Page 51 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“You did.”

I smile slightly even as a small pang hits me in the chest. There’s still so much I don’t know about him. I know he’s protective, dedicated, loyal. Kind to children and committed to being a father. I know his favorite Bond actor and what he likes to read.

But I still don’t know how he survived all those years on the streets of New York or how he met his brothers. I don’t know why he keeps his emotions so close to his chest, why he can’t let his guard down.

I may know simple facts about my husband. But I don’t really know the man I’m now married to.

“Did you learn how to pick locks with the Rangers?”

He watches me for a moment. “When I was nine.”

My heart plummets. “Nine?” I repeat softly.

“I ran away from foster care when I was eight.” He walks over to the window seat and looks out over the gardens. “I fell in with a gang for a couple years while I learned how to live on the streets. They weren’t the coziest bunch of teenagers, but they kept me alive. I was usually the first in when we broke in to stores or storage units.”

I take a step toward him. I want to offer comfort, to lay a hand on his shoulder or even wrap my arms around his waist and hold him. But I don’t know how he would react. And after the events of today, I can’t handle one more thing.

“Maybe you could teach me.”

He turns to stare at me before tilting his head back and letting out a laugh. A deep, genuine laugh that fills me even as it chases away the darkness that’s lingered since the ceremony. “You constantly surprise me, Princess.”

“As do you, Prince Consort.”

He scowls. “Explain to me again why I can’t go by Mr. Hawke.”

I laugh. “Oh no. If I have to go by Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Sophaya of Siravelle, you can suck it up for Prince Consort.”

His gaze softens as he watches me. I wish he’d look at me like that more often, like he cares for me just a little bit.

“It’s good to see you smile,” he says quietly.

I nod. “It’s getting better.”

The softness disappears, replaced by cold, hard determination. “Both the photographer and the pilot are in jail awaiting charges. The pilot will be in prison for a long time for violating royal airspace guidelines. An investigation is pending on both the photographer and the company who sent him.” His smile turns sharp. “He showed us text messages from his supervisor telling him to get the photos at any cost or he’d be out of a job.”

A shiver creeps down my spine. “I hope this dies down after the wedding.”

He walks towards me. “There are going to be…” He stops himself, breathes in. “I’m suggesting several changes at the next security meeting when we get back from our honeymoon.”

I smile slightly at the effort he’s putting in. “I’m interested to hear them.”

He stops in front of me. Reaches up and cups my cheek once more just like he did during the ceremony. “You should come with me to New York.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“For the autumn gala.”

I think back to that night two months ago when I imagined doing just that. “Um… I’d have to check my calendar—”

“Just say yes.”

I swallow hard. Then, slowly, I smile. “I’d like that.”

“So would I.” His face hardens. “I won’t let this happen again.”

As the heat from his palm warms my face, I reach up and lay my hand over his. He steps closer. Need rises up inside me. Not just need for him, but a desperate desire to just exist with him for a few moments. No photographers, no schedules, no parade of guests I barely even know.

Just us. Only us.