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‘Am I allowed to use my imagination?’ The brush of her hair, the feel of her soft skin against his was enough to send his senses racing. He wasn’t sure at all what tonight would entail, but he was happy to be by her side.
* * *
Gabrielle was nervous. This was a big night for her. It was a big night for them. And she still really hadn’t taken the chance to sit down and explain things to Sullivan.
Part of her wondered what he might say. Telling him that this invitation might mean...that she was telling the world she hoped he’d stay around seemed desperate. And she had never been desperate.
But then again, she’d never been Head of State of Mirinez before. And as much as she hated it, any minute now the press would move on to the next stage. This time next week they would decide that, yes, Gabrielle would be marrying Sullivan and start contemplating a date...then speculating about a family.
She wanted to be back in Paris with Sullivan, spending long lazy days and even longer nights in bed, just waiting for a call for the next mission.
Chances were, at this point she would still be nervous. They would always need to have that ‘conversation’. The one where they decided if their fling was over, or if it meant something more.
Truth was, she was falling a little in love with Sullivan. He made her feel safe. One look from him, one hint of twinkle in his eye and it felt as if a thousand tiny caterpillars were marching over her skin. Just the upward curl of his smile meant her blood would start to race around her body. As for the feel of his lips connecting with hers...
She didn’t want to lose that feeling. She wanted to grab it and hold on with both hands.
But Sullivan seemed to have spent the last few years on a never-ending mission. She couldn’t expect him to give all that up. She would never ask him to. But would he consider something else? Would he consider somewhere and someone to come home to?
She tilted her chin up to his and wrapped her arms around his neck. He met her lips eagerly. This felt like coming home. His lips parted against hers, his tongue running along the edges. It was easy to welcome his kiss. She inhaled his fresh scent. Probably pure pheromones. The guy had them by the bagload.
He eventually pulled back and rested his forehead against hers while she caught her breath. He smiled and lifted his thumb to her lips. ‘Might have smudged your lipstick. Can’t have you leaving here looking anything less than perfect.’
She lifted her fingers to his lips too. ‘I might have left you with my mark.’ She rubbed the remnants of her red lipstick from his face.
He gave her a crooked kind of smile. There was something in his eyes. Not the twinkle that she was used to—this time it was thoughtful sincerity. It almost took her breath away. ‘I could get used to that.’
She stepped back. Should she speak to him now? Should she ask him how he felt about the future—the possibility of a future with her?
There was a knock at the door. Franz entered and gave her an approving smile. ‘Perfect, you’re ready, Princess Gabrielle. A large number of our guests have already arrived and are being entertained. I think it’s time to join them. Are you ready?’
He looked between her and Sullivan. She couldn’t help but notice that Sullivan almost got an approving glance too.
She quickly fixed her lipstick then slid her arm into Sullivan’s, giving him a smile as her stomach did a few somersaults. ‘Yes, we’re ready, aren’t we?’
He nodded in agreement as they headed out of the apartments. As they reached the stairs she could hear the noise from beneath them. The ballroom was buzzing. A string quartet was playing in the corner and palace staff was circulating with silver trays containing glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
She gave Sullivan’s arm a little squeeze as they descended the stairs. This would be his first experience of what royal life could entail. She crossed her fingers, silently praying that everything would go well and he wouldn’t be on the first plane out of here.
But everything went like a charm. Sullivan moved easily around the room. He was a seasoned professional and his language skills took everyone by surprise. He was also a fabulous advocate for Doctors Without Borders, engaging delegates from other countries in conversations about working across the globe and the type of health interventions needed.
She was trying her best too, working her way through a number of difficult conversations that were clearly overdue. In the end, the paths seemed smoother.
The royal dining room was set up in shades of gold and cream. As always, the staff had done an immaculate job. Franz had seated people carefully—always a challenge at a state dinner. But the wine flowed and the food was served quickly.
Sullivan was across the table and further down from her. She could see him talking to the people on either side of him, neither of whom she could place. But from time to time his eyes drifted off. Her heart gave a squeeze when the expression on his face was almost pained. But as soon as someone next to him started talking again, he smiled and gave them his full attention.
If she didn’t know better she’d think he was feeling uncomfortable. But she’d seen that look on Sullivan’s face before. It was always fleeting. Always almost hidden.
She’d been so busy thinking about herself and her country, so busy hoping that Sullivan would feel the same way she did and want to continue their relationship, that she hadn’t even stopped to wonder about those moments.
Relationships should be a partnership. He was supporting her. But was she supporting him in return?
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the sequins on her dress digging in a little around her arm. The chancellor of a neighbouring country brushed her arm to start another conversation and she responded. But Sullivan was still at the forefront of her mind.
Why did she feel like a teenager again, instead of a Princess?
* * *
Dinner had been fine. The guests and company had been interesting. He’d had a number of conversations about health issues that Doctors Without Borders supported. He also had avenues to explore in future months.
But the table had been huge, filled at either side and accommodating more than three hundred people. It was impossible to know everyone who was there.
He’d watched Gabrielle. She was the perfect hostess. Beautiful, considerate, genuine and very, very measured.
It was almost amusing. If they’d been on a mission he was sure she would have told a few diplomats exactly what she thought of them, but the role of Head of State was vastly different from managing a team in the jungle.
But he’d watched the rest of the people around the table. As the night progressed he could see Gabrielle moving up in their estimations. For some strange reason it made his heart swell with pride.
Everything about her—her smile, the toss of her hair, her laugh—seemed to connect with him in a way that was deeper than anything he’d ever experienced before.
He should be singing. He should be shouting from the rooftops and he wanted to, he really did.
But something was holding him back.
For the first time in his life he really wanted to make a commitment. He wanted to sit down and have that ‘what if’ conversation. The one where he could tell her just how he felt and see how he could make things work.
For a few days he just wished the whole royal scenario hadn’t happened. But this was Gabrielle’s birthright. She had responsibilities and if he loved her the way he thought he might, then he had to accept that.
He knew that she was struggling. And he wanted to help. He did.
So why did he feel as if there was a rope around his waist, pulling him back? Stopping him from going where he wanted to be.
The truth was that he had personal issues to deal with first. He’d left part himself back in the house in Oregon three years ago when he’d buried his dad
.
Grief was a strange and curious thing. It started as an overwhelming sensation that the world sympathised with for a few weeks.
Then it was expected to gradually disperse.
In all honesty, he’d expected it to disperse too.
But it hadn’t.
Instead, it had stayed. And grown. Starting as a little seed, it had changed to a sprouting plant and turned into a vine that had crept up and wound its way around his heart and soul, telling him to deal with it as the blackness had clouded in the background.
He was a doctor. A medic. He’d seen things on his tours of duty that would haunt him for ever. But he’d accepted that part of his life. He was supposed to be tough. A delinquent even. A hero.
Those words actually sent a chill down his spine.
But most of all he was a man. Add all those things together—doctor, man, delinquent, hero—and he should be easily equipped to deal with the loss of his father.
His way of dealing with it was constantly being busy, of constantly having his mind and body focusing on something else.
If he really wanted to move forward and work out a way to continue this relationship with Gabrielle then he had to find a way to put the past behind him.
