Page 33 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Today, though, I’ll get to see her for more than five minutes. Our formal engagement photos are being taken in the palace gardens.

I slip my hand into my pocket, my fingers closing around the blue velvet box. After seeing the way Sophaya is moved around like a doll, I ventured outside the palace yesterday. Enrique squawked that I should have a driver, or at the very least a bodyguard as I walked out to the twelve-car garage. My retort that I had not only served as a private bodyguard for the Crown Princess herself but also had six years as an Army Ranger under my belt fell on deaf ears.

So I left. Drove to the small town of Ardavela an hour away, an artisan’s community tucked into the cradle of a valley next to a soaring mountain. Woodworkers, the perfumier Sophaya mentioned in Venice, glassblowers, chocolatiers and gemstone setters operating out of stone cottages that looked like they came from a storybook.

It only took me half an hour to find what I wanted. I may not be able to give Sophaya much by way of emotion. But I can at least give her something that’s hers and hers alone.

Ten minutes later I’m walking the gallery that leads out to the garden. Unlike the private hallway outside Sophaya’s and my suites, the walls here are lined with formal portraits, paintings of current and past royals dating back centuries.

Including one of a dark-haired little girl with bright blue eyes seated on the edge of a chair, hands folded in her lap. Even as a child she looks distant, removed. The opposite of the vibrant, passionate woman I glimpsed in Venice.

It’s normal for me to miss her, understandable given our chemistry and history. She’s the only familiar element in a new environment. It’s not indicative of anything more.

I walk out into the gardens. The doors open onto a stone terrace with urns overflowing with jewel-toned flowers. Steps lead down onto a well-manicured lawn that stretches toward a multitiered fountain. Rose beds line the lawn, with deep red, ivory and pale pink buds still in bloom despite the early autumn chill.

The splendor is decidedly lowered by the number of people rushing about. I spy Enrique on the phone as his fingers fly over the screen of a tablet. The king and queen are off to the side with a small entourage, while two photographers are working on a set of very expensive-looking cameras.

But no sign of Sophaya.

I take a step forward. Movement to my left has me turning my head.

And I freeze.

Sophaya is standing off to the side behind a potted pine tree that hides her from view of the people running around on the lawn. Her pale blue pencil dress clings to her curves, with a wrap skirt belted about the waist. Pink roses trim the hem of the neckline and the edges of the skirt. Her dark hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders.

Elegant. Classy. And absolutely beautiful as she kneels down to speak to a small boy dressed in a suit. There’s a real smile on her face, a light in her eyes I haven’t seen in far too long. The boy says something that makes her laugh, a throaty chuckle that grips me tight.

I like this about her. She takes time to get to know people on a deeper level. I noticed this trait before, but I disregarded it, focused on her attitude towards me. I kept her at arm’s length to better ignore the physical attraction I couldn’t get rid of.

She glances up and smiles at me. My body tightens. It’s the first time she’s smiled like that since Venice.

She says something else to the little boy, who turns to look at me.

His eyes widen. “Are you really a prince?”

I crouch down, ignoring Sophaya’s muffled laughter. “Not yet.”

“But you will be one day.”

I nod. “Soon.”

“Wow.” The boy grins. “I hope I can be like you when I grow up.”

The words hit me square in the chest as the boy runs off. It’s been years since I’ve interacted with children. Once John took us in, I didn’t have much to do with kids. But in the nearly ten years I spent on the streets, I took more than one under my wing, some not much older than that boy. I used to think of them as my younger siblings.

And now, I’m going to be a father.

Sophaya’s barely smothered laugh has me glancing up at her. “Prince, huh? Nicely done.”

Sophaya grins at me as I stand. “I couldn’t resist.”

Dangerous. Every moment I spend with her now is reinforcing what I learned about her in Venice. She’s sophisticated, commanding and intelligent. But also kind, caring, playful. The more I see of the woman behind the crown, the harder it’s becoming not to let down my guard and engage.

“Who’s the kid?”

“One of the photographer’s assistants’ kids. No school today, so he got stuck following his dad around.” Her smile dims as she peers around the tree. “Ready for the circus?”

“Almost.”