‘Am I allowed to use my imagination?’ The brush of her hair, the feel of her soft skin against his was enough to send his senses racing. He wasn’t sure at all what tonight would entail, but he was happy to be by her side.
* * *
Gabrielle was nervous. This was a big night for her. It was a big night for them. And she still really hadn’t taken the chance to sit down and explain things to Sullivan.
Part of her wondered what he might say. Telling him that this invitation might mean...that she was telling the world she hoped he’d stay around seemed desperate. And she had never been desperate.
But then again, she’d never been Head of State of Mirinez before. And as much as she hated it, any minute now the press would move on to the next stage. This time next week they would decide that, yes, Gabrielle would be marrying Sullivan and start contemplating a date...then speculating about a family.
She wanted to be back in Paris with Sullivan, spending long lazy days and even longer nights in bed, just waiting for a call for the next mission.
Chances were, at this point she would still be nervous. They would always need to have that ‘conversation’. The one where they decided if their fling was over, or if it meant something more.
Truth was, she was falling a little in love with Sullivan. He made her feel safe. One look from him, one hint of twinkle in his eye and it felt as if a thousand tiny caterpillars were marching over her skin. Just the upward curl of his smile meant her blood would start to race around her body. As for the feel of his lips connecting with hers...
She didn’t want to lose that feeling. She wanted to grab it and hold on with both hands.
But Sullivan seemed to have spent the last few years on a never-ending mission. She couldn’t expect him to give all that up. She would never ask him to. But would he consider something else? Would he consider somewhere and someone to come home to?
She tilted her chin up to his and wrapped her arms around his neck. He met her lips eagerly. This felt like coming home. His lips parted against hers, his tongue running along the edges. It was easy to welcome his kiss. She inhaled his fresh scent. Probably pure pheromones. The guy had them by the bagload.
He eventually pulled back and rested his forehead against hers while she caught her breath. He smiled and lifted his thumb to her lips. ‘Might have smudged your lipstick. Can’t have you leaving here looking anything less than perfect.’
She lifted her fingers to his lips too. ‘I might have left you with my mark.’ She rubbed the remnants of her red lipstick from his face.
He gave her a crooked kind of smile. There was something in his eyes. Not the twinkle that she was used to—this time it was thoughtful sincerity. It almost took her breath away. ‘I could get used to that.’
She stepped back. Should she speak to him now? Should she ask him how he felt about the future—the possibility of a future with her?
There was a knock at the door. Franz entered and gave her an approving smile. ‘Perfect, you’re ready, Princess Gabrielle. A large number of our guests have already arrived and are being entertained. I think it’s time to join them. Are you ready?’
He looked between her and Sullivan. She couldn’t help but notice that Sullivan almost got an approving glance too.
She quickly fixed her lipstick then slid her arm into Sullivan’s, giving him a smile as her stomach did a few somersaults. ‘Yes, we’re ready, aren’t we?’
He nodded in agreement as they headed out of the apartments. As they reached the stairs she could hear the noise from beneath them. The ballroom was buzzing. A string quartet was playing in the corner and palace staff was circulating with silver trays containing glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
She gave Sullivan’s arm a little squeeze as they descended the stairs. This would be his first experience of what royal life could entail. She crossed her fingers, silently praying that everything would go well and he wouldn’t be on the first plane out of here.
But everything went like a charm. Sullivan moved easily around the room. He was a seasoned professional and his language skills took everyone by surprise. He was also a fabulous advocate for Doctors Without Borders, engaging delegates from other countries in conversations about working across the globe and the type of health interventions needed.
She was trying her best too, working her way through a number of difficult conversations that were clearly overdue. In the end, the paths seemed smoother.
The royal dining room was set up in shades of gold and cream. As always, the staff had done an immaculate job. Franz had seated people carefully—always a challenge at a state dinner. But the wine flowed and the food was served quickly.
Sullivan was across the table and further down from her. She could see him talking to the people on either side of him, neither of whom she could place. But from time to time his eyes drifted off. Her heart gave a squeeze when the expression on his face was almost pained. But as soon as someone next to him started talking again, he smiled and gave them his full attention.
If she didn’t know better she’d think he was feeling uncomfortable. But she’d seen that look on Sullivan’s face before. It was always fleeting. Always almost hidden.
She’d been so busy thinking about herself and her country, so busy hoping that Sullivan would feel the same way she did and want to continue their relationship, that she hadn’t even stopped to wonder about those moments.
Relationships should be a partnership. He was supporting her. But was she supporting him in return?
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the sequins on her dress digging in a little around her arm. The chancellor of a neighbouring country brushed her arm to start another conversation and she responded. But Sullivan was still at the forefront of her mind.
Why did she feel like a teenager again, instead of a Princess?
* * *
Dinner had been fine. The guests and company had been interesting. He’d had a number of conversations about health issues that Doctors Without Borders supported. He also had avenues to explore in future months.
