“Where are we going?” Es asked him the next evening. They’d spent another day going to endless interviews and press junkets, followed by hours at the hospital. While Z was enjoying his time as royal bodyguard and his life had fallen into a comfortable routine as of late, consisting of breakfast, virtual workouts with his buddy in the mornings, then sex and sitcoms at night—Es was growing more and more fond of American humor by the day—he was concerned. Concerned for himself as he began to realize just how isolated he’d become since leaving his SEAL team the year prior. Concerned for Es, too, fearing putting on a public show of being Princess Esme—envoy of Prylea and all things to everyone—and in private shagging like a bunny to try and conceive would be too much for her. Hell, it was too much for him sometimes, and he wasn’t even the one in the spotlight.

Besides, he’d been doing a fair bit of research himself since agreeing to this deal of theirs and stress was not good for conception. So, he’d taken it upon himself to break the comfortable mold of their usual evenings in and planned a fun, surprise night out for his princess. A surprise because he didn’t want her shooting down his idea before they’d even left the house. He looked over at her in the back of the darkened limo and grinned. “Sorry, princess. Can’t tell you that. If I did, I’d have to kill you.”

Es rolled her eyes, looking exceptionally adorable tonight in her faded jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her cheeks were rosy. She looked good enough to eat. Probably best they’d gotten out of the townhouse when they did because Z had a feeling he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off her much longer and getting distracted by falling into bed would have ruined his plans.

Moments later, they pulled up to the curb on a quiet side street and Z got out, looking up at the brightly painted sign for the Bottle & Bottega. He reached back into the limo for Es’s hand and helped her out to stand on the rain-soaked sidewalk. The showers had let up at last, leaving the night cool and damp. She shivered and without thinking, he put his arm around her shoulders to pull her in to share his body heat.

Es cuddled against him, her minty warm breath fanning his neck. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure, princess.” He gave the limo driver instructions on when to pick them up then led Es over to the door. He’d rented out the entire place for the evening and invited Es’s stylist friend to join them. The rest of his security team was already in place around the neighborhood, keeping the paparazzi at bay. Tonight was just for them, just to relax and unwind and enjoy before they started the chaos all over again the next day. He’d figured since she loved crafting so much, with all her knitting and stuff, painting might be right up her alley as well.

“What the…” Es’s voice trailed off as they walked inside the shop. Gray cement floors and distressed brick walls complemented the industrial-esque vibe of the renovated warehouse. Long tables were set up, laden with various tapas dishes he’d ordered ahead of time—all mama-to-be friendly, of course—and between them were two easels and a myriad of art supplies at the ready. The air smelled of acrylic paints and possibilities.

“Oh my gosh, Z.” Es turned back to face him, the happiness and gratitude shining in her pretty hazel eyes more than enough thanks for him. “This is fantastic! I’ve always wanted to try one of these places, but never had the chance. Thank you!”

“My pleasure.” He gave her a quick wink before surveying the space. Everything was perfect, except for one thing. Es’s stylist friend was missing.

The owner rushed over as if sensing his confusion. “I’m so sorry, sir. She called right before you arrived and said she couldn’t make it. Some sort of mistake with her schedule at the salon. She said you two should go ahead and enjoy the night without her. I was going to call or text you, but you’d already pulled up outside.”

Es glanced at him over her shoulder and grinned. “Guess you’ll be painting along with me then, huh?”

“Oh, uh…that’s not a good idea. I’m not good at any of this stuff.” He stepped back hands up. “Really, no one needs to see that.”

“C’mon. Please?” Es’s dazzling smile fell and his heart sank. “It’s no fun painting alone.”

“There’s no skill needed, sir,” the owner chimed in. “We specialize in beginner artists. All you have to do is be willing to learn and follow the instructor. Oh, and have fun.”

Much as he wanted to run screaming from the building, Z sighed and gave a resigned nod. This was Es’s night, after all, and maybe his heinous art skills would be good for a few laughs. Especially once he got some wine into him. Just because Es was cutting the booze didn’t mean he had to. Besides, he’d made sure they had some nice sparkling apple juice on hand for her so she wouldn’t feel left out.

He took off his black suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt before loosening his tie. “Fine. Let’s get this party started. Leonardo da Vinci, eat your heart out.”

They soon settled in to a lovely evening of snacking, snarking, and snuggles. Each time Es would come over to peek at his work—a neon-bright monstrosity of tropical beaches and palm trees—she’d find some reason to touch him. A hand on his arm or his shoulder, a brush of her breast against the side of his chest as she leaned in to peer closer at his interpretation of a surfer in the ocean which ended up looking more like the poor guy had been half-eaten by sharks.

It was nice. And surprisingly relaxing, too.

He’d not spent any time in this kind of art studio setting since before his mother had died. Z remembered as a little kid running around amongst his mother’s cast-off canvases while she worked on her next masterpiece. She’d always encouraged him to follow his heart and do whatever came naturally with the paint. His art had sucked back then, too, but his mom had never been anything but supportive.

“Well,” Es said, standing beside him again, her gaze narrowed on his dubious artwork. “You certainly have a unique perspective on the world.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled. “My mom used to say the same thing. She was always kind and encouraging, like you.”

“She was a painter?” Es asked, moving back to her own canvas. Her artwork looked amazing as usual. A delicate beach scene that would’ve made any of the impressionist masters proud. She really was creatively gifted even if those talents weren’t necessary for her royal duties.

He put down his brush and stood behind her, feeling a need to open up about his past for once. Talking about his parents brought back all that old grief and loneliness, even all these years later, but he wanted Es to know about them so maybe he would feel a bit less alone. “Yeah. She was good too, like you. She did mainly abstract stuff, and a few landscapes. We moved around a lot with my dad’s job, so there was no shortage of inspiration.”

“I bet she was a lovely woman.” Es watched him from over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “And what a great mother, keeping you involved in what she was doing while still pursuing her passions.”

“Yeah.” Z shrugged. “Don’t really remember her having any other passions, though, besides painting. She was always just a great wife and mother.”

“She must have had other hopes and dreams too. Everyone does, even if she didn’t talk about them much.” Es concentrated on her painting again and Z walked back over to his own easel, his mind whirling with that information.

He’d never really thought about his mother as anything more than that—a mom. Married to his dad. A housewife, a cook, a caretaker. That was all a six-year-old noticed—and it’s not as if he ever had the chance to know her when he was an adult. But now that Es had mentioned the fact she’d been a person too, with her own wants and needs and foibles, he wondered if his mother had given up her own ambitions to marry his father and raise him.

And if she had, had she been happy to do it?

Z had always thought so, but now as he stared at his ugly beach and remembered those long-ago days of his childhood—traveling the world, never settling in one place long enough to put down any sort of roots—he couldn’t help wondering if maybe she hadn’t been as carefree and untroubled as she’d seemed.