Elias loosened the knot of his tie. A little. “You can trust me. In fact, this whole bodyguard thing only works if you trust me.”
Kelsey had trusted him from the moment she agreed to leave Manhattan in his care. Aside from Mallory, Elias was literally the only person on this continent that she fully trusted. Sure, he’d yanked her away from home. But he’d had a mission, integrity.
At least, as far as she could tell.
So far.
She had to believe there was someone solely on her side, right? With his entire agenda and purpose being to keep her safe, Elias seemed to be the most reasonable choice.
“Anya, my maid”—and how freaking weird did that sound?—“borrowed them for me. From Genevieve’s closet.” Without asking first. Not that she’d let Anya in on that hiccup of courtesy. “The woman already hates me, so I figured it didn’t make any difference.”
He speared his fingers through his hair. Which made Kelsey realize that the utterly controlled, soldier facade Eli wore like a uniform…well, it slipped off when it was just the two of them. “I’ll see what I can do about getting your own clothes delivered ASAP.”
“Good. Is that all?”
“No.” He looked from her over to a tall fence, then triangulated back to the palace. “You weren’t…were you running away?”
“From my problems, yeah. But here you are anyway,” she said dryly.
“I meant, were you running away from the palace?” Elias reached out to grip her shoulders again. His fingers dug in just a little too hard, as if some of his control had slipped away. “Because that would be dangerous.”
Ohhh. He’d been worried about her. The sweetness of it blew away some of the sting of being caught. “I told you, I won’t dodge my responsibility. I’m here for two weeks no matter what. I promise I’m only out here to blow off steam—not to blow off the House of Villani.”
His arms dropped back to his sides. “Kelsey, you can’t run like this. You’re in hiding, remember? It isn’t, ah, usual for anyone to go racing through the formal gardens.” He indicated the park-like grass and flowers and water features and trees as if she’d be unclear on the concept of where not to run. But at least he wasn’t yelling. Explaining was…acceptable. “If you’re seen, questions will be asked. Staff wouldn’t dream of doing it. The royal family has their own gym. The prince goes down to workout at the Navy barracks. That leaves a grand total of one burning mystery woman that’ll make everyone start buzzing.”
Message received. Freedom was off-limits.
Kelsey eased into a calf stretch. Mostly for her calves, but also somewhat to have an excuse not to look at Elias while she got these words out. “I hear you, truly. I didn’t think through the ramifications. I just needed to get out. Get my emotions out. Without swearing a blue streak at the top of my lungs. I thought running would be more, ah, expedient.”
“I’ll take you to the family gym. Or for a walk around the gardens. If you need to stretch your legs, we’ll make accommodations.”
She’d thought being kicked off social media was the ultimate proof that her whole life had done a one-eighty. Or even being told to quit her job.
Turned out those weren’t big picture enough changes. No, what most made Kelsey realize that nothing would ever be the same again? Being told that her desire to do something as basic and uninvolved as jogging required “accommodations.”
It knocked the wind out of her. Along with her notion of the freedom of being an adult. If she wanted a grilled cheese at midnight, could she wander down to the kitchen? Or would she have to take into account selfishly waking up a cook to do it for her?
On the more complex side…not having a job? How’d she lose that choice? If freedom of choice was what Kelsey had to trade to keep her tiara, then she honestly didn’t know which choice she could live with.
Or would she be able to live with herself if she made the wrong one?
Did staying here mean giving up all autonomy? Obeying commands, turning into a shell of herself?
But was going back home the ultimate in selfishness? Would she—could she—let an entire country down, as well as the king and her siblings? Not to mention—would it really be that different? Aside from the easy access to TV shows in English and Times Square hot dog carts, wasn’t it naïve to think she could slough off princess-hood? A Moncriano tiara could very well cast its shadow all the way across the Atlantic.
Kelsey looked out across the pond to a pair of winding paths that curlicued around each side of the riotously colored beds. It was beautiful.
A beautiful prison.
“I don’t care how expansive the grounds are,” she murmured, not caring if Elias heard her rambling thoughts. “I feel like a cloistered nun.”
His gaze burned through her spandex. Kelsey expected to see steam coiling upward from where it tightly contained her breasts.
“You’re no nun.” The words ripped out of him like a spray of gravel from behind a Harley. Rough. Fast.
Elias did a quick three-point check of their surroundings. Then he took her hand. “Come with me. Please.” He led her behind the brick edifice to a row of skinny pine trees shaped like the flame of a candle. They slid sideways between them and were suddenly in an entirely different garden.
It was more of a forest—barely claimed by humans. It was wild and overgrown and teetered on the edge of messy. Vines crowded along the edge of the dirt path. Tiny white flowers were sprinkled randomly, like a gigantic dandelion had exploded. A stream ran past them, surprisingly wide for being in the middle of a garden.
Down about a hundred feet, the path rose to the entrance to…well, not a gazebo. The structure looked like the latticed and fanciful turret to a dollhouse—just all by itself atop a wide shelf of rocks that had water spilling over the ferns and stone outcropping. The walls were mostly square glass panes, but it was impossible to see inside from the glare and angle of the sun.
As Elias led her inside, he asked, “Are you upset about this morning?”
Even fifteen minutes ago, Kelsey would’ve flipped out at such an obvious question. But she’d calmed considerably since…well, since Elias put his hands on her. So her words were tinged with humor rather than heat.
“Are you so dense about women that you need to ask?”
“Prince Christian and I apologized for being…” He fumbled with the door latch, probably as much for cover of not knowing what to say next as due to warped wood.
“Jerks?” Kelsey tossed out with a helpful, tight grin. Because it was turning out to be a little bit fun watching her smooth operator of a bodyguard so awkwardly dig himself into a hole.