But the table had been huge, filled at either side and accommodating more than three hundred people. It was impossible to know everyone who was there.
He’d watched Gabrielle. She was the perfect hostess. Beautiful, considerate, genuine and very, very measured.
It was almost amusing. If they’d been on a mission he was sure she would have told a few diplomats exactly what she thought of them, but the role of Head of State was vastly different from managing a team in the jungle.
But he’d watched the rest of the people around the table. As the night progressed he could see Gabrielle moving up in their estimations. For some strange reason it made his heart swell with pride.
Everything about her—her smile, the toss of her hair, her laugh—seemed to connect with him in a way that was deeper than anything he’d ever experienced before.
He should be singing. He should be shouting from the rooftops and he wanted to, he really did.
But something was holding him back.
For the first time in his life he really wanted to make a commitment. He wanted to sit down and have that ‘what if’ conversation. The one where he could tell her just how he felt and see how he could make things work.
For a few days he just wished the whole royal scenario hadn’t happened. But this was Gabrielle’s birthright. She had responsibilities and if he loved her the way he thought he might, then he had to accept that.
He knew that she was struggling. And he wanted to help. He did.
So why did he feel as if there was a rope around his waist, pulling him back? Stopping him from going where he wanted to be.
The truth was that he had personal issues to deal with first. He’d left part himself back in the house in Oregon three years ago when he’d buried his dad
.
Grief was a strange and curious thing. It started as an overwhelming sensation that the world sympathised with for a few weeks.
Then it was expected to gradually disperse.
In all honesty, he’d expected it to disperse too.
But it hadn’t.
Instead, it had stayed. And grown. Starting as a little seed, it had changed to a sprouting plant and turned into a vine that had crept up and wound its way around his heart and soul, telling him to deal with it as the blackness had clouded in the background.
He was a doctor. A medic. He’d seen things on his tours of duty that would haunt him for ever. But he’d accepted that part of his life. He was supposed to be tough. A delinquent even. A hero.
Those words actually sent a chill down his spine.
But most of all he was a man. Add all those things together—doctor, man, delinquent, hero—and he should be easily equipped to deal with the loss of his father.
His way of dealing with it was constantly being busy, of constantly having his mind and body focusing on something else.
If he really wanted to move forward and work out a way to continue this relationship with Gabrielle then he had to find a way to put the past behind him.
It was the voice he recognised first. His head turned automatically to try and locate the source. Then it was the figure. The broad shoulders and familiar dress uniform. The last time he’d seen Admiral Sands had been at his father’s funeral.
At the same time Joe Sands looked over and caught Sullivan’s eye. The recognition took less than a few seconds before he lifted his hand, waved and started to walk in Sullivan’s direction.
A tightness spread across Sullivan’s chest, his mouth instantly dry. There was a buzzing in his ears, as if he’d just been surrounded by a swarm of angry wasps. Joe Sands looked as relaxed as always. Time had been kind to him. Sullivan knew he must be in his late seventies; he’d retired twenty years ago. He’d been one of first people to get in touch following the death of his father, and he’d made a few attempts since then to keep in contact with Sullivan.
He slapped Sullivan’s arm. ‘Sullivan Darcy. It’s good to see you. How have you been?’
Sullivan gave the briefest of nods as his mouth tried to formulate a reply. Even though he’d had a dress uniform in his apartments and had chosen not wear it, seeing someone else dressed that way had caught him unawares. He hadn’t expected it—not here, in Mirinez. He’d got out of the way of being in the company of men in US uniforms. His father had been buried in his dress uniform—as many military men were—and as the light glinted from Joe Sands’s buttons the hairs on the back of Sullivan’s neck stood on end.
He finally found some words. ‘I’m good. Still working.’
Joe was as amiable as ever. ‘I never expected to see you here in Mirinez. And you’re with Gabrielle? That’s wonderful. She’s a beauty. Smart too. Your father would be so proud.’
Would he? It was the oddest feeling. Sullivan suddenly felt very young. He’d always wanted his father’s approval. He’d always had it.
But in the last three years parts of his life had played on his mind. He’d been as rebellious as the usual teenager and young man—there were a few things his father had found about, a lot he hadn’t.
But he’d never really done anything serious. He’d respected his father and their relationship too much for that.
Now every decision he made came under his night-time scrutiny of whether his father would have approved or not. Sleep had deserted him.
Gabrielle had proved the best distraction yet. There was nothing like the feel of soft smooth skin to chase away any other jumbled thoughts. But when she fell asleep first, her soft steady breathing filling the air, then the crazy thoughts would find their way back in.
Part of him knew what this was. He’d been a doctor long enough to spot the signs in other people so he’d be a fool if he couldn’t recognise them in himself.
But a man wasn’t supposed to be unable to deal with grief. A doctor even less so.
Life had moved on. He should have too. If a therapist had asked him a question, he couldn’t even give an obvious answer. No, he didn’t have unresolved issues with his father. No, there had never been any real conflict. Their relationship had been strong, cemented in the fact they’d only had each other.
