Page 9 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

The memories disappear, replaced by the cold stark reality of my present. “Yes,” I murmur softly. “Queen Sophaya de Miravela of Siravelle.”

Dominic shifts again, just slightly, but enough for me to suddenly realize how much he’s pressing himself into the seat so he’s touching me as little as possible. The same thing I’ve been doing, but the man is easily six foot four, perhaps even a touch more. Not the easiest of feats for a man Dominic’s size when we’re sitting side by side in a skinny boat.

“You can stretch your arm out if you need to.”

He arches a brow at me. “I’ve been in far more uncomfortable places than this.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I reply dryly. “Seriously, stretch out. We’ve already danced together. Putting your arm behind me isn’t exactly a marriage proposal.”

He stares at me for a long second, his whiskey brown eyes almost black as we navigate the narrow stone and stucco corridors of the Floating City.

Then, slowly, he brings one large arm up and places it behind me. The sleeve of his tuxedo jacket brushes my bare back. I arch forward slightly. If I was just a woman and Dominic Hawke was just a man, I would lean back against his arm, enjoy the heat of his body next to mine. Let him warm parts of me that have been frozen for so long.

But I’m the future leader of my country. And Dominic is my bodyguard. There will be no sensual affair, no sudden declarations of true love.

I may be a princess. But my life is nowhere close to a fairy tale. And there’s no chance in heaven or hell that Dominic Hawke is my Prince Charming.

Chapter Four

Sophaya

The gondola pulls up to the dock of the hotel. Located on the Grand Canal, the Palazzo Rosato lives up to its name. Red roses tumble out of elegant urns placed along the sides of the dock. Stone petals are carved into the arched doorway of the three-storied, blush-colored building.

My mother personally oversaw my itinerary, selecting the most luxurious and opulent hotels for me to stay in. More than once, I’ve thought her choices to be gauche, if not downright ridiculous. I don’t need a four-thousand-square-foot suite all to myself.

But as Dominic and I walk into the mosaic-tiled lobby, I have to admit this is one hotel I’m glad she booked. From the dreamy oil paintings on the walls to the elegant bronze chandelier dripping with crystals and casting golden light on the antique furniture, it feels like stepping back in time.

Dominic doesn’t touch me again, but I’m acutely aware of his presence as he guides me over to the row of elevators at the far end. Once inside, he slides a brass key into the slot marked Superattico Reale. The doors close, and the car whisks us up to the third floor.

I stay on the far side of the car. It’s only been an hour since Dominic interrupted my dance, but so much has changed since then. My awareness of him is heightened, my perception of him altered. He’s not just an emotionless bodyguard but a man with depths, hidden streaks of kindness and an attentiveness that tempted me into sharing far more than I have with anyone in years.

Not just attentiveness. He listened. Questioned. It’s pathetic how easily a bit of attention fed a part of me I hadn’t realized was so starved. But the damage is done, and now my quiet attraction has delved into wicked fantasies. It’s all too easy to think about what he would look like without his dress shirt on, to imagine how his bare arms would feel wrapped around me while his lips slant across mine—

“Princess?”

I start, realizing the doors have opened. I don’t look up at him as I hurry out into the penthouse. My ridiculous attraction is mine to manage.

As I put more distance between us, the tightness in my chest eases. The suite boasts a large sitting room, complete with gold furniture and pale blue accents, from the sweeping curtains over every elongated window overlooking the Grand Canal to the plush rugs artfully arranged on the gleaming wood floors. I glance toward the doors to my bedroom, but there’s no spike in my heart rate, no sudden fear.

Because Dominic is here. I don’t like that he’s making me feel safe, but I’m not going to turn my nose up at the unexpected gift. Not when the adrenaline is starting to wear off and I can feel actual drowsiness lingering at the edges of my consciousness.

“Have you eaten?”

Startled, I turn back to Dominic. “No.” I didn’t have an appetite when I tried to lie down, and I’d been too excited about sneaking into the masquerade to eat. But now, remembering the prawns drizzled with garlic herb butter and mozzarella with fresh basil, my stomach tightens. I reach up to untie my mask. “I’ll order something from room service.”

“You should shower.”

I freeze, my fingers on the laces. He’s still by the elevator doors. My hands drop down as I drink in the sight of him. The golden room emphasizes his darkness, from the thick hair and black mask still covering the upper half of his face to the tuxedo that clings to his broad shoulders and muscled legs. Like a shadowy phantom from some fantasy come to life.

No. Don’t go there.

“Shower,” I repeat.

“Maryanne most likely had food poisoning, but better to be safe.”

Right. Maryanne. The poor girl who nearly passed out at the gala. Here I am thinking about ripping that bow tie off Dominic’s neck, and he’s trying to keep me from getting sick. Because he’s my bodyguard, and he’s thinking like a bodyguard instead of a young woman who can barely put two coherent thoughts together other than wondering what said bodyguard looks like underneath his tuxedo.

“Good idea.”