Page 133 of Modern Romance Collection May 2024 Books 1-4

“I’m sorry.” She stood and smoothed her hands over the bottom of her suit jacket. “I don’t think this role is for me. I thought I needed something else in my life. But it turns out I was wrong. Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have wasted it.”

And with that she turned and walked out.

Her foot tapped an impatient rhythm as the elevator descended. She needed to do something, find a way to meet with Julius and tell him everything. Would he accept a phone call? A text message?

No.That was the coward’s way out. This was the kind of conversation that required them to be face-to-face. She pulled out her phone. Her fingers flew over the screen as she typed out an email request for a meeting at His Highness’s earliest convenience.

Then, before she could lose her nerve, she hit “send.”

Forty-eight hours later, Esme stared at the key in her hand as she stood in front of the hotel elevator. The number embedded in the platinum card stared back at her, taunted her.

Room 333. The penthouse suite where she and Julius had spent the night together.

Did Fate just have it out for her?

No, she thought as she rubbed at her temple. It was only natural that the suite be rented out to royalty, politicians and other important guests. With its location at the top of The Martinique, it was not only well protected but offered exquisite views of Paris and the Eiffel Tower.

A sigh escaped her. When she had received the email requesting her presence in Paris to meet with the king less than an hour after she’d emailed Julius, her stomach had dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of her feet. Did the king want to question her? Grill her as to why she had spent a week in Grenada with his son? Or perhaps he had found out about her affair with Julius. She no longer worked for the royal security team, so no risk of getting fired. But he could still make life very difficult for her.

Worse was the possibility that Julius had forwarded her email to his father and asked him to intervene. Her email had been formal, simply asking for a meeting. She should have gone through the proper channels, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to email the public relations office or his secretary. Burak hadn’t called or texted since she’d called him to let him know where Julius was. Her father had also been strangely silent, his incessant phone calls dropping off.

The possibility that someone had uncovered her week with Julius had dogged her steps the past two days, from the soaring steel towers of New York City to the sprawlingarrondissementsof Paris.

She stepped inside and held up the key card. The elevator rose, carrying her closer and closer to the mysterious meeting with King Francisco. She had met the king on a few occasions. He had even come to her hospital room to thank her when she had been recovering from the parade accident. A skilled but kind, compassionate leader.

Would he show her kindness now? Or savagery as he protected his son and the reputation of the crown?

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open again. She tamped down her nervousness and stepped inside.

The suite was exactly the same. Warm wood floors gleaming under the golden rays of the setting sun. Ivory-colored furniture offset by red and blue pillows that added color to the elegant surroundings. A fireplace trimmed in white, the hearth filled with a vase of flowers for the summer season instead of burning logs.

And beyond the sitting room, glass doors thrown open to the balcony and the Eiffel Tower standing proudly over Paris.

She’d stood in that doorway, just out of sight, with Julius at her back. He’d slid her shirt up and over her head, placing heated, sensual kisses on her neck as he’d undone the clasp on her bra and then reached out around to fill his hands—

“Your Highness?” she called out, partially to stop the flow of memories and partially because she realized, with a quick glance, that the suite was empty.

No one answered.

Frowning, she pulled up the email on her phone and reread it. Labeled with the royal family’s official seal at the top, the email was brief. It requested her presence on the twelfth of June at seven o’clock in the penthouse suite of The Martinique in Paris for a meeting with His Majesty the King.

“I prefer this meeting to Grenada.”

Esme’s head snapped up. She stared as Julius walked out of the door that led to the bedroom. His dress shirt showcased the breadth of his shoulders. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, the white material stark against his tan skin. Her eyes traveled up, over his chest and up his neck to his heartbreakingly familiar brown eyes.

“You...where is...”

“I think I need to mark this on the calendar, too. The first time Esmerelda Clark stuttered.”

She heard the teasing in his voice and resisted. She squared her shoulders and drew herself up, shoving away all of her emotions.

“Your Highness. My apologies for intruding. I received an email—”

“May I see it?”

She stifled her irritation at being interrupted and handed over her phone, taking care to ensure her fingers didn’t brush his. His eyes moved over the words.

“Ah, yes. I think there’s a typo.”

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