Page 60 of Royal Affair

January passed in a flurry of classes and study sessions. I threw myself into my academics with singular focus, finding it easier to immerse myself in animal anatomy than to confront what awaited me after graduation—a crown I'd never wanted, responsibilities I'd never been prepared for.

By month's end, I'd submitted applications to three veterinary practices in Sicily. The prospect of three months practicing medicine before assuming royal duties felt like a precious gift—one final taste of life before embracing the life chosen for me.

"I've applied for some internships in Sicily," I said during one of our silent dinners. "For the three months I have after graduation."

James looked up from his plate. "Sicily?"

"Yes. There are excellent veterinary practices there that work with both domestic and wild animals." I pushed my food around my plate. "My mother has agreed to give me these three months before... before I return to Bellavista permanently."

A flicker of something crossed his face. "I know Sicily well."

This surprised me. "You do?"

"My father is half Italian. My grandfather had a farm there—still does." For once, his voice held genuine warmth. "I spent nearly every summer there as a boy with my brothers."

I tried to imagine him as a child—this imposing man who revealed so little of himself. "That sounds wonderful."

"It was." His expression softened momentarily. "My grandfather taught me everything about farm life—how to milk cows, care for horses, deliver lambs. It's where I learned to love animals."

The revelation stunned me. In all our time together, he'd never shared something so personal. "Is that why you seemed interested when I talked about my veterinary studies?"

He nodded, then seemed to catch himself, his professional mask sliding back into place. "I'll need to make security arrangements for Sicily, assess the locations."

"You'll come with me, then?" The question slipped out, more vulnerable than I'd intended.

His eyes met mine. "Where you go, I go. That's the arrangement."

The word stung. It was as if his presence in my life was nothing more than a security guard.

"I know what your job is, James," I muttered under my breath. "But I'd like to think we're more than just client and security detail by now."

"Are we?" His expression was unreadable. "We agreed to maintain professional boundaries."

"Professional doesn't have to mean cold." I met his gaze. "Surely we can have actual conversations."

He considered this for a long moment. "What kind of conversations did you have in mind?"

"Real ones," I replied. "About real things. Like what happened five years ago that someone tried to use against me."

His expression sharpened at the mention of the past threat. The kidnapping in Luxembourg, the dead kitten at my door—both connected to a secret I'd kept buried for years.

"You weren't ready to talk about that before," he said carefully. "What's changed?"

"I trust you."

Those three words hung between us, changing something fundamental in the atmosphere. James leaned forward, his full attention focused on me with an intensity that made my heart race.

"Then talk to me," he said, his voice low. "Tell me what happened five years ago."

I closed my eyes briefly, gathering courage. When I opened them again, his gaze was still fixed on me, patient but unyielding.

"Five years ago, I made a terrible mistake," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "I was young, rebellious, chafing against royal restrictions. There was a butler at the palace—Anton. He was handsome, attentive, and made me feel like a normal girl instead of a princess."

James's expression remained neutral, but I could see the intensity in his eyes.

"We began a secret relationship. Nothing serious—stolen kisses in corridors, secret meetings in the gardens. It was the thrill of the forbidden more than anything else." I took a deep breath. "One night, we were discovered in an... extremely compromising position. I was on my knees, and he was... well."

Understanding dawned on James's face. "Someone caught you."