Four days later, Z was seriously reconsidering his life choices.

“Just try it harder, please. Honestly, you won’t hurt me.” The princess’s crisp, calm tone cut through the din of party echoing down the secluded hall. “I’d expected a SEAL to be more…aggressive.”

Biting back a snarky retort, Z leaned back slightly and glanced around from the shadows of the alcove where they were hidden to make sure there were no eavesdropping paparazzi lurking about. This mission was already turning into a major cluster, at least from his perspective. The last thing they needed now were compromising photos of Princess Esme splashed all over the tabloids, with the back of her fancy designer dress wide open and Z’s hands fumbling around near her ass.

In truth, the situation was perfectly innocent. The princess had been schmoozing with world dignitaries in the main ballroom of the National Building Museum. It was a black-tie charity event to help battle poverty in the local community by uniting corporate and world leaders, donors, and volunteers. The theme was “Absinthe Dream” and the huge marble arcade gallery was decorated with green decorations and lighting. They’d been served a gourmet four-course meal, most items of which Z couldn’t identify, then the table had been cleared and a dance floor had been set up with a live band to play music from the forties while the power elite wheeled and dealed.

Z had been content to hang back and watch the festivities from the sideline, keeping an eye on his charge and communicating with the rest of his team stationed around the area via the Bluetooth device in his ear. It should’ve been easy-peasy. It turned out to be anything but.

Thankfully, the princess had been just a few feet away from him when one of the ambassadors had accidentally stepped on the train of Esme’s ridiculously frou-frou—and ridiculously expensive—gown. She’d gone to move one way, and the dress hadn’t gone with her due to the ambassador’s ill-placed foot. Next thing Z knew, there’d been a tiny, but audible clicking noise and the back of the princess’s strapless dress had begun to slowly open from the top down. Luckily, his reflexes were hyper-fast from his time in SEALs, and it was only a moment before he had his arm around her, holding her dress closed as he escorted her quickly from the ballroom and over to this quiet alcove in the hallway.

Normally, he’d have enjoyed the view of a gorgeous woman’s bare back, but the princess was his job, not his girlfriend. Besides, she needed his help right now, not his libido getting out of hand. He tried to coax the broken zipper up again, but his fingers slipped, landing on the smooth, creamy skin of her lower back. Warm and silky.

Not helpful, dude. Not helpful at all.

That’s when the toe-tapping started. A constant clack-clack-clack of her uber expensive stiletto sandal against the polished marble floor. “Whatever it is you’re doing back there, can you please hurry up?”

“I’m trying, your highness.” He did his best to keep his tone even and bland but figured a bit of annoyance must’ve crept out anyway, given the narrowed look she gave him over her shoulder. The stupid earpiece kept slipping out of his ear because of the angle of his head, and he cursed softly, clicking it off and letting it hang down his chest. He’d be fine protecting the princess himself in this small space, and he’d put the dumb thing back in his ear as soon as he was finished anyway. “That guy did a real number on this zipper. It’s all out of alignment and a couple of teeth are missing. I’m trying to get it to work again but rushing me isn’t helping. This isn’t exactly my forte. I’m used to getting women out of these things, not into them.”

He winced, regretting those words the minute they left his mouth.

Smooth move, dumbass.

God, he’d dealt with raids on sniper-infested enemy villages that were less dangerous than this current situation. Don’t touch, don’t look, don’t think about her at all. Just get the damned dress zipped and get on with it.

“You’d think for what this thing costs, they’d make the zipper out of indestructible titanium or something, right?” He chuckled, hoping to cover his early snafu, but only shoving his foot further into his mouth if her continued silence was any indication. He squinted at the zip and managed to get the pulley wedged over one of the missing teeth so that he could carefully work it upward. “I’ve got it working again, sort of. There’s still an opening near the bottom though, where the zipper doesn’t connect anymore. Got anything in that tiny bag of yours to hold it together, your highness?”

From watching her closely over the last couple of days, he knew she probably did. Esme Hollycombe was nothing if not organized and well-prepared. Plus, she did all those fussy hobbies like knitting and crochet and even embroidery and lace making. Z wasn’t the kind of guy to know much about those, except his mom had liked them too. A familiar pang of sorrow stabbed through his chest as he straightened, one hand still holding the open bottom of the zipper closed. Whenever he thought of his parents, God rest their souls, the same grief pinched his heart. It had been twenty-six years since they’d passed and the pain still felt as fresh as it had back then.

“As a matter of fact…” the princess said, digging around in the red satin clutch that was made of the same fabric as her dress. “I do have something.”

Z gave a silent snort and grinned. He’d known she would.

She passed him a needle and a tiny spool of black thread over her shoulder. “It’s the wrong color and the thread is a bit too thick, but if it gets me out of this mess and back into the ballroom, I don’t care.”

