uniform of the royal guard?”
Confusion tugged on her brows. “Would you prefer that I did?”
“I don’t care how you dress,” he said. “But as head of personal security, you’d wear navy blue with something extra, right? Gold stripes or piping to mark your position.”
“Probably,” she said, looking down and tapping at the ends of the papers that stuck out of the folder. “Why?”
“For someone so determined to remind me that you’re my inferior as a member of palace staff, it seems odd that you wouldn’t use the uniform as a visual reminder of our differences.”
She didn’t react. Just eyed him with a bland expression that seemed to ask, your point?
“You want to know what I think?” he asked.
“Probably not.”
“You don’t believe you deserve to wear it.” As the words left his mouth, the full truth of the theory hit him. If she couldn’t even accept her role in the palace, no wonder she fought being paired with a prince. “You don’t believe you deserve to be here.”
Frankie’s features revealed nothing—but he’d bet her heart was beating with panic.
“When you and Tommy were talking in the car last week,” he said, “you mentioned you didn’t work for the royal guard before you came to Montana. Philip’s thrown you in the deep end, hasn’t he?”
She glanced out the window at the mountains. “So?”
“So why won’t you accept that you’ve risen to the challenge?”
Now he was sure her lips were too pale. “Can we save this conversation until we get back tonight? I have work to do.”
“Swear it,” he said, waiting until she looked at him. “Swear you’ll explain this.”
After a moment of impossibly wide green eyes, she swallowed. Her expression hardened. “I swear.”
“Thank you.”
She left without another word, and he sank back onto the sofa, still wishing he was home again, but with her by his side as they drove through the wild expanse of Montana. Instead of sitting in silence or playing ‘Would You Rather’ as they’d done on past road trips, he would ask her questions about her life, gently nudging her open, because his current ignorance was his fault as much as hers.
He’d always respected her space, steered clear of conversations that caused her silence and stillness. He’d thought that was being a good friend—but as her friend, he should have pushed a little more, trying to understand what caused her to shut down, rather than acting as if her life had begun when she’d moved to Sage Haven.
Tonight, that would change. She was nervous about what she had to tell him, but he’d take it all. He’d finally make sense of her. The reasons she pushed and pulled. Understanding her past was the last barrier between them and his stomach balled in anticipation. Once he knew it all, he could tell her with conviction that there was nowhere else they belonged than by each other’s sides.
And finally, she would believe him.
Frankie stood staring at her reflection. The mirror didn’t lie—it had always confided the truth behind her charades. A hollow-hearted stare beneath her fine false lashes. The pinch of scruples around her rose-painted mouth. The curl of self-loathing at her top lip. A heaviness to her head, forcing her pearl-strung collarbones to catch the weight that bore down on her neck.
She’d never posed or played a part to fool herself. Never smiled or pouted or practiced lines. Her ability to fall into character had never been something she’d wanted to watch.
At sixteen, she’d sworn she’d never do it again—dress or behave like someone else.
Yet here she was, proof that old habits could rise swift and sharp to the surface like the pair of brass knuckles her fingertips never quite left alone in her pocket.
She shouldn’t be surprised.
It was in her blood, after all.
The restaurant was in an expensive part of the city that Kris hadn’t visited before. It was one of the many establishments surrounding a large square, cobbled and bustling, with a sparkling fountain at its heart and the last stalls of a daily market making way for nightlife.
He and Frankie sat outdoors at an elegant patio table, overlooking the piazza with a platter of canapes and two glasses of fizzing wine. A busker played violin nearby, accompanied by a pair of contemporary dancers who moved like ribbons caught in a current. Chatter was light with laughter in the warm summer evening—sounds to suit the strings of tiny lights and flickering candles in this busy hub of fine dining. If Kris hadn’t spent the past few months