When he emerged back into the sunlight, he got a spectacular perspective of St. Christophe. Villeneuve sat in a valley created by snow-capped mountain ranges. It was green, lush, and vibrant. As he pulled into a spot, he noted how out of place the asphalt parking lot seemed beside the ancient stone castle and English garden-landscaping. Cutting the engine, he got out, surprised at the number of tourists milling about.

No wonder she had to be on her best behavior all the time. Even her private life was public.

He shot a text to Rosie’s bodyguard. Here. Then, he headed around to the back of the castle. Harrison, a fucking behemoth of a man, couldn’t be missed, striding across the lawn towards him.

“Hey.” Brodie hurried over and shook his hand. “Thanks for helping me out. Does she know I’m here?”

“No, sir. It’s been a hectic couple of days. Follow me.” He led Brodie into an expansive, low-ceilinged kitchen. Copper pots and pans hung from wire racks, and an enormous forest green stove took up the length of one wall.

“Is she all right?” Brodie asked. “I haven’t heard back from her.”

“On a good day, the princess doesn’t remember to take her phone with her.”

“How’s her dad?” Last he’d heard, the prince had pulled through but would have a six-week recovery. But maybe he’d taken a turn for the worse? Brodie nodded to the chef, who came up the cellar stairs with a huge crate of eggs.

Harrison led them out of the kitchen and down a long, windowless hallway. “On the mend.”

He let out a huff of breath. “Glad to hear it. I thought maybe she wasn’t getting back to me because…”

Harrison cut a sharp glance over his shoulder.

Got it. We don’t talk about the prince dying. Damn, this place looked like Versaille. Family portraits hung on the walls, side tables held vases and all kinds of knick-knacks, and the rugs were well-worn.

The bodyguard crossed a marble-tiled foyer, lit by an ornate and massive crystal chandelier that hung from a two-story ceiling. They heard voices, some exercised. “They’re in the library.” He paused outside the large, oak-paneled room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. “Hang on. Give them a moment, and then I’ll announce you.”

It was crowded with people. When he saw Rosie in a white dress and Marcel in a suit, Brodie’s blood pressure spiked. A wedding ceremony. Fuck. Pushing past Harrison, he raced into the room. “Don’t do it, Rosie. Don’t marry him.”

The tension in the room pulled tight, and everyone turned to him with stunned expressions.

Rosie’s eyes went wide, her hands covering her mouth. “Brodie?”