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The door opened and Gabriella stood before him. She was almost as beautiful as Calla. She wore her hair short and sassy and her eyes were a startling azure blue. For a moment she showed surprise, but when she recognized him, her expression hardened.

Hands plopped on his hips, Connor said, “I am not a coward. I am man enough to put our problems aside to help Calla.”

A sassy arch of her female brow. “That remains to be seen.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

She gave him a haughty once-over. “Begrudgingly, from the expression on your face.”

“Let me in and get Calla.”

“Not unless you promise to be kind to her.”

He recoiled physically at the implication he might not be. “I would never mistreat her.”

She gave him her back and disappeared into another room, so he stepped inside and closed the door. In minutes, she was back with Calla. His whole body stilled. Though she’d lost weight since he’d seen her eight weeks ago and lines marred the beauty of her skin, his reaction to her was visceral. His entire body ached to touch her, hold her. This was the only woman he’d ever loved.

Calla stopped abruptly when she saw him. “Dio mio, Connor what are you doing here?”

“Gabriella called me.”

Her eyes moistened. Calla was a passionate woman and her feelings had always been easy to read on her face. He used to love that about her. Now, because her sadness softened him, he didn’t want to see it.

But he was helpless before her.

When her lips trembled, Connor couldn’t take it any longer. He closed the distance between them and tugged her into his arms. She went willingly and clutched his jacket. The feeling of her body next to him again made his eyes cloud. “Don’t cry. I came because your sister said you might be in trouble. I want to help.”

After a minute, she moved back and scrubbed her face. “I don’t want what isn’t good for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing me hurts you. I won’t be the cause of your pain any longer by dragging you into this nightmare.”

He whispered tenderly, “It doesn’t matter. Not seeing you hurts, too. Let me help keep you safe.”

“I have to keep myself safe.”

Since he knew she wasn’t doing it, he crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “What have you done, then?”

“We looked up the requirements for requesting asylum online. I don’t think any of that information applies to me.”

“Did you consult an attorney?”

She shook her head.

“Then let’s sit and talk.”

Standing a few feet back, Gabriella straightened from where she was leaning against the jamb. “I want to be in on this.”

“Fine by me.” Connor shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair, then sat.

Calla and Gabriella dropped down on the couch facing him. Close. It pricked at him when her sister took her hand. Instinctively Connor wanted to be the one to offer her comfort. But those days were gone, and best he remind himself of that. Nevertheless, he’d see what he could do in other ways.

Gabriella surprised him by starting. “She didn’t tell you the whole story at the conference.”

“Why not?”

“Because...”

Calla leaned forward. “Brie, I can speak for myself.” She focused on Connor. “Because I knew the truth would hurt you more, but probably wouldn’t change your mind.”

“Calla, what else happened to you?”

“The abuse was more than one time.”

Again, his throat clogged at the notion of someone hurting this lovely woman. “Why didn’t you tell your father everything?”

“I did.”

His hands fisted. “How many times did that bastard hit you?”

“At least once a month. Sometimes weekly.”

“That’s an outrage.”

She closed her eyes.

“What else?”

“The sex...it wasn’t always consensual.”

“He raped you?”

“It wasn’t rape in my country. An old law that still exists in the constitution says women are subject to their husbands. That could be interpreted to mean women don’t have any choice in sex.” She glanced at Gabriella. “It’s my fault. I could have negotiated a prenuptial deal like my mother did.”

“Mamá had a prenup with Papá?”

“Yes. And they expected their daughters to get one from their prospective spouses. It precludes all these things.”

“And you didn’t insist on it from Lorenzo?” her sister asked.

“I tried. He refused.”

“Why did you marry him without it?” Connor demanded.

She turned her head away.

Connor said, “Because of me, right? Because you broke it off with me so all this pain couldn’t have been for nothing.”

“That, and my judgment was clouded. I suffered from your loss, too, Connor, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

His heart beat at a clip. He got up and went to kneel in front of her. Gabriella moved down the couch. “I’m so sorry this happened to you routinely. How did you tolerate it so long?”

Her eyes got bleak. “Because I gave you up for the marriage and I couldn’t hurt you again by failing at it.”

Gabriella put in bitterly, “Sometimes, when you’re in Casarina, you fall into their ways. You start believing that crap about laws, and customs, and the sanity of them.”

