is a world above. They’re not made for us. And we’re definitely not made for them.”
Frankie swallowed hard.
“Honestly, what’s with these Jaroka guys falling for women they can’t realistically be with? I swear, next thing I know, I’m going to be sitting at a bar talking coping strategies with some woman in love with Tomas.”
“Pass on my condolences,” Frankie muttered, because if a woman fell for Tommy, it wouldn’t end well for her.
“I guess you just avoid Kris from now on?” Zara wriggled her toes in the warm night air. “And wait for time and distance to make this all go away?”
“Not exactly.” Frankie resisted covering her head with her forearms. “New protocol. Whenever he’s outside palace grounds, I’m going to be his bodyguard.”
“You’re—what?” Her friend sounded startled. “You’re not much bigger than I am.”
“I could take you before you’d seen me move,” she mumbled.
“While that leaves me suitably terrified, I’m not planning on harming your prince.”
“I’m not a full-grown male, but I know how to subdue one.” Not to mention that all members of the royal guard carried a firearm on duty.
“Alright, hang on.” Zara was shaking her head. “I’m lost. Because obviously my first thought is that volunteering to be his bodyguard is the perfect way to ensure he gets over you. You know, spending lots of time together one-on-one really aids separation.”
Frankie pressed her eyes shut, groaning.
“You command a security team, sweetcakes. Lock someone else by his side when he leaves the palace.”
“I can’t.” She couldn’t trust anyone else. “He can be stupid. Only I can tell what he’s going to do before he does it.” Only she could keep him safe.
There was a beat of silence. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
Zara was shaking her head. “This is not going to work.”
“It won’t be forever.” Just until she’d removed any lingering threat to the royal family. “After tonight, he’s cut me out. I’ll just be there in the background to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”
“Sure, whatever you said to him tonight might be what he needs to get over you,” Zara said. “But this bodyguard gig is the perfect way to make sure you never get over him.”
“I’ll be fine.”
A lie. A bulging, splitting-at-the-seams lie, because Kris wasn’t just gorgeous. He was soul-stealing. And she wanted him to have it, the soul he’d lifted right out of her being, because in all her years before she’d met him, she’d never felt whole alone inside herself. Around him, she felt unbroken.
A mighty lure to resist.
“Okay,” Zara said, and then gave her a glance that was the opposite of reassuring. “But do we want to make this our regular meeting spot for when you realize you’ve made a huge mistake? Or do you want to come to my place next time?”
Frankie glowered at her. “I can focus on the job.”
“Yeah.” Zara gave a little smile and patted her on the leg again. “Let’s do my place.”
4
Kris strode through a palace that in no way reflected the events of the night before. The chaos Frankie had wrecked should be all around him. The pre-dawn summer air should be acrid with her betrayal. The respectful, subdued palace staff should be dashing around, harried and alarmed. The wallpaper should be slashed, antique vases smashed in the corridors and the sound of weeping floating around corners. For all the pain she’d caused, there should be a rift in the damn mountainside.
Outside, Kiraly was oblivious in the early morning shadows.
Kris took off his hat—that always found its way back to him—as he and Tommy slid into the limo that would take them to Kuria Estate, the royal mansion on the outskirts of the city. The engine started, preparing to depart along with several security cars behind them.
“At least she thought better of the bodyguard idea,” Tommy said, rolling up the sleeves of his old blue and grey plaid shirt.
Kris rustled up a grunt in response, vaguely aware that no member of the royal guard sat in front with the driver.
Then he saw her.
Tearing out of the wide front entrance and down the vast sweep of steps. Something pinched in his torso as the sight of her under the golden outdoor spotlights. Her hair was a mess, her features haggard. The navy-blue security uniform from the night before was gone, replaced with her old boots, blue skinny jeans and a summer jacket the shade of a good sangria. She looked . . . like Frankie.
“Or not,” Tommy murmured.
She wove around several attendants without slowing her descent,