by Katie Knight
“How can I not? What if this all goes to hell?”
“We won’t let it. Silvester might have his supporters, but I’ve got a lot of people on my side too. The PR team won’t let you make a fool of yourself because that would reflect badly on me and they love me.” Es winked. “Just do what they say and wear what they tell you to and everything will work out, I promise.”
Except three hours later, Z felt even more unsure than he had earlier that afternoon. He’d been groomed and combed and styled to within an inch of his life and felt incredibly uncomfortable in this weird double-breasted Armani suit in expensive gray Italian wool. He longed for his traditional black and white but had the sickening feeling those days were long gone.
The guy from earlier walked by and gave a loud wolf whistle before shoving a small blue velvet box into Z’s hand. Confused, Z opened it to see a delicate diamond and ruby ring, with a large deep-red center stone surrounded by shimmering white diamonds on a platinum band.
“Where did this come from?” he asked.
“The king,” the guy said. “It belonged to Princess Esme’s mother. After she passed away, the king wore it on a chain around his neck in remembrance of his beloved wife. Isn’t that the sweetest story you’ve ever heard?”
Z swallowed hard, resisting the urge to tug his tie loose and undo a button or two. The reality of the situation settled upon him, heavy as a boulder. This was really happening. Not just the interview, but the proposal, the future marriage, the future kid. Yes, he’d signed the contract and agreed to the deal. And yes, he’d gotten Es pregnant, but until just now, the gravity of it all hadn’t really registered. Their situation had been private—just theirs. Now they were going to share it with the rest of the world. And the rest of the world demanded a level of glitz and glamor he just wasn’t sure he could provide.
As he stared down into that small blue box with the glittering jewels inside, it became clear that this was more than a simple wedding. He was no gem expert, but he’d hazard to guess this ring was worth more than everything he owned. It had to be really old, too, maybe centuries old. He wondered how many previous Prylean princesses might have worn it and under what circumstances they’d married. Love matches were the exception in royal circles, at least from what he’d read, so he and Es’s situation couldn’t have been that unusual in her circles, no matter how odd it felt to him sometimes. Then again, most days he still felt like an outsider looking in at all the political intrigue and publicity that Es seemed to take in stride. He might be her bodyguard and protector, but when it came to this stuff, she was definitely his guardian.
He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before heading to the room they’d set up for the interview. Es was already in there, her stylist buzzing around her, doing last minute touch-ups. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her, not now. Not tonight. So he raised his chin and put on a brave smile.
“You look lovely, princess,” he said, leaning in to sneak a kiss on her cheek while the stylist was working on the other side of Es’s face. “A bit pale though. Do you need anything? I’ve got mints and crackers and even a few chocolates in my pocket. I can run upstairs and get your pills, too, if you need them.”
“I’m fine.” She patted his hand. “What’s that in your hand?”
“Oh.” He showed her the box from the king. “They told me it belonged to your mother.”
She sniffled and blinked hard. “It did. Wow. I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was a little girl, but I never expected it to happen quite like this.”
A pang of disappointment shot through him at the sad note in her voice. “I’m sorry, princess. You probably pictured yourself with some tall, dark, diplomatic guy who would know all the right things to say and do in these situations.”
Es placed a finger against his lips and his whole body tingled with awareness. The warmth in her pretty hazel eyes made his chest squeeze with affection. “No. I pictured myself with a man who was smart and loyal and trustworthy. You’re perfect for the job.”
“Okay,” the production manager said. “Places, everyone. We go live in sixty seconds.”
Z and Es were escorted over to a beige silk divan and seated side by side, her hand clenched in his and her smile serene as she stared directly ahead into the camera.
For Z’s part, all he could think about was how much he longed to be back home in the swamps of Florida, trekking through mud and gator-infested water. Anywhere but where he was, really.
“Right,” the production manager said, holding up his hand and counting down his finger. “Live in five, four, three, two...Go!”