Connor met Calla’s forehead with his. He’d help her out of this, but the new information didn’t mean he and Calla could be together. He could never take the risk that she’d go back again. And she only knew part of the story why that was impossible.

When the front doorbell rang, Whitney crossed to it hurriedly. Her cousin had called to say he was in D.C. and asked if he could come over. He emphasized the importance of seeing her and her fiancé, Max, so she worried as she whipped open the door. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

“Not necessarily.” His eyes were grim, like they got when he lost a patient. “But I’m hoping you can help.”

When she stepped aside to let him in, he moved to the right and revealed his company.

“Oh, my, God. Are you Calla?”

The woman held her head high, like the royalty she was. “Yes.”

“Come on in, both of you.”

Max had come up behind Whitney and put his hands on her shoulders. This was a big deal, and he knew it. The two visitors walked into the foyer.

“Calla, this is Whitney Dwyer. And Max Blackwell. They’re both Secret Service agents.”

Max greeted her and said, “Let’s sit in the living room.”

After everyone was ensconced in seats, Whitney was still stunned. Of all his family, she was the only one who knew about his relationship with Calla, though her cousin would never tell her what happened after she left him. In a weak moment, Connor had shown her pictures.

Her cousin began. “Calla has to seek asylum in the United States. She looked her situation up online but thinks her situation precludes getting help. We want to know if that’s true.”

Max nodded. “Can you tell us why you’re seeking asylum?”

She glanced nervously at Connor. “Connor, I don’t want you to hear all this again.”

Connor sat back against the couch. “I’ll deal with it.”

Holding Whitney’s gaze, she said, “I left the Middle East to marry a very wealthy man in Casarina. These kinds of arranged marriages are the way of the royals. My father had business dealings with Lorenzo Bertocchi as he owns several vineyards, which make up a large part of the economy. And Papá needs an heir. Women don’t rule. Only males.”

“Wow!” This from Whitney.

“Lorenzo had a good reputation. He was always kind to me before I left. We dated some, and he presented himself as a generous man. My father made arrangements for us to marry.” She gave a brief rundown of how her mother had insisted on some freedom for her daughters. “Truthfully, I was surprised that Lorenzo waited that long, but being the father of a future king was too appealing. In any case, after we wed, he showed his true colors.”

“What did he do?”

“He beat me.” Her voice trembled. “It didn’t start until we were unable to conceive after the first two months. Before that, he was...rough with me, but he never hit me.”

Max’s jaw tightened. “How long did this go on?”

Here her gaze dropped to her lap where her hands were clasped so tightly Whitney thought they must hurt. “I lost track.”

“There were too many times to count?” Max’s tone was horrified. He was a good man.

She nodded. When she looked up, there was despair in her eyes. “You must be thinking I’m weak.”

“We’re not thinking that at all.” Max’s tone was gentle. “But why did you stay?”

She explained what she’d told Connor about her father’s request that she give the marriage another try.

Whitney asked, “Did your father beat your mother?”

A small smile. “No. She would never have allowed that. Besides, when they were betrothed, she was pregnant and she got a prenup agreement for herself. But that wasn’t enough. Mama was worried that she might have daughters who would be subjected to Casarina’s laws and customs, particularly a woman is subject to her husband. So she also got him to agree to two things: the girl children could go to university in America if they wanted, and, they would be allowed to live abroad until they turned thirty. Second, she made him promise that when all his daughters did wed, they would have prenups too. Mamá said she would never take vows if he didn’t do all that.”

“Did you ever report your husband’s abuse to them?”

“Yes.” She explained her mother’s outrage, and the rift it caused between her mother and father. “So I went back. My husband promised he’d stop the beatings especially after my father also pummeled him with his own fists.”

“Calla,” Whitney said, “This is awful.”

“What happened next?” Max asked.

“Lorenzo was better for a longer period of time. When he hit me again, I was so wounded, I had to practically crawl away. A servant helped me home to my mother, despite the risk to herself.”

“Kindness often comes when we need it.” That was the real Connor, her cousin who had lost his optimistic view in life when this woman left him.

