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And though she was tempted to tease him, to tease him for his bossiness, she would always love him for that ability to take charge.
“If you say so, your highness,” she said, batting her lashes.
There was the rustle of a sheet, the movement of the bed, and then he was back beside her. And he began to read from the pages of the fairy tale book Chloe had read, many long nights ago, when her future in Ras el Kida had been so much less certain.
He began to read her the story of the Beast, but now, the tale of ‘forever love’ took on a whole new meaning.
As she fell asleep, her exhaustion too strong in the end to fight, he stopped reading. “I will take you to the ruins of the Beast,” he said quietly, a hand resting on her forehead. “And I will show you that love is everlasting.”
“I already know that to be the case.”
And as sleep claimed the new mother, carrying her away to another realm, she knew that she was right. Their love was as inherent to the land of Ras el Kida as the desert or the palace. She was a part of this great land, of its myths and its people, of its lineage and its destiny, and there was nowhere else on earth she’d rather be.
THE END
Following is an excerpt from BOOK TWO in THE EVERMORE SERIES, THE GREEK’S VIRGIN CAPTIVE.
Prologue
THE GUSHING OF HER pulse was so loud that Eleanor could barely think straight.
Of course, she’d known he would be here. Apollo Heranedes was, after all, the brother of the Sheikha, and this was the halitham for the much-wanted heir to Ras el Kida.
She’d known he’d be here and she’d taken on this assignment regardless.
Regardless?
In spite of more like.
She kept her head dipped forward, but her eyes lifted up from beneath thick, black lashes. She could pick him out of the crowd easily – and not just because they’d spent six blissful weeks together. Not just because they’d sat up late talking about anything and everything, laughing, sharing food and secrets as though their lives depended on it.
Her stomach rolled and she tamped down on the visceral emotional response.
Guilt. Grief.
She’d betrayed him – there was no arguing with that. She’d lied to him from the moment they’d met, and the more time they’d spent together, the more she’d come to love him. She’d known he was falling for her, too, and the lie became worse and worse, until it was threatening to swallow her whole.
He’d been right to cut her from his life.
And yet… it still hurt. The ease with which he’d walked away from her, refusing to let her explain, refusing to see her. He’d cut her from his life and replaced her almost instantly, if the tabloids were to be believed.
And now, three years later, they were in the same room, breathing the same air, and she was powerless to speak to him.
All she could do was stare.
The ceremony droned on, but Eleanor paid scant attention despite the fact she was supposed to be working.
The royal couple were the new guard of leadership in this ancient Kingdom. They were smart and relatable, and everything she’d been expected: beautiful, young, vital, elegant. They were, also, obviously very much in love. Not that they were overt about it, such gestures of affection would be inappropriate, but Eleanor was an investigative journalist and that gave her a talent for reading body language. She saw what passed between them in each look, each hint of a smile about their lips – and in the way they both stared at their baby – a tiny little packet of cherubic pink cheeks and a shock of dark hair.
Apollo was focused on the ceremony, which left Eleanor free to observe him unnoticed. He had an autocratic profile, too symmetrical, perhaps, to be considered traditionally handsome, and yet he was the most dynamic and charismatic man Eleanor had ever known.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies rampaged her insides as she scraped her gaze from his brow to his nose, to those lips – and a thousand memories of his kisses battered against her, so that she was weak at her knees suddenly.
Their first kiss had been perfection – a stolen moment, when she’d got her keys tangled in the strap of her handbag. She’d made a sound of intense impatience and stomped her foot but when she’d looked up at Apollo, their eyes had met and he’d smiled and before she’d known what was happening, his lips had taken hers. Gently, so gently, but she’d known herself to be lost in that moment. It had been like catching a butterfly. A flick, a twist, a snare.
Eleanor closed her eyes against the intensity of the memory; it didn’t help. Her heart was hurting in a way she hadn’t thought it still could.
It had been three years. Three years and so much had happened since then. She wasn’t the same woman who had fallen hard for this man. And even if she were – even if she still loved him as fiercely as she had back then – what would be the point?
