CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JULIUSTUGGEDON the rope attached to the mainsail—mainsheet, not rope, he silently corrected himself—and savored the thrill as the sail pressed out. The boat picked up speed, curving around the northern tip of Rodina. The palace stood tall and proud nearly two hundred feet above his head, perched on a cliff that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean to the north and the west, and the distant, hazy coastline of Portugal to the east.

It had been nearly three weeks since he'd been back. Three weeks since Esmerelda had left. His fury, the gut-wrenching sensation of betrayal that she had called the palace had been short-lived.

There had been nothing left for him on Grenada. Nothing but memories of a fleeting time that he suspected was the happiest he had been in a long time.

Perhaps the happiest he would ever be.

He'd returned Burak's call after Esmerelda had walked out, assuming the mantle of leader as if it had never slipped away. Within an hour he'd been on a private jet flying across the Caribbean Sea, despite his head of security's insolent insistence that he wait for a team to come get him and ensure he was fit to fly after his attack.

His new head of security had greeted him at the airport. A tall bear of a man, Burak was intelligent, shrewd and relentless. He'd asked numerous questions, ranging from the hotel Julius had stayed at in London to the doctor he'd seen on Grenada. Questions Julius had answered concisely as he'd reviewed schedules, proposed legislation and news stories, catching up on the pieces of his life he'd missed out on the past week.

The only thing he deflected on was his and Esmerelda's relationship. When Burak had prodded, Julius had speared him with an icy gaze and said, "If you want to keep your job, you will never, ever suggest that Miss Clark behaved in a manner unbecoming her position."

Judging by his narrowed eyes and tight mouth, Burak hadn't liked his answer. But he'd accepted it with a grudging nod before moving on to other questions.

The only other person who had been told the full truth of what had transpired was his father. When the plane had landed, Julius had requested an immediate audience with his father. Francisco had greeted him at the palace, his hug sparking both affection and guilt. Once they'd been secure in the privacy of Francisco's study, he'd asked after Esmerelda and if she had accepted his ring.

Julius had hesitated. Francisco had leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as if to stop himself from reaching out to his only child.

"What's on your mind, son?"

He told his father everything, from waking up in his hotel room to Esmerelda's departure and everything in between. Francisco had listened. It wasn't until Julius reached the end that he had finally spoken.

"That's rough."

The simple summation had made Julius laugh and broken the tension. His father hadn't pushed, hadn't berated or lectured him. He'd simply asked if there was anything he could do and, when Julius had responded in the negative, said he was always available if Julius needed to talk.

Before Julius had left, his father had circled the desk and enveloped him in a tight hug that spoke louder than any words could say. The sheen in Francisco's eyes, the slight fear of what might have happened in that London alleyway, went unsaid but not unrecognized.

The quiet support, the subtle demonstrations of love, struck him anew. After his mother's death, he had shunned all emotional connection. His eyes had always been fixed on the future, never the present or the past. Tasks, lists, always having a goal to work toward, had kept him focused. Kept his heart safe, even from his own father, who had done nothing but offer him quiet yet steady love and support.

Until her.

Every time he thought of how she had bowed to him, hurt once more by his cruel words yet still so proud before she had walked out of his life once again, his chest tightened until he could barely breathe. Nights were the hardest, especially reaching as he woke and having his fingers brush cool, empty sheets instead of Esme's warmth.

He maintained a fa?ade throughout his days as he eased into his duties, professional yet with a touch of the humanness he'd discovered in his weeks on the island. More smiles, the occasional joke. It was amusing, and gratifying, to see people exchange wide-eyed glances as they wondered what had happened to finally make Prince Julius's cold exterior thaw.

The beach appeared, the black sand a sharp contrast to Grenada's powdery white shores. He angled the boat toward the dock and winced as the hull hit harder than he'd intended. But, he reminded himself as he tied off the boat and stepped onto the dock, he had made vast improvements. It had shocked a number of people when Prince Julius, renowned for doing nothing but working, eating and sleeping, had booked private sailing lessons.

He'd wanted to do something, anything outside of his role as prince. Being on the water, feeling the familiar rise and fall of the waves, smelling the salt air, had been a comfort he hadn't even realized he'd needed until he'd first boarded with his instructor. He'd dedicated an hour every night to practicing.

When he'd taken the boat out for his first solo trip around the north end of Rodina two days ago, he'd nearly called her. Had wanted to share it with her.

But he hadn't. She had left. He had offered more of himself to her than he had to anyone since his mother had passed. Had finally risked it all and made a decision based on his heart.

It hadn't been enough.

You know that's not all of it.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the ocean. The heat of the sun seeped into his skin, bringing memories of a tiny island in the Atlantic up from the depths. He opened his eyes and started up the stone steps carved into the cliff. He reached the towering gate at the top of the stairs and punched in the security code. Heat from the sun warmed his back. The gate creaked as he pushed it open, clanged as he shut it. He focused on the sound of his feet on the pavestones, the gentle swishing as an afternoon breeze stirred the flower-tipped stalks of lavender that lined the walkway.

The past invaded. He couldn't stop the image of her stricken expression when he'd told her his reasons for why she would make the perfect queen. As the feeling of being rejected had faded, reality had sunk in, cold and vicious. He had done what so many had done to her in the past, especially her parents; he had reduced her from a dynamic, interesting woman to a list of qualifications. Had taken her comments about being an ornament as a personal slight against his mother and all the good she had done instead of hearing Esmerelda's words.