“Mamá was so angry and didn’t trust my father, and probably me, too, to end this thing. She took me from the palace in the middle of the night. We hid until she could make arrangements to get out of the country.” Calla started to cry in earnest now. “Papá always protected me. Except from this. How could he not help?”

“Because he’s a monster.” Connor’s face had flushed and his tone was angry. “As is Lorenzo.”

Calla buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Shaking his head, probably at the tone he’d spoken in, Connor drew her close, kissed her head and whispered soothing words to her.

Whitney and Max exchanged glances. One thing was for certain. Calla was back in Connor’s life. But given the circumstances, and considering what her initial rejection had done to him, Whitney couldn’t be happy about that.

Calla had seen children die after a shelling. She’d worked with mothers who were beaten while pregnant. And one of her colleagues had been captured and killed by the enemy. All those times she’d been brave, she hadn’t cried. But now, she was so ashamed of her weakness in going back to him, she could barely tolerate the emotion.

Whitney and Max had gone in to work to use the database in the Threat Assessment Center to research current laws about asylum. They thought they could get more information from the Secret Service site than Calla and Brie had gotten from a regular online search. Calla and Connor waited at his cousin’s condo.

Connor stood. “Let’s go for a walk while we wait.”

“All right.”

Luckily, she’d worn walking shoes. It was getting cooler so Connor fetched a hoodie of Whitney’s for her and she nestled in the cozy fleece. Connor wore one of Max’s sweaters.

The air breezed across her face when they stepped outside. It was brisk, but pleasing. Beside her, Connor started to reach for her hand, but stopped quickly.

“I was thinking about the times we walked in Syria.”

He shook his head. “It was way too hot to be doing that in the summer, even at dawn, but we loved the stolen moments.”

He’d loved her, too, then.

“Maybe they meant so much because it was such a normal thing to do.” She sighed as they passed a playground with children outside. “Remember the time we met the woman on the road? She gave us that flatbread to eat. I thought it was the best thing I ever ate.”

“Mama would kill me if I said that, but it was delicious.”

“How is she? And your brothers?”

Connor filled her in on the lives of his family. Gabe and his wife of not even a year were unbelievably happy. Nick and Isabelle were expecting two babies in June. Whitney and Max had had a rough time, but were doing well now. He was worried about Declan the most.

“Why is that?”

“He’s lonely as hell. He looks like Adonis but doesn’t date. I think he’s still in love with his ex-wife.”

“Sometimes, there is only one person for you.”

Connor didn’t respond. After a few minutes, he asked, “How are the girls?”

She updated him on her sisters. They were all in the U.S. but the youngest. They all had interesting jobs.

The two of them walked longer than they had planned, but when they returned to the condo, Whitney and Max still weren’t back. And tension between them surfaced. Suddenly Calla felt weak. Drained. “I need to nap. I’m exhausted.”

“You relived a horrible experience today.” He led her to Whitney’s spare room where she kicked off her shoes and slid onto the bed. “Sleep well.” His tone was so tender she wanted to weep again. At one time, he would have given his life for her. Now, he wouldn’t even stay with her.

Syria, seventeen months ago

Calla and Connor were laughing with some children that had come in to be treated for minor cuts. The girls got patched up and asked them to sing songs. For some reason, the children in their village loved American music. She and Connor burst into a rousing rendition of a Beatles tune, then Razim led the girls out. 

The ISIS soldier came out of nowhere, holding a monstrous gun, wearing full combat gear: head covered, scarf around his face, the unmistakable uniform of those who hated America. He sent a burst of gunfire over their heads.

Calla said, “Dio mio.”

Connor swallowed hard. Took Calla’s hand. “Stay calm.”

“I am calm.” But her heart was beating so fast she thought it might thump out of her chest.

The man glared at them with narrowed black eyes. Connor pulled on her hand and they began to back away.

The soldier inched forward.

And grabbed for Calla. She stumbled and Connor jumped in front of the man, breaking his hold on her. Connor shielded her with his body.

The soldier raised his gun.

Cocked it.

A loud tinny sound.

The intruder fell to the floor.

Behind him stood Razim, holding a frying pan from the makeshift kitchen. When it sunk in what had happened, Calla crossed to him. Hugged him. He’d saved their lives.

Then Connor went to get the supervisor. When he returned, two of the camp guards rushed in to haul the man away.

