Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty Five

Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty Five
Alexander

The moment I saw him, I froze.

He stood across the tarmac like a vision—glorious and impossibly unreal in the low, golden lights of the runway. My Leo, in a perfectly tailored burgundy tuxedo that hugged every inch of him like it had been made by the hands of a god who knew exactly how I liked to suffer. His jet-black hair—elegantly combed and rebelliously undone—fell into soft curls that refused to obey gravity, curling just above his dark eyes. And those eyes…

They were locked on me like I was his miracle, and for a second, I couldn’t move.

Not because I was afraid. Not anymore.

But because I knew, in that one breathtaking instant, that I would never again see anything more beautiful. Nothing would top that look in his eyes—the adoration, the certainty, the unshakable devotion. The kind that made you believe in forever.

I took one step. Then another.

And when he opened his arms with so much need, I fell into them like I belonged there. Because I did. God, I did.

My head rested against his chest, and I felt the beat of his heart—fast, strong, so alive. And I prayed. Not to the God I’d grown up with, but to his. To the one who made him.

Please, I begged silently. Don’t take him from me. He’s the reason I still breathe.

Then he kissed me.

As if it was the first time and the last time.

And when we broke apart, he was smiling like he knew something I didn’t. Something beautiful. Something terrifying. Something final.

He took my hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles, and led me toward the limousine waiting by the gate.

The limousine smelled like leather and something sweet—roses, maybe, or the remnants of his cologne on my coat.

Leo pulled me close the second the door shut, his arm wrapping tightly around my shoulders as he reached with his free hand to pop a bottle of champagne from a silver cooler by the seat.

With a quiet pop, the cork flew off, and he grinned, pouring us each a glass as the soft sound of a violin filled the air. I blinked, confused, glancing toward the tinted glass divider.

There, seated in the front with perfect posture and an expression of musical reverence, was a man in a suit… playing the same violin I’d heard at the airport.

“For real?” I murmured, lips twitching.

Leo kissed my cheek. “For love.”

I laughed, heart fluttering. “Did you hire a musician to stalk us?”

“A troubadour, baby,” he whispered, brushing his lips against mine. “He’s our troubadour.”

I nearly choked on my laughter, and he stole that moment to kiss me—deep, slow, the kind of kiss that made my toes curl and my lungs forget their job. Champagne forgotten, I let my hand find the line of his jaw, tracing it, memorizing it again, as if I hadn’t done that a hundred times in secret.

Now it wasn’t secret. Not anymore.

He loved me out loud.

The car slowed. I sat up slightly, disoriented, then turned to the window—and froze.

The driveway was aglow.

A thousand tiny lights lined the path like fireflies frozen in time, leading toward a building I knew all too well.

It couldn’t be—

My breath caught. “Is this…”

Leo smiled. “The ballroom from the last day of the tour.”

“Leo—” I gasped as the door opened.

Staff stood on either side of the path, dressed in elegant uniforms, waiting with gentle smiles and lowered heads. Among them, one face stood out like a beacon of comfort.

“Karl?” I blinked. “What—? What are you doing here?”

He stepped forward, stoic as always, though his eyes shimmered with something warmer.

“I gave you your privacy, Your Highness,” he said with a nod. “Just as you requested. I took an earlier jet. Ignore I’m here.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed, shaking my head as I approached him. “I’m glad you came, Father.”

He looked at me then, and though he said nothing, I felt the weight of it in my chest.

Leo’s hand found mine. I gripped it tight.

The violinist began playing again behind us as we walked, the notes low and golden in the night air.

Through the grand palace doors we went—like last time, but nothing like it. Because this time, I wasn’t pretending to love someone else.

We walked in hand in hand.

Leo turned to me, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “You okay?”

“You…” My voice cracked. “You’re giving me my own fairytale.”

His gaze softened. “Our fairytale, Charming. Ours.”

The room was just as I remembered: towering windows, golden chandeliers, a thousand candles dancing in mirrored trays. But instead of a crowded gala, there was only one table—set for two.

We sat down.

I couldn’t stop staring at him.

And I didn’t want to.

Dinner was nothing short of divine.

An elegant dance of flavors from Sweden and Italy, curated down to the tiniest detail—like everything Leonardo touched. Each plate was a memory, a tribute to our roots, our journey. The first bite of saffron risotto made me tear up. The second—a taste of my childhood’s crayfish soup—nearly did me in.

But it wasn’t the food that undid me.

It was him.

He never let go of my hand. Not once.

As the next course arrived, Leo leaned closer and brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “Baby… these past few months… They’ve been something else.”

I smiled faintly, eyes on our entwined hands. “That’s one way to put it.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh. “No, seriously. It’s been a brand-new challenge for both of us. And I’m not even gonna try and make it about how hard it was for me and shit—though it was, babe—but I know…”

His voice lowered, full of something I couldn’t name.

“I know you became a king, Alex. And though I’ll never understand how impossibly hard that was, I know one thing: you should’ve never had to do it alone.”

My throat tightened. I tried to look away, but his grip on my hand gently stopped me.

He saw me.

Saw the fear, the unbearable weight I’d carried through every press conference, every decision, every public lie that hid our truth. My eyes teared up at the thought. It had really been hard—lonely, scary, and unbelievably frustrating to have the love of my life at arm’s reach and to have to exclude him from it all against my will. 

“I’m so sorry, babe…” My voice wavered as guilt began to rise. The rules. The expectations. The impossible choices. “There are these rules, and I—”

“Baby… wait.” He touched my face, warm and grounding. “Don’t do that.”

I blinked at him.

“It’s me who should be sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve been pouting like a damn teenager when all you were doing was surviving. Holding the world on your shoulders like some tragic Greek god.”

I let out a shaky breath, too stunned to speak.

“And I know I act tough and flirty and loud—but none of it means I don’t see you. I do. Every inch of you. And I admire you with all of my heart, Alexander. I mean it. I just… I just want to help carry some of that weight.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Before he could finish the sentence, I pushed my chair back and reached across the table, wrapping my arms around him like I’d drown without him. My voice broke as I buried my face in his neck.

“You do? You didn’t bring me here to—”

My heart pounded. My words caught.

“To what, baby?” He asked softly, holding me tighter, trying to meet my eyes.

I couldn’t look at him.

Couldn’t say it without crying.

But the words fell out anyway. Three tiny shards of glass from the deepest corner of my soul.

“To leave me…”