Page 27 of The King's Secret Baby

I know I should keep things professional, maintain the careful distance between us. But seeing him like this — raw and exposed — I can’t help but reach out and lay a comforting hand on his arm.

“For what it’s worth,” I say softly, “I see you, Luca. Not the crown prince or the future king. Just you.”

His eyes widen slightly at my touch, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he covers my hand with his own, his skin warm and slightly rough against mine.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “I know this assignment can’t be easy for you, being so far from home and thrust into this unfamiliar world. But I want you to know that I’m grateful for your presence. Your perspective.”

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens at his proximity. “Are you sure you’re okay with me shadowing you? I know it’s a lot to ask, having someone constantly observing and documenting your life. If it ever becomes too much, just say the word and I can have my editor send someone else.”

Luca shakes his head firmly. “No. It has to be you.” His gaze intensifies, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re the only journalist I trust to tell my story honestly. To see beyond the title and the trappings of royalty, to the man beneath.”

I’m at once flattered and terrified by his faith in me. This assignment just became even more high-stakes than I realized it would be.

Even as I marvel at the trust Luca has placed in me, a sliver of doubt worms its way into my mind. Am I truly prepared for the cost of this assignment? With each passing moment, I find myself more drawn to his magnetic presence, to the vulnerability he reveals beneath his polished veneer.

It’s a dangerous game I’m playing, one with no clear rules or boundaries. Luca has already made it abundantly clear that a relationship between us is off the table. He’s the future king, with duties and obligations that far outweigh any personal desires. And I’m just a journalist, here to document his story, not become a part of it.

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. I can’t let my growing feelings for Luca cloud my judgment or compromise my integrity as a journalist. I have to maintain a professional distance, no matter how much my soul yearns to close the gap between us.

“I’m honored by your trust,” I manage to say. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to tell your story with honesty and respect.”

He nods, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I know you will. That’s why it has to be you.”

With those words, he abruptly turns and walks away, leaving me alone with my tumultuous thoughts. I watch his retreating form until he disappears into the shadows of the palace, my heart a riot of conflicting emotions.

I can only hope that I have the strength to see this assignment through without losing myself in the process.

CHAPTER 15

LUCA

Walking down the first-floor hallway, I stuff my hands into my pockets, letting my gaze drift out the windows. An easy tune fills the air, and I turn around, looking for the source of the humming — before realizing that it’s me.

I’mhumming. I’m… in a good mood?

I suppose that it makes sense. I can’t stop thinking about that charged moment with Hailey in the garden two nights ago. The way she looked at me, the electricity crackling between us — I was a breath away from pulling her into my arms and kissing her senseless. Against my better judgement, of course.

Part of me curses the interruption by the staff member, but an even bigger part is relieved. Relieved I didn’t let my baser instincts take over and potentially ruin everything.

Swallowing hard, I reach the room at the end of the hallway. It’s fitting time. Fitting time for my coronation attire, a tedious but necessary task.

Of course, Hailey will be shadowing me, her presence both a blessing and a curse.

Has she also been thinking of me since that night in the garden? Did she want my lips on hers even half as much as I did?

Shaking the thought away, I rap on the half-open door then step inside. The room is full of racks of clothing, and a bent-over man fusses with a fur-lined cape. He’s so old that he’s more wrinkles than anything else.

Hailey is already here, diligently sitting in the corner of the room. Catching my eye, she nods at me, and I nod back.

Then quickly look away. No use driving myself any more crazy than I already am.

Yet as the fitting begins, I’m hyperaware of her every move: the sound of her breathing, the scratch of her pen against paper as she jots down notes. It’s maddening and exhilarating all at once.

The tailor fusses over me, pinning and measuring with shaky hands. I stand as still as a statue, afraid any sudden movements might cause the poor fellow to keel over. Hailey watches the process with an amused glint in her eye, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from smirking.

“How long have you been the royal tailor?” Hailey asks, and I can tell it’s her curiosity getting the better of her. This isn’t really important information for her to know.

The old man pauses, squinting at her through thick spectacles. “Longer than you’ve been alive, my dear. I dressed His Majesty’s father, as well as his father before him, may they both rest in peace.”

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