“Razim, you saved us.” Connor clapped his hand on the man’s back. “How can we thank you?”

“Some American hooch?” he said mischievously.

Connor laughed but Calla didn’t. She observed the exchange with a hooded expression. When Razim left, she whirled around. “Don’t you dare risk your own safety to protect me ever again.” Her eyes welled. “You could have died.”

Surprised, he grasped her arms. She expected an apology. “No can do, sweetheart. I’ll risk my life for you any time. You’re that precious to me.”

Connor lay on the couch and closed his eyes while he waited for his cousin. Until he’d gone to Syria, he’d always lived such a protected life. And everything had been easy for him. Top grades from elementary school through his medical training. Only the best of internships and residencies. And the patent he developed in college for a different kind of stethoscope gave him just enough money to live on. Perhaps if things had been harder for him, he wouldn’t have gone to Syria. He wouldn’t have suffered over the atrocities he saw over there. And of course, he’d never have met the princess of Casarina.

Did he wish that now, when she was tearing open wounds that hadn’t yet healed? No, he couldn’t. She’d given him something that he never had and probably never would find again.

On that depressing note, he tried closing his eyes. But images haunted him...

The first time she came to him, wanted to make love, needed to be close with him.

The way she always tried to see to his needs even over there.

How she was so sad when she left she could barely say goodbye.

And finally, months later, how she approached him when she left her abusive husband and came to the U.S. That one hurt even more and he remembered it in detail...

“Why on earth could you want to see me?” he’d asked when she approached him.

“I went back to my castle,” she said, shaking her head at his moniker for the palace she lived in. “I married my prince.”

“And?”

“You were right. It was the wrong decision.”

“I don’t know what to say. What are you going to do now, Calla?”

“I don’t know, Connor. I guess that depends on you...”

He fell asleep wondering what would have happened if he’d said he wanted her back.

The room was big. Fancy. Callandra sat in a chair right next to Papá. He let her do this a lot, be in his office while he worked. “I love you, Papá.”

“I love you, too, bambina .” He looked over at her. “Do you like getting away from the little ones?”

“The babies poop and cry all the time.”

“They do. Now read your book while I work.”

Callandra opened the page of her storybook to the picture of a palace. It was so beautiful. She could almost feel the gold when she touched it. “Why don’t we have a fancy palace like this one?”

He sighed. She was bothering him. “Casarina’s royal home used to look like that. It’s become modernized.” He frowned. “Now don’t ask any more questions until I say you can talk or I’ll have you taken home.”

She lowered her eyes. “Yes, Papá.”

The pages were all beautiful. The king looked like Papá, with his dark hair and little beard. Uh-oh. The queen...she seemed mean. Callandra read more. She was mean! Her black cape flew up and she sent out a curse. Callandra closed the book because she was scared. She stared down at the pretty front cover.

“Callandra, what is wrong?”

Her eyes were wet. “Why are the queens so evil in my books? Mamá is not evil.”

Papá mumbled under his breath, but she only heard the word arguments . “We’ll need to get you new books. Queens are not evil. They can be good. Mamá started the Marcello School to help young ones learn better.”

“Mamá is good.”

“Yes, if a little too liberal for my taste.”

“Will I be queen some day? I’m the oldest.”

“No, Cara. You are a princess.”

“You mean I can’t be in charge of Casarina?”

He sighed. “Only boys.”

“We don’t have any boys.”

“We might. If Mamá keeps having babies.”

“Yuck.”

“Come here.” He pushed back his chair and patted his lap. When she scrambled up, he hugged her close. “One day you will have babies. If Mamá and I don’t bring a boy into our lives, you will have one, and he will rule Casarina.”

“Not fair, Papá.”

“Sometimes life is not fair. But women cannot rule. You will understand when you grow up.”

“Understand what?”

“Men protect women. Women have heirs.”

She smiled. “You protect me, Papá. I almost fell off my horse and you saved me.”

“I will always protect you, little one. Always.”

Calla woke with a start. She’d had another true-to-life dream, where she recalled every incident of an event vividly in her sleep. Sometimes, they were wonderful memories. Sometimes they caused pain. Tonight, the thought of how her father had promised he’d always protect her, made her sad. He’d let terrible things happen to her, like the evil queens did to the king’s children.