What would I do if I didn't get the money in time?
Be careful, Theo. Don't talk to strangers.
I closed my eyes, Casey's childlike warning echoing in my head.Too late for that, big brother. Way too late.
Chapter 1
Ricard
The cherry-red Dodge Challenger Hellcat roared beneath me as I pushed it faster along the Texas highway, the speedometer creeping well beyond the posted limit. Wind whipped through the open windows, destroying my carefully styled hair, and for once, I couldn't bring myself to care.
One hour ago, I'd stepped from my private jet onto American soil, leaving behind the weight of expectations that came with being Ricard, Grand Duke d'Moncloud. For the next week, there would be no formal dinners, no diplomatic functions, no tabloid photographers—just blessed anonymity.
Seven days of freedom. Seven days to just be Ricard.
My lips curved into a smile as I recalled Sebastien's barely concealed horror when I'd insisted on driving myself from the airport.
“Monsieur le Duc,” Seb had called from behind me as I descended the stairs to the tarmac, his voice tight with concern. “Peut-être devrions-nous nous diriger vers le terminal. La chaleur est vraiment intense.”
“When in Rome, Seb,” I'd replied in English, drawing a deep breath of the warm air into my lungs. “Yes, it is hot, but I'm quite enjoying this.”
“Enjoying heatstroke, sir?” The dry humor in his voice was barely perceptible, but after a decade of service as my personal assistant and security detail, I'd learned to read the subtle shifts in his tone.
“It's still spring here, from what I understand.” Late May, though already quite warm compared to Avaline's alpine climate. “It gets much worse, they say.”
The Hellcat had been waiting on the tarmac, ostentatious and vulgar and absolutely perfect—the antithesis of the discreet black sedans I was accustomed to being chauffeured in.
“Your transportation, sir,” Seb had explained. “Monsieur Stone arranged it personally. He said you might appreciate something... different.”
Different. Yes, that was one word for it. The car was a statement piece, a roaring declaration of excess and power.
I'd loved it.
Seb's military background and serious demeanor had kicked into high gear as he tried to convince me to let him accompany me. “Your Grace, with respect, this isn't Avaline. You're unfamiliar with the roads, the driving customs—”
“That's rather the point, isn't it?” I'd interrupted, smelling new leather. “I've spent my entire life being driven from one obligation to the next. For once, I'd like to determine my own direction.” I'd slid my sunglasses on, relishing the momentary flash of freedom. “I doubt anyone will recognize me here, in the backwaters of America.” The words came out harsher than intended, but there was truth in them. I was 'visiting friends of the family' in Dallas.
That was the story I'd concocted. Even Seb didn't know where I was going.
Seb's jaw tightened, but he knew better than to argue further. I’d been adamant about being alone this week, even from him. “As you wish,Monsieur. I'll remain available should you require anything.”
“You'll do no such thing. Don't forget, Seb, this next week is your vacation as well.” He had Vincent Stone's phone number to reach meif there was an emergency, but that was all. I’d shot a wry smile at him. “Go enjoy yourself somewhere… indecent. You've earned it.”
The engine had growled as I pressed the gas, the raw power responding to my touch without scrutiny or analysis—unlike in Avaline, where my every movement carried political weight. Here, I was invisibly wealthy, just another tourist indulging in American excess.
“The coordinates are programmed into the navigation system,” Seb called after me. “And sir—” he hesitated, his professional mask slipping enough to reveal genuine concern. “Please be careful.”
I'd nodded, throat unexpectedly tight. Then I'd peeled away from the tarmac, leaving behind the trappings of duty, if only temporarily.
Now, as I navigated the winding roads, the tension in my shoulders loosened. Live oaks and limestone outcroppings dotted the landscape, creating a scene both alien and beautiful to my European sensibilities. Rolling hills filled with vibrant wildflowers stretched for miles, offering a primitive sense of space I desperately needed.
Love—or sex—could wreak havoc on an entire kingdom; history has proven that. My family may have been European royalty, albeit a small yet influential principality, but that accounted for little these days as far as respect and decorum went. Whispers and disapproving glances followed me in the privacy of my homeland for wrongdoings that weren’t mine. People had even begun to outright question me about the scandalous affairs of my brother, hoping for a snippet of gossip.
As if I’d betray Remy’s privacy.
In a few weeks, my father would celebrate his fortieth anniversary on the throne, yet all the media could focus on was Remy, the crown prince, and his latest scandalous affair. The words in every headline blurred together in a sea of betrayal and disappointment.
My brother couldn't keep his pants on around pretty actresses, yet somehow I was the one who threatened the family legacy, at least according to our parents. Painfully ironic. While Remy's heterosexual indiscretions made headlines, my sexuality remained a carefully guarded secret, known only to my immediate family and a few trusted confidants.