He grabbed them and quickly threaded the needle then kneeled again to stitch together the bottom zipper. Not exactly Martha Stewart perfection, but you’d be amazed the skills that a guy picked up as a SEAL. Once, he and his team had been out in the Kandahar desert, middle of nowhere, nothing but sand for miles, and one of the guy’s pants had split right down the middle. Funny, but potentially deadly, given the temperatures and the poisonous scorpions running everywhere. Thankfully, one of the guys had stowed an emergency repair kit in his backpack and Z had drawn the short straw, getting the dubious honor of sewing his buddy’s pants back together. Good thing he’d spent years by his mom’s knee as a kid, watching her do her crafts.

Handling a needle and thread came second-nature to him now.

Not that he told people that. A SEAL had a reputation to uphold after all.

The princess sighed, and he felt some tension leave her body beneath his hands. “Listen, I’m sorry I snapped at you, Mr. Raybourn. I’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately. That’s no excuse, I know, but I haven’t felt like myself in a while. With my dad’s illness and my cousin gunning to throw our country into chaos as soon as he takes the throne, it’s all such a mess.”

“Considering where we are and what we’re doing, I think you can call me Zachary. Or Zach. Or even Z. That’s what my friends call me,” he said, knotting the thread then biting it off with his teeth. He straightened and handed her back the needle. “Not to step out of line, your highness. You can call me whatever you want.”

She took the needle from him and dropped it back into her tiny bag, then assessed him with a narrowed stare. She really was pretty under all that pomp and circumstance she hid behind. Shoulder-length sable hair, bright hazel eyes, creamy skin for miles, and pretty pink lips. He looked away fast from those. Best not to tempt fate, especially when it was forbidden.

“Fine. Z it is. And you may call me Esme when we’re in private anyway. I doubt that Sutherland would appreciate you being so casual with me in public. Duty and all.” She smiled and the world seemed to brighten a tad. “Like I said, I really do apologize for being so cross. I’m just worried about everything.”

He relaxed a bit, leaning a shoulder against the marble pillar beside him and crossing his arms. “Yeah. If you don’t mind me saying so, that cousin of yours is a real piece of work. I’d advise you to keep an eye on him if I were you. He’s got his eye on the prize and he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process.”

“I know.” She shook her head and rested her hips back against the wall behind her. “Sadly, we used to be friends, back in school. Then when my father was diagnosed with cancer and Silvester realized he’d soon be king, it seemed the potential power awaiting him went to his head. Now we barely talk and when we do, it’s only to trade insults with each other.”

Her speech had grown less formal as she opened up to him. That was another thing he’d noticed about her, not just in the last few days, but in the six months he’d been at the palace. She put on a brave, formal face for the world, all fancy talk and precise perfection, but he had to wonder what she was like out of the spotlight, when she was alone. Perhaps he’d finally get a glimpse of the real Esme Hollycombe. Suddenly the mission didn’t seem so dire anymore.

“I’m sorry about the king’s illness. That’s tough to go through.”

“It is.” She stared down at her toes, peeking out from beneath the red satin. Her toenails were painted a matching scarlet color. He’d not noticed that before, but now all he could picture was kissing said toes until she giggled and sighed his name. Z cleared his throat and glanced out into the hallway again to make sure their conversation was still private. Not going there again. Nope. “Are your parents still living, Z?”

His heart sank. “No. They died when I was six.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible.”

“It was.”

She gave a tiny nod. “My father’s older, I know that. He’s had a long, full life. Death is inevitable, but it’s just so hard when it’s right there, staring you in the face.” She shrugged and sniffled, a sad affair that made him want to pull her into his arms and hold her. He shoved his hands in his pockets instead. He had no business holding the princess. Not now, not ever. This was work, his job, not some royal date night. “I think his continued hope for a cure only makes it worse. If he’d just accept it and enjoy the rest of his time here on earth, it would make it easier for the rest of us to accept what’s going to happen too.”

“At least you’ll get to say goodbye,” Z said. “I didn’t have that luxury.”

“I—” She met his gaze, her own full of questions and sympathy, but the arrival of one of his team members cut their moment of privacy short.

“Your highness,” the security guard gave a stiff bow. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve gotten word from Sutherland that your father, the king, is being airlifted to the hospital as we speak. Things are not looking good, your highness.”

The guard gave Z a quick glance, his eyes darting to the Bluetooth earpiece still dangling loose from the cord near his ear, and then back to Z’s face again. “I tried to contact you via the usual channels, sir. But you weren’t available.”

“Let’s go,” Z said, shoving the Bluetooth back in his ear then taking Esme gently by the elbow to guide her past the ballroom and out to their limo waiting at the curb. He got her settled in the back seat then turned back to the guard. “Have the rest of the team meet us at the hospital.”