Page 35 of Royal Agenda

Someone coughed.

Grace licked her lips. None of this was on the syllabus for the day. Not that she had a lesson plan, but she needed to pull herself together–at least for the rest of class. What did Betty say? Ryker’s family was lost?

Applying her professional tone, she said, “If you’d like to find your family, I’m certain I can help. I was going to go over the English records, but I’d be happy to jump into the Isola de la Famiglia archives for a brief overview. Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing.”

They were all deep in their records. Though some of them swore now and again. She made a mental note of who needed a course on the finer points of using the software—sometimes, that made all the difference.

Ryker blanched. “No grazie. I do not wish to look.” He turned away from her to emphasize his point.

Maybe it was because she’d had a long-awaited victory with Grandma that disappointment crashed down on her so swiftly. “But the records are so beautiful.” She went to the open station and pulled up the royal family line. “The calligraphy is stunning, the silver ink around the edges divine.” She turned and found Ryker starting with such longing at the page that her heart ached for him. “And it’s not just the royal family recorded like this. Isoladians record every birth and death with the same care. They, as a people, believe that all life is precious. Even stillbirths are given names and burial plots.”

“Si,” he said, still distracted by the image on the screen.

He wanted this. He wanted it so much it knocked him silent. But something was holding him back, and she intended to find out what. She only hoped that she didn’t push too hard and have to watch him run from her, too. Because a part of her felt as though it had found the root her roots wanted to twist up with and grow a family tree.

Twelve

Ryker could not stop staring at the Isladian royal pedigree chart. They were his people. His family. His cousin, the king, and his beautiful wife who had not only risen to the challenge of marrying a stranger but stole a king’s heart as well. They were one of the strongest couples he’d ever met, so in love, it hung thick around them as a velvet cloak and inspired lovers the world over.

His throat grew thick as he was suddenly faced with the family he’d given up in order to serve his country. A wave of homesickness flooded him, and he wanted nothing more than to waltz in the castle’s grand ballroom, race through the winter palace’s labyrinthian hallways, and play soldier in the fortress by the sea with his cousins. His love for them had prompted this mission—keeping the family and Isola de la Famiglia safe was his calling. Staring at their names made him feel so far away he ached.

How did Grace go right to his familia? It was as if she knew who he was and picked that page on purpose. He shifted his attention to her and studied her face as she brushed the computer screen where his family crest was hand-painted on the image.

What would his mother think of her? His sisters?

What would they think of him? Especially when he came back from the dead. Sabrina would probably punch him on the shoulder and then hug him. His mother would smother him in kisses and then feed him until he burst. Food was the national love language of Isola de la Famiglia women.

“Ryker’s not a traditional Isoladian name,” Grace gently prodded for information. She was fetching in her ruffled and lacey dress. The tassels begged him to run his finger along the soft threat, tickling her skin in the process.

“No. Neither is Rockefeller,” he replied absently. Forcing his eyes off the screen, he caught himself from blurting out that it was a fake name. One the men on the SEALs team had given him—teasingly of course. John D. Rockefeller was the wealthiest man in America during his life and lived like a king. The name Ryker meant “rich.” Hence the name they had chosen for a prince in hiding who was looking for his national treasure was: Rich King.

They were not as original as they thought themselves to be.

Although, the sarcasm was right on considering the fact that he was not wealthy, nor was he ever going to rule a country.

“Do you know your birth name?” she asked. “It shouldn’t be hard to search for it.”

He jerked out of his nostalgia as one would a cold bath. “No. I was orphaned in America. With no memory.”

She stepped closer, her hand landing on his forearm and her eyes dropping to his lips.

His heart rate increased for two reasons. One, no one touched a member of the royal family without asking for and receiving permission. Ever. It just wasn’t done. Two, her skin was kissed-by-the-sun warm and she smelled like magnolias. A heady perfume to be sure, the scent wove into the very fiber of his being and made his eyelids heavy. He fought to keep his wits about him but she was a siren.

“I could run a DNA test,” she said sweetly.

He blanked. “A what?”

She leaned back, creating room between them. Her scent lingered, and he placed his hand over hers to keep her from retreating farther. He wanted her near and was not ready to let her go.

“A DNA test.” She smiled as she pantomimed rubbing something inside her cheek. “I’m certain we’d find a match—and your family. Isoladian DNA is quite rare.”

The way she whispered made him think of bear skin rugs and roaring fires. What was happening to him? He was a soldier, a prince, trained to be stronger than pain. But it was not pain he fought against at this moment. No. It was something much stronger. He leaned down so their cheeks nearly brushed. “Do you enjoy a rare find?” He lifted an eyebrow and pulled back to stare deep into her sea blue eyes.

She nodded slowly. “Molto. Very much.”

He did not think about his next move. He did not think about his family. He did not think about anything but his desire to make this creature his. “Perhaps we should walk the beach in the moonlight tonight. There is a legend of the moon shell—almost as rare as an Isola de la Famiglia orphan.” He was taunting her with her own words, drawing her into his circle even as he stepped closer, bringing them within inches of one another. He took her hand, brushing his thumb along the inside of her wrist. “It is said that they only wash ashore on a full moon, and if you find one—”

“--you will soon fall in love,” she finished. Her cheeks brushed with pink, and his fingers ached to touch them.

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