She’d never been married, like him. Never…

He took a breath. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.” She took a step toward him. Touched his chest. “Are you?”

He caught her hand, brought it to his mouth. Kissed it. “Nope.”

“York, you look nervous.”

He drew in a breath.

“Listen, 007. I promise to take good care of you. Nothing will happen to you on my watch.” Then she reached behind her and pulled the zipper of her dress. “You’re safe with me.”

Hardly.

But maybe…yes. Because this was marriage.

Commitment. Belief.

Trust.

Her dress fell in a soft rustle into a golden puddle on the floor.

Oh. His breath caught.

She stepped out of her shoes. “Are you ready?”

His voice fell as his gaze savored the view. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Then she closed the gap, put her arms around him, and kissed him. Her touch was soft as the twilight settled into the room, the colors of rose gold and lavender. And, as he lowered them onto the bed and ran his hand down her body, familiarizing himself with his wife, knowing her, letting her know him, the truth sank deep into his core.

He was finally home.

Chapter 10

“I don’t want the fairytale to end.” RJ sat at the round table in the turret, eating a breakfast of strawberries and creme over thick waffles delivered to their door under plate hoods, with steaming dark coffee and spicy breakfast sausages. “I still can’t quite figure out how this happened.”

York sat across from her, dressed in a linen shirt, jeans and slip-on shoes he’d picked up in the hamlet yesterday as they’d wandered around on their “honeymoon.” In truth, it felt like a honeymoon, a day away from the stress, the planning and whatever was happening up at Royal Lodge HQ.

Instead, she and York had risen with the sunrise streaming through the turret windows, taken the breakfast that magically appeared at their door with a knock and a gloved butler, savored the omelet and croissants, then headed out for a hike up the Highcrest mountain trail to a hillside winery tucked on the far side.

They’d met Stone Ferguson, the brother of Crown Prince John’s protection officer, and lunched on a patio overlooking the North Sea.

Then they’d hiked back, strolled hand in hand through town, stopped by the magistrate to sign their marriage license, then shopped and added to their ever-shrinking wardrobe. And spent the night again in the turret.

“Prince Gus said we could use it for the duration of our visit,” said York. “And no, I don’t know how this happened.” He leaned forward, caught her hand. “But I’m not going to argue with favor. I keep thinking about what you said—about God fulfilling the desires of those who fear him.”