The reporter rattled on and Es answered question after question. Z nodded when it seemed appropriate and kept his smile plastered in place, his attention firmly affixed on the glowing red light atop the camera pointed in his face. Later, he couldn’t have told anyone what was said, or even what he did. Somehow, he managed to get the ring on Es’s finger and kiss her while the crew around them clapped. By the time they were finished, people patted him on the back and even the guy who’d dressed him seemed impressed with what he’d done.
Z’s attention, however, was focused solely on Es. She’d been his rock throughout the whole interview, his anchor in a sea of uncertainty. That thought should have unsettled him, but for some reason, it only made him feel closer to her. Sure, none of this was real. But the sense of security he felt in her presence was no joke. It reminded him a bit of how he’d used to feel with his mom. It was a welcome memory.
“I think I learned more about you in those sixty minutes than you’ve told me the entire time we’ve been together,” she said afterward as she toed off her shoes then sighed in relief. “We’ll talk more later, after I change out of these things. I’m eager to know more.”
Chapter Nineteen
Later that night, after the production crews had moved out of the townhouse and things were quiet again, Esme sat snuggled in her favorite flannel PJs on the loveseat in the living room. Z had changed out of his fancy suit as well, into gray sweatpants and a worn T-shirt with the Navy logo across the front.
“You did a good job tonight,” she said as he returned from the kitchen with two mugs of hot cocoa and a big bowl of popcorn. He handed her a mug then took the seat beside her, placing the bowl of popcorn between them. As lusty as she’d been the previous evening, tonight she was just too tired to have sex. Another side effect of the hormones. They seemed to zap her energy. She placed a protective hand on the slight bulge of her abdomen. Still, it would all be worth it to hold her healthy baby in her arms. She picked up the remote from the table beside her and handed it to Z. “Here, pick us out something good to watch on Netflix.”
Z clicked on the TV then scrolled through the selections. He’d voiced no objections about their abstinence tonight, for which she was beyond grateful. They’d never explicitly said exactly how often they’d be having sex in their faux relationship, but it had been implied after she’d jumped him in the basement last night that their trysts would still continue even though she’d successfully conceived.
“You want something funny or sad or scary?” he asked around a mouth of popcorn.
“Let’s try funny. Don’t think my stomach can handle gore tonight.”
“Are you all right, princess?” he asked, glancing sideways at her. “I can run and get your pills if you want.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” At his dubious look, she smiled. “Really. I just want to spend a quiet night in and relax, with you.”
His slow grin made her heart squeeze with joy. “Sounds divine, princess.”
They settled on a new made-for-Netflix rom-com about kids in a California high school running a kissing contest. It was light and sweet and just the thing she needed to get her mind off everything else going on.
One of the deeper themes of the film was hidden scars, things people hid from one another due to shame or embarrassment or out of some desire to protect the other person. As Esme moved the now-empty p
opcorn bowl aside and snuggled against Z to share his body warmth, she couldn’t help wondering about all the things she still didn’t know about him.
She’d heard the stories about how his parents had died and how he’d grown up in foster care, but she’d still never heard much from him about his days with his SEAL team, nor had he told her exactly what had happened to get him suspended. But there was one thing above all others that she really wanted to know more about, something she’d noticed during sex—the scars on his back. She wanted to know how he’d gotten them and if they had anything to do with why he’d been forced to leave his beloved SEAL team. With the harsh media spotlight that was bound to shine their way now that the king’s condition and her pregnancy were public, Es felt it was best to learn as many of Z’s secrets as she could now, rather than hear about them on the six o’clock news.
“Can I ask you something?” she said, her cheek resting on his shoulder and his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders. She took a deep breath, reveling in his good Z scent of soap and spice and warm, clean male. “Something personal?”
He shifted his weight a bit, clearing his throat. Talking about himself wasn’t his strong suit, she knew that. But if they were going to weather the coming paparazzi storm together, there were things she needed to know. His gaze remained focused on the TV ahead. “Okay.”
