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“No,” she admitted. “I hoped, but I didn’t know, and I have to be very careful …” She trailed off and studied the trees behind him.
“Jenn …” He couldn’t take his eyes off her beautiful face, ravenous to be close to her, soak up her sparkling and consuming presence, feast on their love and connection.
Her gaze met his again, and a world that had been spinning out of control suddenly stabilized into a smooth and perfect rotation. His Jenn was back. Had she come for him, or for her mum? The details couldn’t matter. She was here, and he would make the most of every moment he had with her. No. He’d do one better than that. He would never let her go again.
“What do you have to be careful about?” He’d protect her, stay by her side every minute. Well, every minute he wasn’t in important meetings. But Ray’s men could keep her safe then, if needed. Why had she been so afraid? Had someone dared hurt this caring and angelic woman?
She studied him, her dark eyes beguiling and captivating, and only focused on his eyes. His scars didn’t bother her. She didn’t even seem to notice them.
“It was good to see you,” she murmured before turning away.
Tristan’s eyes widened. No way was she murmuring that lame line and then turning away from him. Not now. Not when they’d finally found each other again.
He grasped her arm and turned her to face him. “No way are you walking away from me again. I won’t have it, Jenn. I need answers.”
He needed her—her love and understanding and light.
Her eyes narrowed. She yanked her arm free and folded both arms across her chest. She was defensive, closed-off, and the most glorious woman Tristan had ever laid eyes on.
“Oh my, Mr. Crown Prince, what a large ego you have.”
“All the better to keep you in line with, my dear,” he said.
She actually smiled. It was a welcoming smile, one he’d needed to see badly.
Tristan smiled in return, the scars on his cheek pulling tight and his gut churning with apprehension. Jenn was sweet, but she could sass and tease with him. She had once shared her secrets with him too—at least, she had done so before she’d left him eight months ago. Why had she left?
A sickening thought occurred to him. They’d all stewed about whether Henry was in league with William Rindlesbacher, or at least still his puppet because William had taken Leslie as his bargaining tool. What if Jennifer had returned to help her father get her mum back, and part of that plan involved duping the prince who she knew would do anything for her? She could be helping William succeed in his schemes.
Jennifer wouldn’t do that, would she? Could the beautiful woman he loved be a traitor?
“What answers would you like?” she asked while he stewed about her disappearance, her return, her intentions, and if she still loved him like he did her.
“Why did you leave?”
Because he wasn’t enough? Because he was too slow to get the two-karat ring he’d purchased a few weeks before her departure on her finger? Because she didn’t want to be the next queen of Augustine? With her, he could rule the country with benevolence, equality, and happiness. Their country would flourish. Without her … emptiness.
“Not that question.” Her expression closed off.
She owed him a lot of answers. How could he convince her to open up?
“You used to tell me everything.” He eased closer but didn’t touch her. Her pulse raced like mad in her throat. “Remember that night when you chose dare after dare—jumping off a forty-foot ledge into the lake, running through Greenville screaming that Voldemort was chasing you, singing the ‘you got any grapes’ song on the church steps, before finally, finally admitting the truth to me—that I was the best kisser you’ve ever been blessed to tangle lips with?” His voice got husky and far too telling. They’d been nineteen, so young and in love. That blissful and carefree night was also the first night he’d admitted out loud that he loved her. Even though he’d told her repeatedly that they had ‘true love.’
“I remember,” she whispered. A genuine smile decorated her already perfect face. She leaned closer, and he was certain she would let him prove he was still the best kisser.
She softly touched his cheek, trailing her fingers across his scars, and murmured, “I’m terribly sorry you were injured.”
In his mind, it was the first time she’d noticed the scars. She’d seen him all along; the way he looked literally changed nothing. It made him so happy, but he also felt the need to deflect. He hated the scars and didn’t want her dwelling on them.
“Makes me even more devastatingly handsome and I get sympathy attention from all the women, you see.” He was joking as he’d always done, an instinctive defense for him, especially about the scars. He expected her to come back with a tease about what a large ego he had. Instead, she withdrew her hand and her generous mouth tightened.
“I’m certain the crown prince doesn’t need to be any more handsome or get any more female attention.” She flipped her bronzed curls over her shoulder.
His eyebrows shot up. “If you’d be mine again, I wouldn’t need anyone’s attention but yours … ever.” She had to know that was true and always had been.
Instead of agreeing, she glowered at him. “You’ve made it abundantly clear over the past eight months that isn’t true.”
“Pardon me?” Tristan’s neck got hot. “Do I need to remind you which one of us ditched the other with no forwarding address?”
