Page 113 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

JULIUSGLANCEDAThis watch. Just after seven and the sun had already set. The drive from the villa to St. George’s would take some time, although from what Aroldo had said, the festivities would continue well into the night.

There was no reason to rush. No specific event to get to. But every passing minute increased the tension tightening his neck, the unease in his gut.

What if she decided not to go? This afternoon she had seemed...at peace. A touch of playfulness that had stirred his blood, a hint of shyness that had made him want to gather her close and protect her.

Except what if he was pulling her close only to push her away? To hurt her once more?

He moved to the edge of the villa’s grand hall. The missing pieces of his past were slowly falling into place. Along with the answers, though, came the realization that while he had been committed to his role as a leader, he had been a lonely and personally unhappy man. One who eschewed personal connections, buried himself in work. His mother’s passing had buried him until he could barely breathe. Evading the ache, burying the sadness, had been his only answer. Avoiding grief from what had been, grief from what could be.

Never thinking about what the opposite of grief could be. Never allowing himself the indulgence of hope. Would the man he’d been, the one who kept his mind focused and his heart hard, accept the changes he was making now?

You saw me that day...

When she had uttered those words last night, the pain in her voice had nearly undone him. He’d hurt her so deeply she’d fled the country she loved. She’d told him they hadn’t been lovers. But they had been something more than prince and bodyguard. Tonight, he would have answers.

He leaned against a pillar and stared out over the dark sky. How would this night end? Would she be able to let go at the gala, to see him as the man instead of the royal heir? Would he be able to accept what she had to tell him?

And perhaps the weightiest question of all, the one that hurtled him toward yet another unknown: where would it all lead?

“Hello.”

The tension in his neck eased. He turned and froze.

Framed between two white pillars, she looked stunning. She’d left her hair unbound and flowing, wild curls tumbling over her shoulders. The dress clung to her breasts, followed the curve of her waist and then flared out into volumes of skirt. When she moved, the fabric parted to reveal a long, slender leg.

“Deus me ajude.”

She smiled at him, a smile that caught him both for its beauty and its confidence. It was a smile he hadn’t seen on her before. It lit up her face, her eyes crinkling with a pure happiness that attracted him both body and soul.

“Thank you. Julius.”

Her use of his name heated his blood. He waited until she was just in front of him. He held out his hand, noted her slight hesitation before she placed her hand in his. He pulled her against him, watched as her lips parted, nearly gave in.

But he simply leaned down and brushed a kiss against her cheek. Surprise and disappointment flashed across her face before she could conceal them.

“You’re welcome.”

A car whisked them away to the distillery, perched on a low cliff near the white powdery sands of Grand Anse Beach. Golden light poured from the massive windows as men and women dressed in everything from glamorous evening wear to more festive costumes walked up a cobblestone pathway. Terra-cotta flowerpots lined the walkway, filled with magenta-colored bougainvillea and tall stems dripping with white amaryllis blooms.

The car stopped in front of the walkway. Julius slipped on his plain black mask and turned to Esmerelda. He held out his hand.

“Ready?”

She slipped on her mask, pale blue and trimmed with pearls, then accepted his hand. His fingers closed over hers.

“Ready.”

The interior was stunning, with dark glistening floors, pale walls, and café lights draped across the ceiling. The distillery itself was on display behind giant windows that allowed guests in the event space to witness the process of manufacturing rum. Waiters in crisp white shirts and linen pants carried around silver trays with bubbling flutes of champagne, rock glasses filled with rum and a variety of cocktails. White tables carried bowls of Barbados and Caribbean lilies in vivid shades of pink and orange. A band sat on a raised dais at the far end of the room. Banjos, guitars and steelpans backed up the deep voice of the lead singer as his melodious voice drifted over the crowd against an upbeat song.

“The singer is Aroldo’s nephew,” Julius said in Esmerelda’s ear as he led her toward one of the buffet tables. “His calypso band will compete in the Spicemas festival.” He nodded to a tall round display. Small bowls were artfully arranged with flickering candles in between, each filled with spices, from the vivid yellow of turmeric to the tiny clusters of cloves. “The name is a nod to Grenada’s spice production.”

She glanced around the crowd. He could practically hear the gears turning in her mind.

“There’s a lot of people here.”

He nodded toward a man standing near the door. “Aroldo booked several private guards for the evening.”

A reluctant smile appeared beneath her mask. “Am I that predictable?”

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