Page 23 of The King's Secret Baby

He waves off my concern. “Nonsense. It’s the least I can do. Besides, it will be easier for both of us this way.”

I search his face, trying to glean some hint of his true feelings, wondering if this means there’s a chance for us to pick up where we left off. But his expression remains inscrutable, a polite mask that betrays nothing.

Gathering my courage, I venture, “Luca, about that night, about us… I know this might not be the right time, but I can’t help but wonder…”

His shoulders tense, and he looks away, his jaw clenching. “Hailey, I… I value the time we spent together, truly. But with everything that’s happened, with the responsibilities I now face… I’m afraid I have no place in my life for a relationship right now.”

His words knock the wind out of me. I blink back the sudden sting of tears, refusing to let him see how much his rejection hurts.

“I understand,” I manage, my voice sounding strangled even to my own ears.

I get it, of course. How can I expect anything from him when his father has died and he’s to be coronated in a matter of weeks? I feel ashamed to have even brought up the matter of us in the first place.

An awkward silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things left unsaid. Desperate to break the tension, I ask softly, “How are you holding up, Luca? With your father’s passing, I mean. I can’t even imagine…”

He stiffens, his gaze turning distant. “I’m fine,” he says, the words ringing hollow. “It’s a difficult time, but I have a duty to my people, to my country. I can’t afford to let personal feelings get in the way.”

I nod, my heart aching for him, for the weight he carries on his shoulders. “If there’s anything I can do, anything at all…”

“Thank you.” His smile is genuine, but tinged with sadness. “Having you here, telling my story… that’s more than enough.”

More than enough.

I try not to read into those words.

With that, he turns and opens the door for me, and I step through it, my heart a lump in my throat.

We rejoin the others in the grand hall, and I’m struck by the sudden change in Luca’s demeanor. He had a stiff upper lip when we were alone, but when he is with others, he takes composure to a whole new level, his face a perfect façade of royal decorum.

He greets the gathered officials and dignitaries with a charming smile, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries as if he hasn’t a care in the world. I watch, equal parts amazed and unsettled by his ability to compartmentalize, to push aside his grief and be the leader his people need.

As he agrees to an impromptu interview with a local news crew, I feel a pang of guilt. Here I am, intruding on his life during what must be an incredibly difficult time, all for the sake of a story.

He’s doing this because he has to, because the alliance between our countries is more important than his personal feelings. And in that moment, I vow to make this article the best damn piece I’ve ever written, to do justice to the man behind the crown.

Lost in thought, I barely register when a member of the palace staff appears at my elbow, offering to show me to my room. I follow in a daze, my mind still reeling from the events of the day.

The room is breathtaking, all high ceilings and ornate furnishings, with a balcony that overlooks the sprawling palace gardens. But even as I drink in the opulence, I can’t shake the hollow feeling in my chest, the ache of longing for something I can’t have.

I sink onto the plush bed, hugging a pillow to my chest as I finally let the tears fall. I cry for Luca, for the pain he must be going through, for the way he’s forced to put on a brave face for the sake of his country. And selfishly, I cry for myself, for the foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, we could have had something real.

But I know that’s impossible now. Luca has made it clear that he has no room in his life for a relationship, and I have to respect that, no matter how much it hurts. I have a job to do, a story to write, and I can’t let my personal feelings get in the way.

With a shaky breath, I wipe away my tears and steel my resolve. I’ll be the best damn shadow Luca’s ever had, and I’ll write an article that will makeThe Morning Starproud. And maybe, just maybe, by the time this is all over, I’ll have found a way to mend my broken heart.

Taking a deep breath, I stand up, smoothing out my clothes and fixing my hair. I can’t let anyone see how much this is affecting me, especially not Luca. I have to be professional, focused, and above all, strong.

I make my way back out of my room and down the hallway, following the sound of voices until I find myself in a grand ballroom. Luca is there, surrounded by a gaggle of reporters and photographers, his smile practiced and perfect. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the weariness in his eyes.

I slip into the crowd, my notebook and pen at the ready. I listen carefully as Luca answers question after question, his responses polished and diplomatic. But every now and then, I catch a glimpse of the real Luca, the one I got to know that magical night in New York. A flash of humor, a hint of vulnerability.

It’s those moments that give me hope, even as my heart aches with every word he speaks. Maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance for us, if only I can find a way to break through his walls.

But for now, I have a job to do. I scribble furiously in my notebook, capturing every detail, every nuance. I’ll worry about my own feelings later. Right now, I have a story to write, and I’m determined to make it the best one yet.

As the press conference winds down and the reporters start to disperse, I linger at the edge of the room, watching as Luca shakes hands and exchanges pleasantries. And then, just for a moment, his eyes meet mine across the crowded room.

My breath catches in my throat, and I feel a rush of heat sweep through me. But just as quickly, the moment is gone, and Luca turns away, his attention drawn by another reporter.

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