastated girl beneath.

He could feel her struggle to remain aloof, to remain a queen, but he could see the shield crumbling before his eyes and something broke open inside his chest.

It’s not a damn act, Travis, you dumbass.

She looked so scared in that moment. And he understood finally that it was Mel’s disappearance that was freaking her out. Hadn’t she told him how much the woman’s friendship had meant to her as a kid? She had to be terrified.

But he had refused to see her distress, hadn’t acknowledged it, not least because of the little flicker of jealousy at the mention of Rene. But it wasn’t Rene she cared about, it was Mel... And it wasn’t Rene who she needed with her now, it was him.

Dropping the phone, he leant forward and rapped on the glass. ‘Take me back to the palace,’ he demanded, his heart rising into his throat. ‘And if you can get me back there before this damn presser ends, I’ll double the tip.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘AREYOUHAPPYfor Mr Lord to prioritise his business over the needs of Androvia and the monarchy?’

‘Why would he leave you in a time of crisis?’

‘Is your marriage already in trouble, Your Majesty?’

Isabelle stood dumbly, unable to speak, while the questions—intrusive, cutting, painful—were fired at her from all angles.

Everything had moved swiftly once the police had been informed of the disappearance—and had ascertained after triangulating Rene and Mel’s phone signals that both mobiles had been dead for since New Year’s Day. A press conference had been called to ask for information, and Isabelle had insisted she participate.

In many ways, she had welcomed the activity, not just because she was becoming increasingly anxious about Mel and Rene’s whereabouts, but because she did not want to have to process Travis’s absence, or his parting words.

She was processing it now though. The chasm in her stomach filled with the crushing weight of culpability and regret.

She had brought this on herself by believing she could circumvent the terms of her father’s will. Was this why her father had insisted she needed a husband? Because he had seen the weakness inside her, even as a little girl? Had he known then that she would never be loved for herself?

The press secretary stepped in, to try and deflect the questions back onto the subject at hand, but the media—particularly the world media, who had no respect for Androvia’s monarchy or its traditions—had scented red meat.

And still she stood—tongue-tied, unable to defend herself or her marriage. How could she, when they were correct, her marriage was a hopeless fraud? And why did it hurt so much to know that, when that was always what it was supposed to be?

Then a commotion began at the back of the room, and suddenly striding towards her was Travis. In jeans and a T-shirt, he looked like the man she had known in Colorado. The man she had fallen hopelessly in love with within the space of one week—like the worst kind of romantic fool.

He came back.

She couldn’t see the camera flashes any more, couldn’t even hear the questions—being shouted at him now as well as her. He strode towards the podium, the crowd parting. Jumping onto the raised platform, he slung his arm around her waist. The heavy weight of it seemed to pull her out of the nightmare and into something even more fraught, even more painful.

He can’t have come back for me. He doesn’t love me.

‘Okay, quieten the hell down,’ he shouted to the reporters, his deep voice cutting through the furore like a knife. The room fell silent.

‘Our marriage is great. I’m here to support my wife.’ His arm tightened on her, tugging her against his side in a show of strength, of love, which only made the pain worse. Because she wanted so much to believe it. But she knew it wasn’t true. ‘Now maybe stop focussing on dumb gossip and concentrate instead on helping the Queen to find two people who matter to her.’

He turned to her and pressed a kiss to her cheek—making the room explode again—before whispering in her ear for only her to hear. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

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