Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty-Four
Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty-Four
Leonardo
"Okay, son. I know it’s the last thing you want me to ask, but… are you sure about this?"
My father stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his usual stoic expression softened just enough to make me pause. The coffee I was sipping turned bitter in my mouth.
"Dad, I've thought about this for a while now."
"I don’t doubt it," he said. "But you have to understand—Alexander’s going through massive changes. New responsibilities, nonstop meetings, expectations from an entire country on his back. He’s not just a prince anymore."
"I know. Believe me, I know." I set the cup down and looked out the window, watching the car waiting in the driveway. "Since he became king, we haven’t seen each other much. Everything's buried under protocol. He can only show affection behind closed doors. Most of his days are spent surrounded by people I can’t even name. I thought I could handle it longer, but I can't."
Dad frowned, his brow twitching. "Have you hinted at any of this already?"
"No! No," I cut in quickly. "I didn’t wanna stress him or make him seem like I was blaming him… What I mean is, this... isn't just about me. I know what he needs maybe better than he does, and this isn’t sustainable. Not for him. Not for me."
He studied me for a long second. "So?"
"So," I said, my voice firmer now, "it's time to change that. I made my decision, Dad…. It’s not an impulse. I haven’t been able to sleep for weeks thinking about it, because I need to do this right."
His expression relaxed, and for a moment, I could've sworn he was proud.
Still, my nerves were a wreck. I'd checked everything twice. The venue was reserved: the same place where our story had begun publicly, that golden night under the Roman sky. The same musicians were booked; the best violinist… The lights had been tested and reset. The private chef was ready with Alex's favorite meal.
I'd even ironed my suit twice. By myself. That alone should tell you how serious I was about us.
"Is the driver ready?" I asked no one in particular, pacing through the living room.
“Since he woke up, son. He’s been ready. Everyone’s been ready…” My father sighed.
My mother appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes narrowing like she could sense the storm brewing inside me.
“Leonardo, you’re going to wear a trench in the carpet. Sit down, have some juice.”
“I don’t want juice.”
“You love juice.”
“I love Alexander more,” I snapped, running a hand through my already-perfect hair. “And I need this night to be flawless.”
She came down and gently patted my chest. “You are flawless. The rest will follow.”
My mother appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes narrowing like she could sense the storm brewing inside me.
“Leonardo, you’re going to wear a trench in the carpet. Sit down, have some juice.”
“I don’t want juice.”
“You love juice.”
“I love Alexander more,” I snapped, running a hand through my already-perfect hair. “And I need this night to be flawless.”
She came down and gently patted my chest. “You are flawless. The rest will follow.”
Dante groaned from the couch. “Oh my God, dude… You gotta chill. It’s not like you’re dating the Pope.”
“No, that would be gross. And illegal,” I muttered, half-ignoring him as I fixed my cufflink.
Dante tilted his head, thinking it through. “True… but still. It’s just Alex. And what are we even celebrating? Because this looks like more glamour than the King of Sweden’s coronation—and I was there.”
“We’re not celebrating anything,” I said, biting back a smile. “I just want to pamper him. Give him a break from carrying a kingdom on his shoulders. One night where he doesn’t have to make decisions or think about anyone else’s needs. Just mine.”
“Yours?” my mom asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Well… mine and his. Mostly his. It’s for him.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Dante hummed. “I can help you pamper him… I’m a great pamperer.”
“You get anywhere near my Charming, and I’ll murder your ass.”
“Jeez, so dramatic. I was just being supportive.”
I grabbed my jacket from the hanger and shot him a glare. “Dante, don’t you have a home?”
“And miss all the excitement around here? Pfft, please,” he smirked. “Seriously, you look like they’re about to crown you next.”
I took one last glance in the mirror—and damn, I looked good. Hair perfect. Tie straight. Nerves in full riot mode.
“Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck,” my mom said softly. “You just need to remember why you’re doing this.”
“For love,” I said quietly.
And then I was out the door, heart thundering, ready to pick up the man who ruled my world—even if he didn’t know what was coming.
The limousine pulled up beside the jet, polished to a presidential shine and flying both the Italian and Swedish flags like it was ready for a summit. But there was no politics today—just the reckless heart of one very lovesick man.
I stepped out, smoothing down my suit with one hand, the other clutching a single red rose like a total sap. The violinist had just started tuning up in the distance, but I barely heard a note.
The jet door opened with a hiss of air.
And then he appeared.
Alexander.
My king.
He descended the steps slowly, almost shyly—like he wasn’t the most breathtaking creature to ever grace a tarmac. His suit was flawless, rich charcoal with soft blue accents that matched his eyes so perfectly it had to be on purpose. His hair was combed back just enough to be regal, but the soft curl at his temple still screamed my Charming.
His eyes met mine across the short distance—and damn, those blue flames lit me up like wildfire.
Before he could speak, I closed the gap and pulled him into a kiss.
It wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t polite.
It was the kind of kiss you give someone after months of being apart—hungry, desperate, like touching him again was the only thing that could keep me alive.
When I finally let him breathe, I tucked the rose behind his ear and whispered, “Hi.”
Alex smiled, catching his breath. “Hi.”
Then, from the small, elegant handbag slung across his shoulder, he pulled out a slim box and opened it—revealing a perfect white orchid. “From the palace garden,” he said, his voice soft. “It reminded me of you.”
I laughed, ridiculously touched. “We’re a pair of hopeless romantics.”
“Speak for yourself,” he replied, handing it to me with a grin. “I’m incredibly dignified.”
“Sure you are,” I said, brushing our fingers together as I tucked the orchid safely in my lapel. “You coming with me, Your Majesty?”
“Anywhere,” he murmured. “Always.”