Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty-Five

Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty-Five
Leonardo

It’s been two months since we walked out of that palace and rewrote history.

Since Alex laced his fingers through mine and we stepped into the light—together.

Some days, it still feels like a dream. A vivid, wild, beautiful dream where the prince doesn’t get exiled or imprisoned or pushed into marrying a noblewoman with twelve last names. He just... kisses his boyfriend and gets cheered for it.

But it wasn’t a dream.

It was our reality.

Two months of bliss followed. Sex, sunshine, freedom—more sex—bonding, tons of cuddling, and, yes, exactly, a lot more sex… 

What can I say? A man has needs. And dreams. And desires… And this man had a fucking hot, drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend, so… yep! 

Alex stayed in Italy with me for a while. Long enough to burn pancakes, learn how to swear in Neapolitan, and get kissed breathless on nearly every surface of my mother’s guest house. We had late-night strolls, presidential speech rehearsals, and passionate debates about curtain colors for the house we might someday share. (Spoiler: he’s wrong. Mauve is not neutral.)

Eventually, though, duty called. Or more like screamed.

Alexander returned to Sweden, back to his public, to photo ops and official statements and conferences where he looked like a goddamn dream in tailored suits and royal charm. Polished. Poised. Practically glowing.

A future king his people could be proud of.

We talked every day. Sent photos, voice notes—sometimes just a 🐻 or a 🍑 depending on the mood. On weekends, we traded countries like teenagers with too much money and no adult supervision. Sometimes he came to me, sometimes I flew to him. We cooked. We planned. We made love like we were making up for every second we’d spent pretending we didn’t feel what we felt.

It had been good.

Too good.

Which, naturally, meant something was bound to blow up. And now, it was almost here.

Re-election day.

Tomorrow, the people of Italy would decide whether they still trusted President Vittorio—or if they were done with the family circus we’d become.

But this time, I wasn’t hiding. I was front row, center stage.

And Alexander would be right there beside me. We’d had it all planned for weeks. Speeches. Security. Outfits. Kisses behind velvet curtains. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Because this wasn’t just about politics anymore.

This was about us.



The house was too quiet for a night like this.

Outside, a soft breeze brushed against the windows. Inside, everything felt still. The kind of silence that makes you hear your heartbeat louder than it should be.

We were all gathered in the living room of the presidential residence, lights dimmed, a massive TV glowing in the corner. The campaign headquarters was only blocks away, but Eleonora wanted to be with us. With family. Win or lose.

She sat on the edge of the couch, arms folded, eyes fixed on the screen. Her campaign manager paced by the window, glued to a tablet. My father kept checking his watch. Dante had his legs crossed on the arm of an armchair, bouncing his foot like it was the only thing keeping him from exploding. Giovanni was curled up in a blanket with his phone, texting updates to his classmates. And Alex… Alex sat beside me, warm and still, his hand wrapped tightly around mine.

The numbers weren’t looking good.

The opposing candidate had taken an early lead. Region after region lit up in the wrong color. Eleonora’s face remained perfectly calm, but I knew that look. That trained presidential stillness. She was dying inside.

“I think I should start writing the concession speech,” she whispered.

“No,” I said immediately, too quickly. “No, it’s not over. It’s never over till it’s over, right?”

Her eyes met mine. There was a softness in them I hadn’t seen in weeks. “Leo, even if I lose, I’ve already won the most important thing.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Don’t say that. You deserve this. You worked your ass off. You—” My voice broke. “You believed in us. In me.”

Alex reached across me to touch her shoulder. “You made the world better, Eleonora. That’s already history.”

She smiled faintly, but then her hand moved to her tablet and she began typing.

“My fellow citizens…”

I couldn’t watch her write it. I stood up and left the room.

Alex followed me, silent until we reached the hallway. I braced my hands on the wall, my chest tight.

“She’s going to lose,” I whispered. “Because of me.”

“Leo…”

“No. Don’t say it’s not true. Everyone said I’d ruin this for her. I’m the scandal. I’m the shame; I’m the son who made a mockery of her presidency—”

“I’m so sorry, babe. I should’ve never involved you publicly until you were all ready…” He instantly apologized.

“I didn’t mean us, baby… Never!” I took his hand in mine, eyes shimmering. “I meant all the shame I brought before… The cowardice. The pretending. The silence. Now is the first time I’ve brought them pride and honesty… and I just hope it wasn’t too late.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out. I stepped toward him, clutched his shirt, and leaned my forehead to his.

“We tried,” I whispered. “We tried so damn hard.”

“And we’re not done yet.”

A voice called from the other room. “There’s still time! They haven’t counted Lazio!”

We hurried back in.

Karl had returned from the kitchen with a tray of… something. “Alex tried baking earlier,” Dante whispered to me with a smirk. “It’s burned.”

“I heard that,” Alex mumbled.

We all huddled in tighter around the TV. The screen glowed blue and white. Numbers updated every few minutes. We were gaining. Slowly. But it wasn’t enough.

“She’s still behind,” Giovanni muttered.

Eleonora stood, smoothed her blouse, and turned to her campaign manager. “Okay. Let’s go to headquarters. I’ll finish the speech there.”

“No!” I rushed up. “Wait. Five more minutes.”

“Leo—”

“Please.”

The campaign manager’s tablet buzzed violently in his hand. He stared down at it, brows furrowing… and then his eyes widened.

“Wait—WAIT!” he shouted. “New numbers just dropped—Firenze, Roma, Napoli—they’re blue. We overtook him. She’s leading now!”

“What?” Eleonora breathed.

The TV hadn’t caught up yet. But his tablet showed the surge. The flipping of counties. The percentages jumping.

“She’s going to win,” I said breathlessly. “You’re winning!”

Chaos erupted. Giovanni screamed. My father clapped his hands together and muttered a prayer. Dante grabbed a pillow and threw it into the air. I didn’t know if I was breathing. Alex grabbed my hand.

Eleonora stared at the tablet like it was a bomb about to go off. Then she looked at me.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I laughed, tearful. “But let’s hope to God it’s true.”

And then the TV screen finally updated. 

The final results were about to be announced.