Page 21 of The Reluctant Wife

"I might be insulated from a lot of the daily issues that people face, but evenIhave heard of the Davenport Group. My father holds your grandfather in great esteem. Enough to hire you as my bodyguard and trust you with my life, not something he’d do lightly. You may not be of royal blood, but in every other way, your family is as powerful as mine."

His brow furrows. "Your point being?"

"We belong to the same social class."

"You mean, we come from generational wealth?" There’s a disparagement in his tone that raises my hackles.

"Are you one of those people who prefers to disown your moneyed background?" I take in his features, trying to understand him. He’s so much more complex than other men I’ve encountered.

Thanks to attending boarding school in England, I’ve managed to have a more or less normal life. Well, as normal as can be when you go to one of the most sought-after private schools in the country, and when your fellow students come from the cream of British society. I didn’t hit it off with them.Didn't form any lasting friendships with my titled peers who moved in the kind of rarified circles I was keen to avoid. And none of them had half as much depth as this man.

"Is that why you decided to serve your country?"

A muscle at his jaw tics. "I joined the Marines because I wanted to make something of myself. I needed to forge my own path."

"And now, you’re a bodyguard."

"I’m a protector. It’s what I do." He says it in a matter-of-fact voice, and I believe him. He’s hardwired to be a guardian.

"You’re different from anyone else I’ve encountered. You’ve seen the horrors of wars, and that can’t be easy," I say slowly.

My previous bodyguards didn’t have military experience, and I can see the difference in how Ryot holds himself. How he’s always hyper alert. How he constantly scans his surroundings and takes in people in my vicinity, how the tension radiates off of him like every muscle of his is tuned into the environment to sense the tiniest threat. He reminds me of an apex predator in the forest who is always vigilant.

He doesn’t respond—big surprise! —but his features close further. Guess he doesn’t like to talk about it. Which is…understandable. It makes him an enigma, which makes him even more appealing, which also pisses me off. It’s not fair that, even when he’s being rude to me, I find him so irresistible. It’s that which makes me shoot off my mouth. "Is it because I’m born into a family with royal bloodlines? Is that why you hate me?"

He blinks, and his features soften. "I don’t…hate you."

"But you don’t want to sleep with me, either?"

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but as I have explained to you, I can’t. You’re my principal, and I cannot cross that line. Besides—” He looks away, then back at me. “Your father trusts me to protect your life, and I can’t let him down."

Something in his tone and his demeanor tells me he’s hiding something. There’s something else stopping him from acting on the attraction between us. Something more than professional etiquette. If I tell him more about myself, might he be open to sharing?

“Being a princess is not all it’s cut out to be,” I offer.

“Oh?” He looks at me with curiosity.

“Most of the men I meet are more interested in the fact that I come from a royal background. None of them are interested in me. It’s not that I’m complaining about being born into the kind of status that most women would wish for, but”—I take in the attentiveness on his features—“but I’d give anything to be a normal girl and go on a date with a man I like, who's interested in me for myself, you know?”

He pauses. Then the set of his features relaxes. “I understand more than you realize,” he admits.

“Given your family’s background, I suppose you do.” I nod. “And given your looks?—”

“My looks?” he asks in an amused tone.

“You know what I’m talking about.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “As I was saying, given your above average handsomeness and the fact that you come from a family of billionaires, I bet you have women falling over themselves to date you.”

He straightens his spine. When he looks at me, his expression is remote. “I haven’t been on a date in years,” he finally says.

My jaw drops. “I don’t believe it. Why, at the bar, we’d barely met when you asked me to go home with you.”

Something flickers across his features. A look I can’t quite interpret. Then he clears his throat. “That was...out of character.”

It’s clear, he’s telling the truth. And my heart blooms in my chest. The fact that he asked me home when he wouldn’t have normally done so makes me so very happy.

There's something in his eyes, a glimpse of desolation, a look of… Anguish? Of something that hints at secrets. It sets off a lightbulb in my brain.

"You’re not... Married, are you?" The words are out before I can stop myself. I slap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, honestly.”

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