Page 36 of Royal Agenda

“Si,” he breathed. This dove would be his ruin, and he could not stop himself from it. Like a fairy tale enchantress, she cast her net, and he fell gladly into her grasp in the very moment he thought he was catching her.

She bit her bottom lip. “Non dovrei.” I shouldn’t.

He lifted the hand he held and kissed her knuckles. “Nemmeno io.” Neither should I.

Her eyes warmed. “If I shouldn’t go and you shouldn’t go—then . . .”

“It is certain that we will go,” he finished the spin on the Isola de la Famiglia saying.

She laughed, the sound like water flowing through a fountain in the castle courtyard —pure and unfiltered from the mountaintop where it was said an angel touched the lake each morning at sunrise. “I guess we don’t have a choice.”

He gently squeezed her fingers. “You always have a choice, la mia sirena.” My siren. Unlike him. He could not reveal his family, his mission, or even his name. He was in a cage, but he would never put her into one. “It is, as they say, up to you.”

She leaned in and spoke softly in his ear, sending temptation across his skin like an ocean breeze. “Meet me on the beach al tramonto.” At sunset.

“Prometto.” He turned his head slightly and pressed their cheeks together, sealing the deal and lingering, breathing in her floral scent as if it was the last breath of air he would need.

“If you two are done canoodling, I could use some help finding my great-grandfather,” barked Carlie. She’d been an owner of a car dealership before retiring to The Palms. “He’s like a stinking Houdini.”

Turning red, Grace flipped around, cascading her magnolia scent over him. He briefly closed his eyes and cemented the memory of her rose-petal cheek against his cheek. Perfecto.

“I thought he was Houdini,” said Betty. “You said he was a magician.”

“I said he was a mechanic!” Carlie shouted back as if Betty were hard of hearing.

Grace tossed an amused look at Ryker before moving to adjust Carlie's screen so she could see what she was looking at. “Let’s see what we have in the archives.” She typed quickly, and soon, the three women gathered around the computer and scrolled through records.

Ryker took the opportunity to make his exit. He had a full schedule this afternoon and could not be late for his next appointment. Larry was a stinker for punctuality.

He had dodged a bullet, as his American friends would say, effectively distracting Grace from his pedigree. However, the distraction was not hard on him. If anything, it was an unexpected gift. One that he would not take for granted. He had somehow earned the favor of a beautiful, talented woman–he would not mess this up.

His phone snored. He rolled his eyes—speak of the kings of messing up relationships. The SEALs constantly changed one another’s phone alert noises. He read the group text.

Sean: Tonight’s plans–Pizza and pinball competition.

He grinned. There was an old pinball machine at the pizza shop. They had commandeered it on many a weeknight for entertainment, going so far as to erase the specials off the whiteboard to keep score. As a prince, he had not engaged in such revelry since university. But American men did not see arcade games as childish–they saw them as battlegrounds.

Mack: I’m in.

Sean: See you there.

Ryker: I cannot.

Liam: Can’t or don’t want to because I beat your butt last time?

Ryker rolled his eyes.

Ryker: You won by five points. That is not a beating.

Sean: Dude’s right. Me beating you by 500 points? That’s a beating.

Liam: I had pneumonia.

Sean: Lame excuse.

Liam: Why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you a lame excuse!

Mack: What’s up Ryker? You never ditch.

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