Chapter 66 Chapter 66 Tea Time
I tie up my dress and step out of the closet, heels dangling from my fingers. Dimitri is still sprawled across the bed, watching me as I move slowly across the room. I slip one shoe on and glance up at him. His eyes are fixed on my chest. He clears his throat, dragging his gaze back to mine, lips curling into a half-smirk.
I slide the other shoe on, taking my time.
“Aren’t you brave?” I grin.
“I have always been brave… this is just the first time you’ve caught me.”
He pushes himself up on his elbows, his expression shifting, something more serious settling in his eyes.
“Do you need me today?”
“Gosh, no,” I laugh lightly, smoothing my dress. “It’s tea at my aunt’s place, then maybe a museum, some shopping, and I’ll head back. She has security picking me up.” I grab my coat and purse. “Please have a nice day with your brothers.”
He huffs out a laugh as I head for the door. Dimitri follows me out, and I catch Ivan leaning against the glass outside, cigarette between his fingers. He watches me, slow and deliberate, then winks as he exhales smoke into the air.
A black Mercedes idles in the driveway.
I don’t look back as I get into the car.
The door shuts, and we pull away.
Dinner last night lingers in my mind.
Intense doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Illia insisted I sit next to him, and Dimitri quietly explained why—his father had always wanted a daughter. Apparently, there was a time when he and my father were close. That strange connection made him treat me like something fragile, something rare. It was… unsettling and comforting all at once.
I was grateful I packed dresses.
Dinner was formal—everyone in suits, the table set like a royal banquet. Illia went around, asking each of his sons questions, his voice carrying authority that no one dared challenge.
Ivan didn’t look at me once.
Not once.
After dinner, I escaped to take a bath while the brothers stayed behind, drinking late into the night. Dimitri mentioned they had meetings and business to handle today.
The car slows.
The door opens.
I step out onto a hill overlooking my aunt’s villa—white walls, red tile roof, perfectly manicured grounds. She spends most of her holidays here in Spain. I hadn’t expected her call last night, sharp and annoyed that I hadn’t told her I was in the country.
“Come for tea,” she said. That wasn’t a request.
Security is everywhere, scattered across the property like silent statues. Black shutters are being opened one by one as the morning light pours in.
“Your Grace,” I say with a playful curtsey as I approach.
She stands at the door, already unimpressed.
Her eyes sweep over me, landing—of course—on my dress. My chest is on display, not vulgar, just… noticeable. Like a perfectly arranged bowl of fruit—there, tempting, impossible to ignore.
Her lips tighten.
Someone from her staff takes my coat and purse. I follow her into the sitting room, a stiff, gilded space filled with antique furniture that looks like it would shatter if you breathed on it wrong. A small table sits between two eighteenth-century couches, covered in delicate pastries and a full tea set.
My aunt sits.
Before I can, Gabriella bursts into the room. She is wearing a beautiful dark mustard tweed dress, choking her at the neck.
“Elle!!! I’m so glad to see you!” she squeals, throwing her arms around me.
I laugh, hugging her back—and then I freeze.
Because he walks in right behind her.
Roman.
The shock hits me like a wave.
The perfect male specimen, if one ever existed. With his perfect royal manners, Roman. The only monarch in Europe that is worth looking at, pining for, adoring. My childhood friend, the one boy I used to catch tadpoles with, climb trees with, collect wildflowers. We spent summers and many weekends together. Our grandmothers, best of friends. We have had many baths together covered in mud and dirt. My first real kiss my first.....the person I chose to give myself to fully, even though we didn't know what we were doing. The memories make me smile inside, warmth filling me, I haven't seen him in four years.
My cousin moves to sit beside my aunt. Roman steps forward, offering me a polite smile.
“Prince Roman,” I say, dipping into a deeper curtsey.
He says nothing.
Just watches me.
We take our seats. My aunt across from me, Gabby beside her, and Roman to my left near the fireplace.
Aunty Slavka pours the tea.
I can feel him next to me without looking. His presence fills the space—quiet but overwhelming. He’s taller now, well over six feet, his dark hair slightly tousled, a few strands falling onto his forehead. His green eyes are so deep they almost look black.
He’s dressed simply—jeans, a sweater, a dress shirt collar peeking out.
Still royal without trying.
My aunt drones on about Gabriella’s success at Oxford. I steal a glance at Roman—and catch him already looking.
Not at my face.
At my knees.
Heat creeps up my spine.
Slowly, carefully, I pull my dress closed, covering more of my legs. A faint grunt slips from his lips—quiet, but I hear it.
Gabby chatters on, oblivious.
Second year for her. First for him.
We’re the same age.
“What university are you going to, Elena?” Roman finally speaks.
His voice is soft—but it carries authority that silences the room.
“I’m still in my senior year,” I reply. “In the US—they go to twelfth grade.”
“Where have you applied, dear?” my aunt presses.
“I haven’t… yet,” I admit, shrugging lightly. “I don’t know if that’s what I want. I’m thinking about taking a year off.” My thoughts drift. “Or maybe moving to Grandmother’s villa. Taking care of the land, reading, drinking coffee… maybe getting a dog.”
Roman’s lips twitch, a hint of a smile.
My aunt, however, looks like she might combust.
“Nonsense. You will go to university like your sister and cousins.”
I grab a pastry and shove it into my mouth before I say something worse.
“What are you doing in Spain anyway?” Gabby asks, too sweet. “Here with a boyfriend?”
I feel Roman shift beside me—leaning forward slightly.
I smile, knowing exactly what she’s doing.
I lift a hand, brushing lightly over my neck where the bruises used to be.
“No boyfriend,” I say casually. “I needed a change of scenery. I came with my bodyguard. His family gathers here every year, so I’m tagging along. He insisted.”
My aunt tilts her head.
She already knows there’s more.
“Dimitri Pavlov is my bodyguard,” I add.
The reaction is immediate.
“Elena!” she gasps, clutching her chest. “Have you lost your mind? You are staying with the Pavlovs???”
Roman leans back in his chair, a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face.
“Oh, Mother,” Gabriella chimes in. “She’s perfectly safe. Didn’t you know? She dated Ivan Pavlov this summer.”
My aunt crosses herself like I just confessed to consorting with the devil himself.
I sit back, completely unbothered.
And Roman?
Roman is still watching me.