Page 92 of Royal Affair
"I can, and I have. Furthermore, you will return to Bellavista tomorrow morning. A private jet has been arranged. You will not speak to the press, you will not make any statements, and you will not contact Mr. Banks again. Is that understood?"
James's face had gone stone cold, but I could see the fury burning in his eyes. His hand moved to his phone, no doubt calculating how quickly we could disappear before the replacement team arrived.
"Evangeline?" My mother's voice had softened slightly, just enough to remind me that somewhere under the royal fury was the woman who'd raised me. "Is that understood?"
I looked at James, watched him shake his head almost imperceptibly. He was ready to run, to fight, to keep me safe from even this. But I also knew my mother. When she used that tone, that authority, there was no arguing. Not if I wanted to have any chance of salvaging this situation.
"Yes," I whispered, because what else could I say? She was the Queen, and I was her subject as much as her daughter. "Yes, Your Majesty. I understand."
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow evening. We have a great deal to discuss."
The line went dead, leaving James and me staring at each other in the sudden silence. Everything had changed in the space of a single phone call. Our escape plans were meaningless now—she'd called our bluff, reminded us she held all the cards.
"So," James said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "I suppose that changes things."
I could see him retreating already, pulling back into that professional shell he'd worn when we first met. The idea of losing him, of having to face whatever came next alone, made my chest tighten with panic.
"This isn't over," I said fiercely. "Whatever she threatens, whatever consequences there are—this isn't over."
His expression softened slightly. "Evangeline?—"
"No, don't you dare start thinking like a bodyguard again. Not now." I moved closer, taking his hands in mine. "You told me you would risk everything. This is what risking it looks like."
For a moment, I saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes. Then his jaw set with familiar determination.
"Then we fight," he said simply. "But we do it smart. No more running, no more hiding. If she wants a confrontation, we give her one."
As I looked at him—this man who'd turned my world upside down, who'd made me brave enough to want more than duty andprotocol—I knew it wasn't over. Couldn't be over. Not if we were both strong enough to face what came next.
The question was: were we?
Chapter Thirty-Two
James
The return flight to Bellavista was a fucking nightmare of silence, and tension suffocated the surrounding air. Evangeline sat beside me in the private jet, her fingers intertwined with mine, occasionally squeezing as if she could transfer some of her courage to me through touch alone. She did not know that with every mile that brought us closer to home; I was drowning in the certainty that I was about to lose everything that mattered.
As the wheels touched down on the runway tarmac. With our hands still intertwined, I could feel her pulse vibrating against my wrist. My lips curved into a smile as I softly spoke her name.
"Evangeline," I said, my heart filled with affection.
"Yes, James, are you okay?" Twisting slightly under my seat belt. Filled with a sense of wonder, my hand gently cradled her face, basking in the warmth of her presence. Her gaze was pleading, desperate and lost, mirroring the fear of our uncertain future in the face of the unknown. With desperate urgency, my lips met hers, a frantic plea for solace in a sea of despair.
Evangeline placed her hand at the back of my head, her fingers resting at the nape of my neck. My tongue met hers as they created a dance of their own. A chill snaked down my spine; my breath hitched; I just wanted to feel her, taste her before we were separated.
"Thank you for making my heart beat again." I whispered softly in her ear.
The media circus at the airport was a brutal reminder of what we were walking into. Even with the royal protection team creating a corridor through the photographers, I could hear them shouting questions, could see the predatory gleam in their eyes as they captured every moment of our supposed downfall.
"James Banks! Is it true you've been dismissed?"
"Princess Evangeline! Will you give up your title for love?"
"Are you engaged? When's the wedding?"
Evangeline kept her head high, every inch the queen she was born to be, but I could feel the tremor in her hand, see the slight tightness around her eyes that spoke of barely controlled emotion. She was magnificent and terrified in equal measure, and the knowledge that I was about to make everything infinitely worse sat like acid in my stomach.
The drive to the palace was mercifully short. Twenty minutes through Bellavista's ancient streets, past the Gothic cathedral where Evangeline would one day be crowned, past the government buildings where decisions about our future were being made without our input. The weight of tradition, of centuries of royal protocol, pressed down on me with suffocating intensity.
