Page 19 of Royal Love
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Go back to sleep, love. I’m okay now.”
She makes a soft sound of contentment, already drifting off. I stay awake a while longer, listening to her breathe, feeling the occasional flutter of movement from our child. The compass remains in my hand, a reminder that even in the darkest night, direction can be found.
Eventually, sleep reclaims me, and this time, no dreams come. Just darkness, warm and safe, with Lia’s heartbeat as my lullaby.
CHAPTER 15
AMELIA
The scent of salt air mingles with coffee as I pad barefoot across the cool wooden floors of our beach house. Sunlight filters through the wide windows, catching dust motes that dance in the golden beams. This place has always felt different than the palace—simpler, more honest. Here, the weight of crowns and duty seems to lighten, if only for a few precious days.
I find Tristan in the kitchen, his back to me as he whisks eggs in a bowl. He’s wearing faded jeans and a simple white T-shirt that stretches across his shoulders. It’s a far cry from the tailored suits and formal attire that the world sees, and I treasure these moments when he’s just mine.
“Good morning,” I say, sliding my arms around his waist from behind.
He turns in my embrace, bowl still in hand. “I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”
“I couldn’t stay asleep knowing you weren’t there,” I confess, rising on tiptoe to kiss him. He tastes like coffee and possibility.
“Well, now that you’re up, you can help.” He nods toward the counter where fresh bread, butter, and a bowl of berries await. “I thought we’d make French toast.”
I reach for the bread, beginning to slice it. “My favorite.”
“I know.” His smile is soft, private—the one only I get to see.
We move around each other in the kitchen with practiced ease, a dance we’ve perfected over the months of our marriage. I dip the bread in the egg mixture while he heats the pan. Our hands brush as we work, small moments of connection that send sparks down my spine even after all this time.
I glance out the window and catch a glimpse of Parker standing on the edge of the property, pretending to survey the landscape while speaking into his phone. Even here, he maintains his vigil, though he’s giving us the illusion of privacy.
“Parker’s been on that call for twenty minutes,” I say, nodding toward the window.
Tristan follows my gaze and sighs. “Something about the trade agreement with Norland. I told him we’d handle it Monday.”
“Yet he’s still here,” I observe, pouring more coffee into our mugs.
“Keeping his distance, at least,” Tristan says, sliding the golden-brown toast onto a plate. “Though he did mention it was, and I quote, ‘of the utmost importance.’”
“Everything is ‘of the utmost importance’ to Parker,” I say, rolling my eyes. “The man would consider a paper cut a national crisis.”
Tristan laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “He takes his job seriously.”
“Too seriously,” I counter. “But I suppose that’s why he’s good at it.”
“Just like Shannon is for you.”
I nod, thinking of my own assistant. “She texted last night to remind me about the charity gala next weekend.”
“As if we could forget,” Tristan says, bringing our plates to the small kitchen table. We sit across from each other, thesimplicity of the moment not lost on me. In the palace, we’d be dining in the formal breakfast room, attended by staff, our every move noted and cataloged for posterity. Here, we’re just us.
I take a bite of the French toast, closing my eyes as the sweet, buttery flavor spreads across my tongue. “This is perfect.”
“High praise from Queen Amelia,” he teases, reaching across to wipe a smudge of syrup from my lip with his thumb.
“Just Lia here,” I remind him. “Just yours.”
His eyes darken at my words, that familiar intensity making my heart skip. “Always mine.”
We finish breakfast talking about nothing important—a book I’m reading, a film he wants to see, the neighbors down the beach who’ve been renovating their house for what seems like eternity. Normal conversations. Precious in their ordinariness.