“How did you get them?”
“Get what?”
“The scars on your back.” She felt him tense beneath her and resisted the urge to recant her question. Instead, she gave him time, hoping that eventually he’d see it was safe to open up to her. Her hand rested on his taut abdomen and she stroked her thumb over the ridges of his muscles, hoping to soothe him. “I felt them under my fingers last night. Do they hurt?”
“No.” The word sounded choked out and he coughed again. “Not anymore.” Z frowned down at her. “Are you sure you want to hear about that? You said gore wasn’t your thing tonight.”
“Give me the abbreviated version then.” She dropped a kiss on his pec through the cotton of his shirt. “From what I could feel, they stretch from your shoulder blades down to your lower back. What caused them?”
Z sighed and closed his eyes, silent for a moment, as if coming to a decision. When he opened them again, both sadness and resignation lurked in their blue depths. “Rocks. Jagged, sharp rocks. That’s what caused them.”
She scowled. “Were you tortured?”
“No. It might’ve been easier if I was.” He gave a dismal chuckle. “I got them during a rescue mission. My friend, Deacon, had been shot. It was bad. We’d been given the wrong coordinates by the higher ups and walked right into a trap. A deadly trap. Eight of our security support team members were injured or killed. Luckily, all of my SEAL team survived, barely.”
“You were injured saving your friend. You really are a hero.”
“Yeah?” Z shook his head and looked away. “Well, the US government didn’t see it that way. They didn’t appreciate me asking a bunch of questions after the mission. Things like who screwed up our orders and why we were sent into hostile territory and all but set up to die.” He flinched and cursed under his breath. “When Deacon was shot, we were in a remote area of the Central American jungle on a black-ops mission. It was beyond top secret, and if we were caught, we were to deny any knowledge of US involvement. Deacon and I were stationed on the rocky banks of a river, running surveillance. Easy picking for the enemy snipers. They took Deacon down with a bullet to the shoulder, then tried to end him with a shot to the head. I managed to duck behind some supplies, but they still nailed me in the right leg. They jammed our communications, so I couldn’t call for help or reinforcements. The longer we were stuck out there, the worse our situation looked. I had to get him out myself.”
Esme held him tighter, hating the pain and distance in his expression as he lost himself in the horrific memories.
“I really thought we were both goners that day. There were so many bullets, so much gunfire, so much blood and death. My injured leg was useless, so I couldn’t stand, couldn’t walk. I had to drag myself and Deacon to safety in the cover of the jungle, scooting backwards on the ground. Those rocks were so sharp, they sliced right through my flak jacket. Deacon was out cold, so it was easier to carry his weight atop me, but the added pressure only made those rocks cut deeper. All I remember is just praying to God to get us out of there, to keep us safe, to not let us die like animals.”
Tears stung Esme’s eyes and she snuggled closer to him, hoping to provide what comfort she could though it all seemed useless at the moment. “I’m so sorry, Z. That’s terrible. How did you end up getting out?”
“I didn’t find out until later, actually.” He exhaled slow. “Once Deacon and I reached the cover of the tree line, I passed out from the pain. Next time I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room at Walter Reed. Deacon was in the bed next to mine. We’d survived, thanks to the rest of our team. They heard the gunfire and came to help us, orders or not. Without them, I wouldn’t be here now.”
Esme rested her forehead against his chin. “You should’ve been given a medal. You were a hero that day. How did you end up suspended instead?”
“Like I said, the brass didn’t appreciate me asking a bunch of questions they didn’t want to answer. But I couldn’t just let it go, even though my commander said I should. He said we could look into it ourselves later, after all the attention died down. I wasn’t about to drop it, though. Innocent men died that day. I wanted answers. I still do. So they suspended me. Made up some trumped-up charges about dereliction of duty and whatnot. My commander had to pull God knows how many strings to get me tagged for this assignment, so I could earn an income until he could bring me back.” He shook his head. “I’d still rejoin the team in a heartbeat though. Those guys are the closest thing I have to family now. They’re my brothers. I’d die for each and every one of them without question. Then there’s the guilt.”
