My mouth went dry. He was every inch the Duke of Avaline, and the transformation from the relaxed, passionate man I'd come to know was jarring, like seeing a stranger wearing the face of someone you love. This was Ricard as the world outside Dove Canyon saw him—polished, proper, untouchable. The man who had laughed at Tony Stark'sjokes and made breakfast in his underwear had vanished, replaced by this aristocratic figure who belonged in oil paintings and on currency.
He hadn't spotted me yet. He was busy giving instructions to the staff guy about his fancy luggage. I took the chance to get my shit together, digging my nails into my palms (old trick from speech class) and trying to remember how to breathe normally. By the time he turned and spotted me, I had managed plaster a fake smile on my face.
“Theo,” he said, and just the sound of my name in his accented voice was enough to make my resolve waver. “Thank you for coming early.”
“Of course,” I replied, proud of how steady my voice sounded. “I got your message.”
He nodded, then turned to the staff member. “That will be all for now, thank you. Please ensure the car is ready in one hour.”
One hour. So this was it. Not an afternoon together as I'd hoped, but a brief, formal goodbye. The disappointment must have shown on my face because Ricard's expression softened as he gestured toward the open door. “Please, come inside.”
He led me to the living room, where the curtains had been drawn back to let in the midday sun. “Please, sit,” Ricard said, indicating the sofa where we had watched movies together just days ago, where we had talked and laughed and kissed as if we had all the time in the world.
I perched on the edge of the cushion, leaving a careful distance between us. Ricard remained standing for a moment, uncertain, before sitting beside me.
“I apologize for the change in plans,” he began, his voice formal, making my chest ache. “Events have developed more rapidly than I expected.”
“Your brother?” I asked, recalling our talk about Remy’s troubles. “Is he okay?”
A flicker of surprise crossed Ricard's face. “Yes, he's… managing, though 'okay' might be optimistic. The situation is complex.”
An awkward silence hung between us. Finally, Ricard took my hand, his touch gentle yet hesitant. “Theo, I wanted to thank you. These past two weeks have been extraordinary. You've given me much pleasure and comfort. I want you to know I won’t forget you or our time together.”
His words were sincere, yet seemed rehearsed, stinging more than I wanted to admit. “What happened with your brother?” I asked. “You seemed worried when you left to see him in Dallas.”
Ricard hesitated, his thumb absently stroking my hand. “It’s complicated,” he said finally. “Remy is in a difficult position. The scandal has escalated, and his wife has temporarily separated from him. The timing couldn't be worse.”
“That sounds rough,” I said, wishing I had better words. “What does it mean for you? Why the sudden departure?”
“I'll be returning with Remy,” he replied. “He needs support right now. Despite our differences, he is my brother. I’m going to help him navigate this crisis, both personally and in terms of public perception.”
I nodded, understanding loyalty. “That’s good of you. I'm sure he appreciates having you in his corner.”
“Perhaps,” Ricard said, bitterness creeping into his tone. “Though his appreciation may be tested by what comes next. Remy is considering renouncing his royal inheritance.”
“Wait,” I said slowly, my brain trying to catch up. “If Remy renounces his claim to the throne, then you—”
“Would become the crown prince, yes.” His voice was flat, like someone accepting a prison sentence. “The heir to Avaline.”
My heart dropped to somewhere around my shoes. Suddenly the fancy suit and the distance made total sense. He wasn't just leaving.He was about to level up to future-king status. “Ricard, that's... whoa. Is that what you want?”
His laugh was short and seriously un-funny. “What I want has never been particularly relevant to my royal duties, Theo. But no, it's not what I want. It would mean the end of what little freedom I've carved out for myself. As crown prince, my life would be subject to even greater control, my choices even more restricted.”
I nodded, trying to get it. “That sounds totally suffocating. But isn't there some middle ground? Some way to not make yourself miserable?”
He shook his head, his expression shutting down like a laptop going to sleep. “There is no middle ground with royal succession. Either I accept the responsibility, or I reject it entirely, which would create a constitutional crisis and potentially threaten the monarchy itself.”
“But still,” I pushed, keeping my voice gentle, “at the end of the day, it's your life, right? Your choice?”
“It's not that simple,” Ricard said, his voice getting tighter. “My entire existence has been shaped by my position. I was raised to serve Avaline, to put duty above personal preference.”
I felt myself getting frustrated, this fiery feeling spreading through my chest. “Then why agree to it?” I asked, not hiding my irritation anymore. “If it's going to make you miserable, why not let Remy clean up his own mess? He cheated, he got caught, he created this whole drama. Why should you have to sacrifice everything because he couldn't keep it in his pants?”
Ricard stiffened up even more, if that was possible. His jaw got all tight. “Because it's not just about Remy. It's about Avaline, about the stability of the monarchy, about hundreds of years of tradition and responsibility.” Then he hit me with this condescending tone that made my skin crawl: “These are considerations you can't understand.”
Ouch. That stung like hell. It was like he'd ripped off a mask and revealed the snobby aristocrat underneath who thought I was just some dumb kid.
Like that first day. “You're right,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, the words coming out sharp and fast. “I don't know you, not really. And you certainly don't know me, or you wouldn't be standing there looking down your royal nose at what I do for a living.”