And since his father had died, Sullivan had felt as if he’d lost his right-hand man. In a way he had. The effects of being an adult, real-life orphan had never occurred to him.
Perhaps it was much simpler than all that. He missed him. He missed his dad every day. So many times he’d gone to pick up a phone or write an email and stopped instantly, body washed with cold at remembering his father wasn’t there. It was ridiculous.
Packing up the house felt final. It was like ripping away the last part of his father that still existed.
He couldn’t talk about this to anyone. They would think it pathetic. Men weren’t supposed to grieve like this. Men were supposed to get to work. And he had done exactly that—for three years—because work had been the only place he’d felt safe.
And seeing Joe Sands was bringing everything back. Any minute now he’d start regaling Sullivan with stories. Stories about the visit to NASA or Washington. Stories about arguments with generals. Joe Sands had worked alongside his father for the best part of eight years. He knew things that Sullivan didn’t. And part of that made him angry. He hated the fact there were memories of his father that he didn’t have.
He pasted a smile onto his face and he reached out to shake Joe’s hand. ‘It’s a real pleasure to see you again, Admiral Sands. I’d love to talk but I’m actually on duty. I helped with the mining accident in Mirinez and I’ve just been contacted to go and check on a patient. If we’re lucky, we might be able to catch up later.’
It was all lies. And he only felt the tiniest hint of regret as he saw the wave of disappointment on Joe’s face.
‘You’ve had a call?’ Gabrielle’s voice cut through his thoughts. He hadn’t realised she’d appeared and certainly not that she’d overheard him.
She caught sight of his face and nodded smoothly, sliding her arm into his. ‘That’s why I came to find you. I’ve had a call too.’ She nodded her head. ‘Good evening, Admiral. It’s so nice to see you. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk. Possibly tomorrow?’
The Admiral didn’t seem to notice Gabrielle’s cover-up, but Sullivan’s insides felt as if they were curling up and dying.
The Admiral nodded. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
Gabrielle steered Sullivan towards the open doors out to the palace gardens. Her footsteps were firm. She gave a few people gracious nods as they passed but didn’t stop to talk. It was clear she was on a mission.
As soon as the colder night air hit him his breath caught in his throat. It was the oddest sensation. Like breathing in, without being able to breathe back out. He’d never felt anything like it.
Gabrielle lengthened her strides as they reached the gardens. They passed the fountain and moved away from the paved pathways and across the manicured lawn.
His heart was thudding against his chest, beads of sweat breaking out on his brow. He tugged at the tie he was wearing and struggled to loosen his collar. His skin was itching.
Was he having an allergic reaction to something? What had he eaten? That was all he could liken the sensations to.
Gabrielle led him through some trees and out towards a glass and metal-framed summerhouse. Her footsteps didn’t slow until they were inside and she pushed him down onto the bench seat that ran along the inside of the summerhouse.
She knelt down in front of him and unfastened the next few buttons on his shirt. ‘Calm down, Sullivan. Breathe. Slow it down.’
He pulled at his collar. ‘S-something’s...wrong.’
She locked her dark eyes on his, her fingers pressing on the pulse at his wrist.
‘Sullivan, you’re breathing too quickly. You need to slow it down. We’re going to do this together.’
Sweat was trickling down his back between his shoulder blades. He shrugged off his jacket, desperate to get some air around him.
Gabrielle kept talking. Calmly. Slowly.
‘I’m... I’m...’
She touched his hand gently. ‘You’re having a panic attack, Sullivan. That’s why I’ve not called an ambulance or taken you anywhere else.’ She held up her hands. ‘It’s just you and me. There’s no one else around. No one else noticed anything.’
Her hand rubbed up and down his. ‘Breathe in for two, and out for two. Come on, you can do this.’
His head was spinning. Was she crazy? He’d never had a panic attack in his life. But things around him felt fuzzy and he could feel his heart thudding against his chest. Pain was starting to cross his ribs. Any minute now he might throw up. Could this really be a panic attack?
Her voice got firmer. Still calm, but with a little more authority. ‘Work with me, Sullivan. Come on. Breathe in for two and out for two. In for two, out for two. Do it with me. You can do this.’
She was persistent. She kept talking. Softly. Steadily. Until she started to sound as if she was making sense.
He sucked in a breath to the sound of her voice.
‘That’s it. Do it. Follow me. In for two, out for two.’
He started following her lead. Within a few seconds she changed. ‘Okay, now in for four, out for four.’
His heart was slowing. He could feel it. And the pain in his chest was easing ever so slightly. She kept talking, looking up at him with those big brown eyes laced with concern.
His skin prickled as the perspiration on his skin mixed with the cold air. His shirt was open to his waist. He’d practically stripped.
Reality started to take a grip on his brain. He’d never had an experience like that before.
He sucked in a deeper breath and ran his fingers through his now-damp hair.
The Doctor and the Princess Page 13
