I chewed on my lower lip, absorbing Vincent's story and trying not to squirm. “Was I that obvious?”
“Maybe to someone who had a pretty good idea of how you've spent the last two weeks.” Vincent smiled warmly at me, no judgment in his eyes. “And to someone who still recognizes that haunted look in the mirror sometimes, even twenty years later.”
He leaned forward, his expression intensifying. “Eventually, I learned to prioritize my well-being and set boundaries. I learned my worth, and I want that for you, too. This job can eat you alive if you let it. Or...” he gestured at the surrounding resort, “it can become something you build on your own terms. The choice is ultimatelyyours, but that choice needs to be made from a place of strength, not from desperation or heartbreak.”
“Thanks.” I shook my head, staring at the ornate carpet pattern. “I don't think I was ready for that. I just wanted… something. Anything to feel something else, you know? To not think about him for five minutes.”
“Julian is a lot to handle, especially for someone who's hurting. Take your time.” Vincent leaned back in his chair. “The great thing about The Ranch is the variety. There are plenty of other clients you can connect with on a deeper level, ones that won't push your limits in the same way. And one of these days,” Vincent continued with a small smile, “you might decide that Julian's kind of kink is your kind of kink, and you can explore that with each other. I just don't want you in that situation if you're not in the right headspace. It's not fair to you or Julian.”
I considered what he said, emotions swirling within me as I thought of Ricard. The way he’d looked at me... the way it felt when he touched me. “You're right. I’m off my game right now, but I promise I’ll bounce back tomorrow.” Saying it felt like fumbling, but I needed to hold on to hope.
“That’s what I want to hear.” Vincent stood up and pulled out his phone. A few taps later, he blacked out my wristband, the little light fading away. “Take the evening off. You think you should stay busy, but not on the clock. Go watch a flick or hit the gym, whatever helps you unwind. And hey, I’m always here if you need someone to talk to.”
A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe I could navigate this world without losing myself. “Thanks,” I said, feeling lighter. “For looking out for me. Not many bosses would.”
Vincent grinned, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “That's what I'm here for. Making sure everyone has a blast, staff included.”
As we parted ways, I paused to take in the evening scene around me. The Ranch at night was a different world entirely, the careful balance of exclusivity and rustic charm more evident after dark. From somewhere nearby came the sound of laughter and clinking glasses, from the main bar where most guests congregated before dinner.
The whole place ran like this crazy well-oiled machine, everything perfectly timed and coordinated so that even the wildest requests seemed totally normal and easy to handle.
I had to laugh a little at the weird contrast between all this perfect fantasy stuff and the super real conversation I'd just had with Vincent. Under all the expensive crap and made-up scenarios, there were actual humans here. People who seemed to give a damn about each other, and weirdly, about me too. For the first time since Ricard left, I took a breath that actually filled my lungs all the way, the tight band around my chest loosening just enough that existing didn't feel like being slowly crushed.
Chapter 23
Ricard
Ireached for him in the darkness, fingers stretching across the cool sheets. Theo's warmth beckoned me closer, a beacon in the emptiness I'd carried with me since our parting. Breath against my neck tickled my skin, teasing the fine hairs at my nape. His fingers traced delicate patterns across my chest, each touch igniting a primal urge within me.
“Your Grace,” he whispered, voice like velvet against my ear. “I've been waiting for you.” There was no formality in his use of my title, only the gentle teasing that had become our private language, a reminder of the absurd distance between our worlds that somehow, in his presence, had ceased to matter.
Desperate to see his face and lose myself in those haunting eyes, I turned. But as I reached for him, my hands grasped nothing but air. The warmth dissipated, leaving behind only cold sheets and the hollow ache of longing in my chest.
My eyes snapped open, heart pounding against my ribs like a prisoner demanding release. For a disorienting moment, the dream clung to my consciousness, and I reached toward the space beside me, my body remembering what my mind knew was impossible.
The elegant hotel room came into focus. Too impersonal, devoid of Theo's presence. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the plush carpet.
Another day in my gilded cage. Another day without him.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ornate ceiling as the dream faded, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of what could have been. This was my reality. Waking up alone, reaching for someone who would never be there.
Is this what the rest of my life will be?
The question hung there, demanding an answer I wasn't prepared to give. Day after day, year after year, until the memory of him became a ghost, a whisper of what might have been.
I pushed myself up from the bed, running a hand through my disheveled hair. The dream still clung to me like a second skin, Theo's phantom touch haunting my nerves.
What would life be like without the weight of the crown? Without the expectations that had been placed upon my shoulders since birth? I'd told Theo I could live a quiet life somewhere, that I'd be content with simplicity. The words had flowed so easily then, a beautiful fantasy shared in the intimacy of our stolen moments.
But was it true?
I walked to the window, looking out at the Dallas skyline. Who was Ricard d’Moncloud without his title? Without his family name? A man who had never booked his own flight, never worried about mundane concerns like electricity bills or grocery shopping. A man who'd been trained from childhood to rule, to command, to exist within the rigid framework of royal protocol.
I'd spent years complaining about the restrictions of my position—the endless meetings, the scrutiny, the lack of privacy—yet those very structures had defined my existence. They were the scaffolding upon which I'd built my identity.
Could I function without them?
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. An ordinary life, perhaps in a modest apartment, working a regular job, coming home to Theo each evening, held an undeniable appeal. The simplicity of it, the honesty. No more performances for the public, no more political chess games.