“Guilt?” Esme looked up at him, confused. “What in the world do you have to feel guilty about?”
“I just keep thinking that if I’d just paid more attention, just looked at things more closely that day, then maybe we would’ve discovered the trap ahead of time, maybe all those people wouldn’t have died and Deacon and I would not have been injured.”
“Stop. No. You did everything you could.” She cupped his cheeks to force him to meet her gaze, determination pulsing through every nerve in her body. “You were a hero. None of that was your fault. None. Understand?”
He sighed. “The world’s a dangerous place, princess. Full of violence and scars. What happens when our baby is born and has to face all of that?”
She sniffled. “There’s nothing we can do about that. The world is dangerous, yes, and people get scars. It’s true. All we can do is help our child heal when they’re hurting, give them the skills to cope. When my mother died, I wanted to die, too. I didn’t know how to go on without her. My father felt the same way. We still carry those scars even if they’re invisible. But you know what? Sometimes it’s those scars that make you stronger, that make you appreciate life and beauty and goodness. The pain highlights the pleasure. Our child will be fine because we’ll make sure of it.”
Z hugged her tight, his breath warm on the top of her head. “I hope so, princess. I hope so. And I hope one day I’ll get to where you are, seeing the good in your scars. Because right now, all I have to show for mine is the pain.”
Chapter Twenty
Two weeks later, they were sitting in the king’s private jet at Dulles International Airport, readying for takeoff to Prylea. King Renault had finally been pronounced well enough to travel by his physicians and in short order, he had demanded to return home to his beloved country.
Packing up the townhouse had taken a few days, as had filing the required paperwork and manifests for the flight, but at last they were all boarded and ready to go. Esme was seated near the front of the cabin with Z beside her while her father and the rest of
his medical convoy were taking up the back portion of the plane.
She glanced over at her husband-to-be, picking up immediately on his worried vibes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, not looking up from the stack of papers he was sorting through. “Just the usual security threats.”
The ones he’d followed up on were flagged with little red Post-its. She’d learned that much over the past few weeks they’d spent together. She’d also learned that while she’d been dealing with her lingering morning sickness and other adjustments of the first trimester of pregnancy, he and his team had been contacting local authorities about the letters they’d received from weirdos who seemed to know too much about the royal schedule or who’d mentioned the Halloween fire at the haunted house specifically.
Their own personal bodyguard stood poised across the space, stance ready in case of any problems. Esme bit back a smile at Z’s grouchy attitude toward that development. She’d explained that as her fiancé, he would now have a security guard of his own. Z hadn’t liked that, insisting it was a waste of money and that the guard shouldn’t be guarded.
Still, watching him page through all those threats and nasty letters, Esme couldn’t help feeling grateful that there were people looking out for them. Couldn’t help feeling a bit paranoid, too. When he wasn’t working, Z watched her constantly, and it made her feel like a fish in a bowl. Growing up, her tutors had done that, too, always watching her, always judging her, always criticizing behavior in one way or another. She stared out the window as their plane slowly taxied toward the runway. Was Z judging her, too? Did he question her choices? Like when she’d chosen the Danish over the fruit cup at breakfast this morning. Yes, the fruit would’ve been healthier, but those carbs were irresistible. What about her flagging energy? Sure, she tended to nap far more often these days then go for walks around the block, but then she was growing a new human inside her. She glanced down at her feet, at the cute stiletto heels she’d worn today with her new wool slacks and cashmere turtleneck. Z hadn’t liked those one bit, saying they were a walking hazard. He’d wanted her to wear a boring pair of flats instead. She’d ignored him, of course. Fashion was one of the few things she still felt excited about and she wanted to wear her nice things before she got too big to fit into them. Since they’d had their little spat about her wardrobe, though, he’d been very quiet—too quiet. She’d never done well with silence.