In the moment, when Esmerelda had looked at him and asked for more, he'd felt the pain of rejection like a knife to the heart. The pieces of himself he had shared hadn't been enough for her. The risk he'd taken deemed inadequate.

But then he remembered her face. Her own sense of rejection. His inability to voice the true depths of his feelings for her.

It had been reasonable for him to withdraw after his mother had been yanked from him so quickly, here one moment alive and happy, then gone in a matter of weeks. Yet, he grudgingly admitted as he walked into the palace gardens, it had also become an excuse over the years. It was easier to stay aloof, to never feel the gut-wrenching grief that had nearly consumed him when his mother had passed.

Until now. Until a different kind of grief shadowed his every step, haunted his waking hours, plagued his dreams. The grief of having held someone he deeply cared about and letting her slip away not once, but twice.

"You look terrible."

Julius looked up as his father walked into the garden.

"Recovering from a traumatic head injury is a good excuse for not looking my best."

"Hmm." Francisco glanced down at a stalk of lavender. "I rarely come here. It's a nice spot, though."

"It is."

Francisco moved to a spot in the wall with a wrought-iron fence instead of the exquisitely painted tiles that covered the garden walls. Beyond the fence the ground rushed out in an explosion of green before sloping sharply down toward another beach. The waves rose and fell in gentle swells, the water rising up onto the dark sand before receding back into the ocean.

Julius joined his father at the fence and stared out. Hard to believe that a week ago he had been on the other side of this ocean struggling with the idea of his identity revolving around a title.

"I can feel you thinking too hard."

Francisco scoffed. "No such thing. But," he added with a slight smile, "if I were thinking, it might be to ask what thoughts you have toward moving forward."

A stone settled in the pit of Julius's stomach.

"Let me know if you have any suitable candidates in mind."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The word rolled off Julius's tongue, but with a distinct lack of conviction. Once he had believed the sentiment of finding the best wife to suit Rodina's advancement with his entire being. It had been easier to see a future marriage and even a family as for the better of the country rather than an investment he would make on his own.

But now, the thought of kissing another woman, sliding the ring onto her finger, sharing children with her, made him feel empty, like someone had hollowed out his chest and left nothing behind except sorrow.

"What of Esmerelda?"

Julius's head snapped up.

"I don't want to talk about her."

Francisco ignored his son's icy tone.

"Do you realize that you coming to ask my permission to propose to Esmerelda is the first thing you've asked of me since your mother passed? It's always been the job, what's best for the country, best for the people. Another reason why you'll be a good king. But," Francisco added as Julius started to interrupt, "how good can a king be if he works himself to the bone and becomes too tired, too worn down, to be a good leader?"

Julius grimaced.

"You sound like her."

"I've spent a lot of time thinking this past year. A lot," Francisco repeated as he once again looked out over the sea. "I've also watched you. I noticed long ago how you were around Miss Clark. It was as if your edges had been smoothed out."

Slowly, Julius reached into his pocket. His fingers wrapped around the jeweler's box. How many times had he pulled it out over the past few days, holding it up to the light, running his fingers over the diamond, the aquamarine gems, the tiny pearls. Miss Smythe had answered his numerous questions during their initial consultation, helped him pick the gems and stones: aquamarine for the happiness she'd brought to his life. Pearl for the wisdom she had shared with him as they'd talked of Rodina.

And the diamond, speckled. Flawed, like Esmerelda saw herself. Yet to him, beautiful beyond measure.

The longer you look, the more you see.

"She is an incredible woman." Francisco tilted his head to one side. "Did you tell her you loved her?"

The edges of the ring box cut into his palms as he gripped it tighter. Did he love her? He cared about her, yes. But as he turned his father's question over in his mind, certainty flooded his veins. His feelings for Esmerelda went far deeper than affection. He desired her, craved her presence, missed her saucy smile and joyful laugh. Yet he trusted her, too, not just with his life but his heart. That she cared just as deeply about Rodina as he did was another bond that he had at first categorized as making her an ideal queen, not recognizing that it bound them together, too.

"I told her I cared about her."

Francisco threw back his head and laughed. Julius frowned at him.

"Helpful, Pai. Very helpful."

Francisco's laughter quieted as a nostalgic smile tugged at his lips.

"I wish I had had more time with your mother. So many things I wish we had done. We weren't in love when we got engaged," he said. "I did it for duty. But when we did fall in love..." His voice trailed off as his gaze turned distant.

Julius smiled slightly. "She told me."

"One thing I never regretted, though, once I realized how I felt, was telling her every day how I felt about her."

Francisco left, leaving Julius alone once more in the garden.

He pulled the box out of his pocket and opened it. The ring glinted in the sunlight. The longer he stared at it, the more a fool he felt. Yes, Esmerelda had the potential to be a queen Rodina deserved. But she was also the only woman he wanted. The only woman he had ever loved. She deserved to hear that, to hear that he wanted her by his side because of who she was, not because of what she had to offer. That he wouldn't just shove her into a box of his own making but give her the power to lead her own life.

She deserved the choice to accept him, or reject him, but with a full picture of what he was offering. He didn't like the latter possibility, despised the nervousness at giving up his power and surrendering to his emotions.

But, he thought with renewed determination as he tucked the ring back into his pocket, if anyone was worth the risk of opening up his heart to, it was Esmerelda.

His phone dinged. He pulled it out of his pocket, read the email that had just landed in his inbox.

And smiled.