Page 13 of Royal Catch
I exhale sharply. I can’t believe I was lured to Villroy, or more accurately, Polly was lured here with the promise of a small inheritance only to be told it was “riches beyond our dreams,” and then that the real prize was Gabriel. The desperate hunted look in his eyes when all those princesses rushed him makes me wonder how he feels about being the prize in this competition. Personally, I would hate being treated like a trophy. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t cracked a smile. Maybe he’s miserable, furious, and stuck. I can’t help but see the similarities between him and Polly.
Now that my fairy-tale fantasy of the royal life is permanently tarnished, I see there’s nothing different about these people other than the circumstances of their birth. And I of all people, being an orphan, can’t judge someone based on something like that, so completely out of your control.
I gaze at the fountain for a moment, searching for answers.Go or stay?
I’ll flip a coin. I dig a quarter from my small purse and walk closer to the fountain’s light, close my eyes, and toss it in the air.
“Making a wish?” a deep masculine voice asks.
I jump and let out an embarrassing squeak. Speak of the devil. “What’re you doing here?”
Gabriel lifts a brow and crosses his arms. “I live here.” He’s still in his dark blue suit, and the blazer pulls tight across his muscular shoulders and biceps. It’s embarrassing how much I want to see him shirtless. Virgin princesses don’t go there. Yup, Polly is a virgin. It’s mandatory for a princess to be a virgin upon marriage in her old-school kingdom. She abided by the rule not only because she was always accompanied by a chaperone and had romantic visions of her future groom, it’s something the royal doctor checks prior to the ceremony.Blech.
I meet his eyes. “Do you always take walks at night?”
“Do you?”
“I have a lot on my mind. A hard decision to make.”
“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
I stare at him, surprised at his offer. “Thanks, but I have to figure it out myself.”
He inclines his head. “If you could make a wish, what would it be?”
I instantly think of Mike, my foster dad, and blurt, “I’d find a cure for cancer.”
His eyes are sympathetic, and he steps closer, dropping his arms by his sides. “Is it someone close to you?”
I nod. “My dad.” Mike is the closest thing I ever had to a dad. He was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer a year before his retirement. So unfair. “He’s too young to die.”
He nods gravely. “It is unfair. Unfortunately, I’m dealing with similar…” He clenches his jaw and looks off in the distance toward the sea.
“You can tell me. I won’t tell a soul.”
He glances at me. “I can’t share with outsiders.”
He takes a seat on the bench, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed. In that moment, he’s not a prince, he’s a man carrying a heavy burden and a pain I know in my own heart, the grief of impending loss. The helplessness of it all, watching someone you love suffer.
I join him on the bench. “Cancer sucks.”
“It does.” He straightens and stares straight ahead, his voice hoarse. “He’s only fifty-four.”
Pain seems to radiate from him, and I scoot closer, leaning against his side in a gesture of comfort. He doesn’t pull away. We just sit there, pressed arm to arm, thigh to thigh, warmth building between us in the cool night air.
“Is it your dad too?” I’m guessing based on the age.
He nods once.
I don’t press for the details. Royal rules probably restrict him from saying as much as he has, which is really unfair because who’s he supposed to unload on? He has to be stoic, above it all, but it’s a deep kind of pain when you’re faced with losing someone you love. Now I know why the king hasn’t made an appearance during this competition, while the queen has been very present. The odd nature of this competition must be because it’s urgent for Gabriel to marry, to carry on the line. He will be king soon.
I’m sitting by a fountain in the moonlight, pressed against a future king, and all I want to do is hug him. He feels warm and approachable and so much man. Not perfect, not rigid, not even royal. He’s vulnerable and hurting.
So I do. I turn, wrap my arms around him in a sideways hug, and squeeze. He doesn’t hug me back, but he can’t, really, because I’ve got his arms pinned to his sides.
I let him go and look up at him.
His lips curve into a small smile. “What was that for?”
