Page 130 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

Before Julius had left, his father had circled the desk and enveloped him in a tight hug that spoke louder than any words could say. The sheen in Francisco’s eyes, the slight fear of what might have happened in that London alleyway, went unsaid but not unrecognized.

The quiet support, the subtle demonstrations of love, struck him anew. After his mother’s death, he had shunned all emotional connection. His eyes had always been fixed on the future, never the present or the past. Tasks, lists, always having a goal to work toward, had kept him focused. Kept his heart safe, even from his own father, who had done nothing but offer him quiet yet steady love and support.

Until her.

Every time he thought of how she had bowed to him, hurt once more by his cruel words yet still so proud before she had walked out of his life once again, his chest tightened until he could barely breathe. Nights were the hardest, especially reaching as he woke and having his fingers brush cool, empty sheets instead of Esme’s warmth.

He maintained a façade throughout his days as he eased into his duties, professional yet with a touch of the humanness he’d discovered in his weeks on the island. More smiles, the occasional joke. It was amusing, and gratifying, to see people exchange wide-eyed glances as they wondered what had happened to finally make Prince Julius’s cold exterior thaw.

The beach appeared, the black sand a sharp contrast to Grenada’s powdery white shores. He angled the boat toward the dock and winced as the hull hit harder than he’d intended. But, he reminded himself as he tied off the boat and stepped onto the dock, he had made vast improvements. It had shocked a number of people when Prince Julius, renowned for doing nothing but working, eating and sleeping, had booked private sailing lessons.

He’d wanted to do something, anything outside of his role as prince. Being on the water, feeling the familiar rise and fall of the waves, smelling the salt air, had been a comfort he hadn’t even realized he’d needed until he’d first boarded with his instructor. He’d dedicated an hour every night to practicing.

When he’d taken the boat out for his first solo trip around the north end of Rodina two days ago, he’d nearly called her. Had wanted to share it with her.

But he hadn’t. She had left. He had offered more of himself to her than he had to anyone since his mother had passed. Had finally risked it all and made a decision based on his heart.

It hadn’t been enough.

You know that’s not all of it.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the ocean. The heat of the sun seeped into his skin, bringing memories of a tiny island in the Atlantic up from the depths. He opened his eyes and started up the stone steps carved into the cliff. He reached the towering gate at the top of the stairs and punched in the security code. Heat from the sun warmed his back. The gate creaked as he pushed it open, clanged as he shut it. He focused on the sound of his feet on the pavestones, the gentle swishing as an afternoon breeze stirred the flower-tipped stalks of lavender that lined the walkway.

The past invaded. He couldn’t stop the image of her stricken expression when he’d told her his reasons for why she would make the perfect queen. As the feeling of being rejected had faded, reality had sunk in, cold and vicious. He had done what so many had done to her in the past, especially her parents; he had reduced her from a dynamic, interesting woman to a list of qualifications. Had taken her comments about being an ornament as a personal slight against his mother and all the good she had done instead of hearing Esmerelda’s words.

In the moment, when Esmerelda had looked at him and asked for more, he’d felt the pain of rejection like a knife to the heart. The pieces of himself he had shared hadn’t been enough for her. The risk he’d taken deemed inadequate.

But then he remembered her face. Her own sense of rejection. His inability to voice the true depths of his feelings for her.

It had been reasonable for him to withdraw after his mother had been yanked from him so quickly, here one moment alive and happy, then gone in a matter of weeks. Yet, he grudgingly admitted as he walked into the palace gardens, it had also become an excuse over the years. It was easier to stay aloof, to never feel the gut-wrenching grief that had nearly consumed him when his mother had passed.

Until now. Until a different kind of grief shadowed his every step, haunted his waking hours, plagued his dreams. The grief of having held someone he deeply cared about and letting her slip away not once, but twice.

“You look terrible.”

Julius looked up as his father walked into the garden.

“Recovering from a traumatic head injury is a good excuse for not looking my best.”

“Hmm.” Francisco glanced down at a stalk of lavender. “I rarely come here. It’s a nice spot, though.”

“It is.”

Francisco moved to a spot in the wall with a wrought-iron fence instead of the exquisitely painted tiles that covered the garden walls. Beyond the fence the ground rushed out in an explosion of green before sloping sharply down toward another beach. The waves rose and fell in gentle swells, the water rising up onto the dark sand before receding back into the ocean.

Julius joined his father at the fence and stared out. Hard to believe that a week ago he had been on the other side of this ocean struggling with the idea of his identity revolving around a title.

“I can feel you thinking too hard.”

Francisco scoffed. “No such thing. But,” he added with a slight smile, “if I were thinking, it might be to ask what thoughts you have toward moving forward.”

A stone settled in the pit of Julius’s stomach.

“Let me know if you have any suitable candidates in mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

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