Page 114 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

“Yes.” He leaned down, unable to resist a taste of her lips. “Enjoy, Esmerelda. Something tells me you deserve indulgence.”

They accepted glasses of champagne and found a seat in the corner. The music transitioned into reggae as more guests streamed into the building. A woman with Aroldo’s dark blue eyes circulated among the tables, inviting people to tour the distillery.

“Would you like to go?”

Julius glanced at Esmerelda, saw her glance shift to the machinery behind the glass.

“No. But,” he added as she started to sit back in her chair, “you should go. You’re here as a guest, not a bodyguard.”

Her lips, painted a sparkling caramel, turned down at the corners.

“It feels...wrong.”

“But it’s not.”

The air changed between them, became charged with suppressed feelings: desire, vulnerability, passion.

A tall, willowy woman approached the table. Her hair, black and thick, had been wound into an intricate braid atop her head. The scarlet hues of her dress made her dark brown skin glow. She smiled at them.

“I’m Hanna, the owner of the distillery. You must be the mystery guests my father invited.”

“Perhaps,” Julius replied with a slight smile.

“Welcome. I appreciate you supporting our island.” Hanna nodded to Esmerelda’s dress. “I’d recognize my sister’s handiwork anywhere.”

Esmerelda laughed softly. “Touché. It’s stunning. She could sell anywhere in the world she wanted to.”

“I hope one day she will get the confidence to do so.” She gestured to a small crowd gathering by the door that led into the distillery. “Would you like to join us for a private tour?”

“She’d love to,” Julius answered before Esmerelda could decline. He felt her irritation, her sideways glance. But she rose and followed Hanna. A quick survey of nearby tables revealed more than one set of male eyes on her departing form.

His jaw tightened. Hard to be caught between the pride and happiness at seeing her feel as beautiful as she looked to him while wanting to lock her away where no other man could ogle her.

He stood and walked back to the spice display. Other small round tables in varying heights carried similar exhibits, from elaborate masquerade masks from the Spicemas carnival to pictures of the devastation a hurricane had wrought less than twenty years ago.

As he read, learned of the struggles faced by the island nation, the slim threads of responsibility that had been emerging with every recovering memory strengthened. As he saw the crowds of people sitting outside homes reduced to nothing but rubble, read of the challenges still faced by such loss, the threads knitted themselves together into something he recognized in the look he’d glimpsed on his own face as he’d read news articles, social media posts and blogs.

Duty. Obligation. Allegiance.

The sheer weight of it pressed on him, warred with how he felt about Esmerelda. Before his memories had started to return, before his present self had begun to merge with his past, she had been his focus.

But now...now he felt the pull, felt what the role of prince meant. Had he fought this battle before? Had he been a coward and simply given up? Or worse, had his former self discovered something he hadn’t yet? That in order to carry on leading a country, he had to give up the one thing he wanted?

Fingers threaded through his. The pressure that had begun to build in his head eased as he looked down at their joined hands.

“Aroldo told me there are still struggles. He said a hurricane took out almost all of the buildings on the island. That was twenty years ago.” She nodded toward the nutmeg seeds resting in the bowl. “One tree can take up to ten years to be fruitful.”

“Generations lost in hours.” He shook his head slightly. “It makes my current plight seem inconsequential.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “But they haven’t given up.”

“No.” He nodded at one photo that showed dozens of sailboats piled together like an angry child had scooped them up from the ocean and dumped them on top of one another. “It hits different. Seeing where the country is now, the work they’ve done, the work that still needs to be done.”

“You’re questioning yourself.”

“Yes.”

She leaned in. That floral scent that had been taunting him since the day he’d pulled her from the water wrapped around him. Orchids, perhaps, or some other exotic flower, touched with hints of vanilla and ebony. Sexy yet sweet. A scent that teased at one of the memories that had grown clearer but still lurked just beneath the surface of his consciousness.

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