“Oh, come on, you can multitask. Spill the details already!”
I roll my eyes, grateful Luca can’t see my face or eyes beneath the dark shades. “There’s nothing to spill. Now drop it.”
But even as I say the words, thoughts of Benedict flood my mind—his shy smile, the softness of his hair, the warmth of his body pressed against mine. I shake my head slightly, trying to clear the images.
Focus, Zeke. Prince Charlie’s safety depends on you doing your job.
I redouble my efforts, scanning faces with laser-like intensity. My training kicks in as I note potential security risks, catalog suspicious behavior, and map out evacuation routes. Yet Benedict lingers at the edges of my thoughts like a persistent itch I can’t quite scratch.
What is wrong with me? I’m never distracted like this while on duty. But then again, I’ve never met anyone quite like Benedict.
I don’t know why he’s gotten under my skin in a way no one ever has. Maybe it’s the vulnerability I saw in his eyes, his quiet strength, the way he looked at me like I was someone worth knowing—it’s intoxicating. For the first time in my life, I feel nervous around someone, uncertain of myself.
“I saw him get in his car wearing joggers and a T-shirt that were way too small to be his,” Gabriel says, coming through the earpiece and joining the “annoy Zeke until he buys us donuts” party.
“I’m not apologizing for being resourceful,” I say.
I want to see Benedict again. To talk to him, make him laugh, hold him close. The depth of my feelings scares me because I shouldn’t feel like this about someone I only met once and know nothing about, aside from his first name and what he looks and sounds like when he comes.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to refocus on the crowd. I need to be present, alert, ready for anything.
“Resourceful? I bet he knocked on someone’s door and ended up scoring a hookup,” Luca said.
Gabriel’s deep laughter comes through my ears. “You’ve seen him in the shower. Wouldn’t you take a bite if he turned up at your doorstep?”
“The only thing I’m interested in biting is Ryan’s…anything. Just Ryan.”
Gabriel’s groan makes me chuckle. “I don’t want to think of you and my boss together. Thank you very much.”
I ignore their chatter. I trust the team and know that while they’re teasing me, their eyes are on the prince and the crowd around us. The talk is just a way to decompress and keep us all connected.
The crowd swells around me, a pulsing mass of excitement and patriotic fervor. Flags wave, children squeal, and the scents of grilled sausages and sweet pastries waft through the air. It’s sensory overload, but I’m trained for this. I scan faces, track movements, my mind cataloging potential threats even as the festive atmosphere tries to lull me into complacency.
Then I see him.
My heart does a little somersault. Benedict’s here, leaning casually against a lamppost, a newspaper held loosely in his hands. He looks…different. Softer somehow, in a chunky sweater that makes me want to wrap my arms around him.
“Luca,” I say into my comm. “I need to check on something. Can you cover my section?”
There’s a pause, and then Luca’s voice crackles back. “Sure thing, Zeke. I’ve got you covered.”
My feet move before I’ve fully processed the decision. With each step, my nervousness grows. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if our encounter was just a fleeting moment, already forgotten?
I’m practically on top of him when he looks up, his eyes meeting mine, and a slow smile spreads across his face. My breath catches.
“Well, well,” he says as I approach, his gaze sweeping over my uniform. “Look who cleans up nice. I almost didn’t recognize you without the grass stains.”
I grin, relief and attraction making me feel a bit giddy. I remove my shades. “You like a man in uniform. Good to know.”
Benedict’s eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a low chuckle that sends a shiver down my spine. “Speaking of clothes,” he says, lowering his voice. “I seem to be missing a pair of joggers and a T-shirt. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Heat creeps up my neck, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “I might have some intel on that. Top secret though. Classified information.”
“Oh?” Benedict’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “And what would it take to declassify that information, Officer…?”
“Ivanov,” I supply, suddenly hyperaware of how close we’re standing. “Royal Guard Ezekiel Ivanov. And as for declassification, well…that might require some high-level negotiations.”
I’m torn between professional duty and the magnetic pull I feel toward Benedict. My eyes dart around, scanning for my team, before landing back on his face.
