Chapter 19 

From that night on, Gabriel and I both know-we’re officially a thing. Yet secretly, because apparently my life can’t be simple even when I’m happy. 

No one can know about it, especially my family. 

It feels almost childish, like the kind of giddy, unspoken commitment teenagers make after sneaking their first kiss behind the bleachers. But then again, nothing about our childhoods had ever been normal. 

H 8 

Later that evening, I tell Gabriel about my conversation with Jake. 

How he’s known about my royal situation since day one, how he doesn’t give a shit about titles, how he’s basically the best friend I never thought I’d have. 

Gabriel just smiles knowingly. “I already knew Jake knew.” 

Of course he did. A familiar wave of frustration almost overwhelms me-the constant secrets, the surveillance, everyone always knowing more than me. 

I’m like the last person to find out about my own life, which is both impressive and infuriating. But Gabriel gently steadies me with a hand on my arm. 

“If Jake had bad intentions, he wouldn’t be anywhere near you right now.” 

For the first time, I feel oddly grateful that Gabriel is so damn good at his job. Thanks to him, I have a friend-officially approved by the system, so to speak. 

Jake gets to stay in my life because my bodyguard vetted him and decided he wasn’t a threat. It’s fucked up, but I’ll take it. 

“So you’ve been watching him too,” I observe. 

“I’ve been watching everyone around you,” Gabriel admits. “It’s literally what I’m paid to do.” 

“Right. Sometimes I forget you’re a professional stalker.” 

“Security specialist,” Gabriel corrects with a smirk. 

“Tomato, to-mah-to.” 

*** 

Our first date is, predictably, over the top. 

Gabriel rents out an entire theater just for us, stocks the place with all of my favorite snacks— and slips in some of his own guilty pleasures too. 

Apparently my bodyguard has a thing for Swedish Fish and those pretzel M&Ms that taste like a mistake but somehow work. 

We’re supposed to watch two movies: my favorite first, then his. Leo’s choice: All the President’s 

Men. Gabriel’s choice: some Norwegian thriller that’s probably going to give me nightmares. 

Or at least, we’re supposed to watch them. 

Neither of us remembers much of the films. Between the lingering stares, whispered teasing, the kisses that keep escalating-we can barely focus on anything but each other. 

The popcorn goes untouched. The Swedish Fish become casualties of our wandering hands. We’re intoxicated by one another. Hopelessly, shamelessly obsessed. 

And neither of us cares to stop it. 

“This is the worst movie-watching experience of my life,” I murmured against Gabriel’s neck during what I think is supposed to be an emotional scene. 

“Good thing I didn’t rent this place for the cinematic experience,” Gabriel replies, his hand finding its way under my shirt. 

“What did you rent it for then?” 

“Privacy,” Gabriel says, and proceeds to demonstrate exactly why privacy is important. 

It becomes routine after that—Gabriel hanging out in my dorm room constantly, practically living there. Which should be weird, but somehow isn’t. 

He does his grad school work on Jake’s desk while I pretend to study. We eat takeout off paper plates and argue about whether The Office is actually funny or just depressing. 

It’s easier after Jake’s security lecture from Gabriel, which-while mildly terrifying-means fewer questions and less tension overall. 

Apparently Gabriel sat Jake down and explained exactly what would happen if any. 

information about me leaked. Jake described it as “thoroughly educational” and “moderately pants-shitting.” 

But even Jake has limits. 

“Leo, I love you, bro,” Jake announces dramatically one evening, “Gabe… I tolerate you. But there are limits, gentlemen.” 

Jake purposely emphasizes the nickname Gabe, smirking like he knows exactly how much it irritates Gabriel when anyone else uses it. 

“This room barely fits two people, and now there are three of us in here constantly.” 

I, to my credit, admits, “You’re right. But under the current… conditions, we only feel safe here. Especially with you nearby.” 

Jake rolls his eyes but can’t fully hide the soft smile creeping in. 

“That’s flattering, boys… mostly. But don’t test my patience.” Then his expression shifts as he eyes both of us. “How’s your academic situation looking?” 

Both Gabriel and I visibly tense. It’s like someone just threw ice water on our little domestic bubble. 

“We’re off schedule.” Gabriel sighs. “We need to refocus or your father will start asking questions-and my job will be on the line.” 

The weight of that lands hard. My chest tightens, the thought of Gabriel being taken from me- fired, sent away-because of me, unbearable. 

I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not after everything. 

“How far off schedule?” I ask, trying to sound casual. 

“Your GPA dropped half a point,” Gabriel says quietly. “You’ve missed three morning runs. You skipped that economics review session.” 

“Shit.” Because when he lists it out like that, it sounds bad. Really bad. 

“Your father expects a certain standard,” Gabriel continues. “If I can’t deliver—” 

“Then we fix it,” I interrupt. “Whatever it takes.” 

Jake looks between us, probably reading the panic in my voice. “How bad are we talking here?” 

“Bad enough that Leo’s father might decide his current security arrangement isn’t working,” Gabriel says carefully. 

The euphemism hangs in the air. 

Current security arrangement. Like Gabriel is just some replaceable asset instead of the person I’m falling for badly. 

“So what do we do?” I ask, but I already know the answer is going to suck. 

“We get back on schedule,” Gabriel says. “Strict routine. No more movie theater dates. No more 

“No more us,” I finish, the words tasting like ash. 

“Not no more us,” Gabriel corrects. “Just… less visible us.” 

Jake clears his throat. “Okay, but what if Leo’s grades improve and everything goes back to normal? What then?” 

Gabriel and I look at each other, and I see the same fear in his eyes that’s probably written all over my face. 

“Then we hope your father doesn’t find out about us,” Gabriel says quietly. 

“And if he does?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know the answer. 

Gabriel’s jaw tightens. “Then we deal with it when it happens.” 

But something in his voice tells me he’s already thought about this scenario. And whatever he’s imagining, it’s bad enough that he can’t even say it out loud.