Ana straightened her shoulders and then pushed back her chair, ready to stand.
‘Wait,’ he said. He met her gaze and held it. ‘You made the right decision.’
‘How do you know that?’ Ana asked. ‘Because I can tell you know you did—even if you haven’t realised it yet,’ he said. ‘And also, a guy who is sitting back in Vela Ada, rather than doing everything in his power to find you, to try to change your mind? Well, he’s not the right guy. He doesn’t deserve you if he won’t fight for you.’
After her day—and the confusing maelstrom of guilt and hurt and disappointment that continued to whirl within her—it was the perfect thing to hear.
And he was right. She could regret hurting people, but she couldn’t regret finally coming to her senses.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and it would have been so easy to lose herself in the depths of his blue-grey gaze. In the gaze of a man she had no doubt would fight for the woman he loved. But instead she stood, and then added, ‘…Mr North.’
IT TOOK HOURS for Ana to fall asleep.
Her thoughts weren’t particularly coherent as exhaustion warred with her overthinking, but they centred mostly on her immediate family: her mother and grandparents. How must they be feeling?
Her mother had sent her several text messages, but she’d responded to only one, just to reassure her she was okay and would be home in a few days’ time.
Her mother would be devastated. She’d fought for years for Ana to be acknowledged by the royal family, and now that she had been, her mother was convinced Ana’s life was perfect. Petar had been a natural progression of that perfection—the living embodiment of all of her mother’s dreams come true.
Ana could see now that she’d bought into it too—that she’d allowed herself to be swept up in Petar and the idea she was living a fairy-tale happy-ever-after.
Their engagement, and then agreeing to a televised wedding—it had all been part of Ana’s fantasy life. The life that her mother had always dreamed of for her only daughter.
Maybe that was why she’d allowed it to go so ridiculously far, despite her reservations—which she had had, no matter how well she’d repressed them. Maybe she’d just wanted to make her mother happy.
But that felt like such a cop-out. Ana was her own woman. She alone was ultimately responsible for dating Petar, for accepting his proposal and for actively organising her own magazine-spread wedding.
She’d done all that, and now, as she tossed and turned in a strange bed in the mountains of Northern Italy, she was no closer to working out why…
Thanks to the heavy blackout curtains in her room, it was dark when Ana eventually woke from a dreamless sleep. She had a shower, got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and headed out into the kitchen.
It was mid-morning, and the curtains that had covered the walls of windows last night had all been pulled aside, revealing the remarkable view the house offered of the surrounding Dolomites. And what a spectacular view it was—all snow-capped mountain ranges and emerald tree-filled vistas that rolled and dipped. Even though it was November, the sun was bright today, showcasing the stunning view in perfect, postcard-worthy light.
However, Ana didn’t spend a particularly long amount of time admiring the view, as just at her left she had an alternative view on offer.
Rhys North, jogging on his treadmill.
His back was to her as he ran, his attention focused on the view in front of him.
He wore a loose sleeveless T-shirt that revealed arms and shoulders heavy with muscle, and knee-length jogging shorts. All his clothing was dark with sweat, which possibly should have been unattractive, but somehow Rhys managed to make sweat seem virile and strong.
He must have heard her, because he punched a button on the treadmill’s console and slowed to a walk.
He turned to catch her gaze over one shoulder. ‘Just need to cool down,’ he said.
Ana walked up to him. ‘Good morning,’ she said.
He grinned a greeting. ‘Good morning to you too.’
‘Sorry about last night,’ Ana blurted out suddenly. ‘I shouldn’t have rambled on about all that stuff. You’re my bodyguard, or my hotelier or something—’
‘Security consultant,’ Rhys interjected helpfully, with another grin.
‘Okay,’ Ana said. ‘Security consultant. But that definitely doesn’t require you to play psychologist or counsellor. I’m sure you didn’t want to hear all the messy details of my relationship.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t mind.’
He pushed another button and the treadmill came to a stop. He then unselfconsciously used the bottom of his shirt to clear his brow of sweat, the action revealing what seemed like hectares of muscular abdominal ridges.
Oh, my.
* * *
Rhys honestly hadn’t planned to do that. It had been an automatic action, but seeing Ana blush as she took in his chest and stomach made him glad he had. He was human, he had an ego and he worked damn hard to stay this fit… So, yes, it felt good to see that Ana liked what she saw. Really good.
He took longer than necessary to wipe his face—which probably made him a very bad person, given nothing had changed as far as the situation between him and Ana. She’d just ended a relationship. He was protecting her.
But he couldn’t help himself.
It was just like those long minutes in her room…magnetic and addictive. And all the more so because he knew nothing would happen. He didn’t have to worry about Jess, or about how he’d feel being with a woman other than his wife. He didn’t need to deal with any of the complicated stuff—he needed only to experience this undeniable snap and tension between him and the Princess.
As he dragged his shirt back down, Ana jerked her gaze towards the window.
‘Amazing,’ she breathed.
Seriously?
He grinned. ‘Well, I’ll take that—’
She whirled to face him, muttering a string of Slavic curses to herself. ‘I meant the view, Mr North,’ she said firmly.
He was starting to really like her insistence on addressing him so formally. It felt like a shared joke, almost intimate—it certainly wasn’t putting space between them, as he knew she intended it to.
She was staring with determination at his face, not allowing her gaze to drift.
‘Christmas must be wonderful here, Mr North,’ she said.
‘Christmas?’ he asked, thrown by the change of subject.
She clasped her hands primly in front of her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Christmas. I believe Castelrotto is famous for how beautiful it is at Christmas time. I couldn’t sleep last night, so did a bit of research about where I’m staying, and Christmas is clearly a big thing here. There’s a Christmas market that starts in a few weeks—during Advent. Is it as enchanting as all the tourist websites say?’
Rhys stepped off the treadmill and headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, quite stiffly.
She followed him. ‘Really? I’d imagine you’d need to go to quite a bit of effort to avoid it, given how small the town is.’