Royal Marines - Book 1 E-Book

Romano Arria

• Herausgeber: So Romance - INT
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Royal Marines
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 289

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

A second-chance military romance full of action and twists
A lieutenant in the Royal Marines, Roy McKenna leads a strictly regulated life until the day his best friend entrusts him with a very personal mission: to watch over his sister, Ophelia Nicholson, a famous author of medieval fantasy, shattered by the suicide of her best friend.
On the wild Isle of Skye, the romantic and isolated setting rekindles a long-standing attraction between Roy and Ophelia. Despite their reservations, passion blossoms, intense and secret. But their fragile happiness is tested when Ophelia is kidnapped in the Mediterranean, plunging Roy into a race against time to save her. From Scotland to the Spanish coast, between secrets, family loyalties, and the passions of the heart, they will have to confront much more than their past: their own feelings.
A thrilling #Brother'sBestFriend & #Bodyguard romance
A captivating setting: from the Mediterranean to the Isle of Skye
A touching and tormented hero: a loyal soldier with a passion for cooking
A strong heroine: a brilliant writer in search of rebirth
Action, emotion, and sensuality at the heart of a gripping plot
Royal Marines – Surrender is the first volume of an addictive duology combining forbidden passion, emotional tension, and thrills.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Arria Romano studies military history at the Sorbonne and is passionate about literature and art. For several years, she has been writing historical novels and romances—whether they take place in the past, the present, or are even shrouded in a veil of magic… as long as love and passion remain the central thread of the story.

Leseprobe

Cover

Title page

Prologue

♫So She Dances – Josh Groban

Cotswolds, England

September 29, 2012

Standing before the north porch of St. Edward’s Church, Roy McKenna admired the medieval wooden doors towering before him, flanked by two majestic, ancient yew trees growing flush against the wall. This entrance was one of the most admired in the United Kingdom, and for good reason—it seemed like something out of Tolkien, with its fantastical greenery and ancient aesthetic.

“Little Aileen is so lucky to be baptized in this church,” a feminine voice remarked.

Roy turned his head toward his girlfriend, a pretty blonde named Bridget, wrapped in a long gray coat that fell to her calves. Though the autumn sun shone brightly in a clear sky, the temperature was rather chilly, and all the guests present were warmly dressed.

At his best friend’s request, Roy had donned his black ceremonial uniform, the one worn by the Royal Marines for special occasions. It fit his tall, athletic frame perfectly, drawing admiring glances from those around him. He was an undeniably striking man. Tall andmuscular, with chestnut hair and blue eyes, he possessed a rugged, undeniable charm that his formal attire only enhanced.

“Oh yes, I can’t wait to see her,” the soldier replied enthusiastically, his Scottish accent swirling pleasantly in Bridget’s ears.

Both twenty-one years old, the two had met three years earlier in a pub, just days before he enlisted in the Royal Marines to serve the Crown of England.

“You’ll make a wonderful godfather.”

Roy’s best friend had chosen him to be the godfather to his daughter, born a few months earlier.

“I hope so.”

“Look, they’re coming!”

Roy turned his gaze toward the family approaching them. Leading the group was his comrade, William Nicholson, also dressed in his black ceremonial military uniform, cinched at the waist with a white belt. A white, red, and black cap adorned his head. His parents followed closely behind. His father, wearing his sixty years proudly, had striking green eyes. He was a native of the region, unlike his mother, who hailed from Macau. Her beautiful Asian features bore little trace of time’s passage. At over fifty, she barely looked forty.

William’s parents were elegantly dressed, smiling warmly at the guests who approached to greet them.

Further back, a young woman of average height, dressed with sophisticated elegance, pushed a black pram, walking with the poise of a queen. She wore a beautiful straight wool coat in a tobacco hue, an ivory lace pencil dress, and heels of a nearly matching shade.

Unable to tear his eyes away from the young woman, Roy watched her approach, guessing her identity. She was Ophelia Nicholson, William’s younger sister and Aileen’s godmother. Though he had known his best friend for three years, he had never met his family in person, though they already felt familiar to him.

“McKenna, you’re finally going to meet your goddaughter!” William exclaimed, pulling him into a hearty embrace.

Roy had just returned from a six-month operation overseas and had yet to meet his best friend’s daughter. In fact, the little girl had been born in late March, while he had been in hostile territory, thousands of miles from Great Britain. He had only seen her in photos and videos.

“I’m trembling with anticipation,” the handsome Scot replied solemnly. “It’s good to see you again, mate, it’s been too long.”

“Yeah, I’ve really missed you. I prayed every day for your safe return.”

“Me too!” Bridget chimed in, and William immediately greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

They exchanged a few words, and Roy’s attention returned to Ophelia. Their eyes met this time, and she stopped three meters away, observing him carefully, her expression unreadable. At just eighteen, the young woman already carried herself with the grace of a grand lady. There was no harshness in her demeanor, only restraint, which seemed to accentuate the beauty of her Eurasian features, where the traces of her Chinese heritage were subtle.

Though English on their father’s side, the Nicholson children had inherited their mother’s Sino-Portuguese genes from Macau. It took a keen observer to notice this Asian touch and not mistake them for some Slavic lineage.

However, with her fair complexion, almond-shaped green eyes, and thick black hair cut into a sleek bob, she more closely resembled an Eastern European beauty.

William had often praised his sister’s beauty to Roy, backing his claims up with photos, but she was even more stunning in person. A breathtaking force of nature, unaware of her own impact—a bombshell that needed defusing to prevent emotional devastation.

Any man who crossed her path would surely suffer.

“I suppose you’re Roy,” the young woman said, her voice tinged with warmth. “I hear you’ve just returned from a long mission.”

Her tone was calm, pleasant. Instinctively, the commando offered a small smile and replied in his deep voice, tinged with that irresistibly charming Scottish accent:

“That’s right. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ophelia. Your brother talks about you often.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“Always.”

Babbling sounds rose from the pram, and Roy closed the distance between them to stand beside her and look at the baby nestled in the cozy bassinet. His heart clenched with tenderness as he saw the joyful smile on Aileen’s round, pale little face.

“I think she recognizes you too,” Ophelia commented kindly beside him, and Roy couldn’t explain why the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

The young woman stood just inches from him, her amber perfume overwhelming his senses. The soldier, with his heightened sense of smell, was particularly sensitive to women’s fragrances. It was, in fact, the first thing he noticed and evaluated about them. Ophelia’s scent was intoxicating, almost mystical.

He chastised himself for reacting so viscerally, especially with Bridget standing right in front of him, the woman who was supposed to occupy his every waking moment.

Yet another shiver ran through him when Ophelia brushed against him as she leaned over the bassinet to lift her niece into her arms, holding her close to her chest. Aileen was dressed in a lovely white christening gown and wore a pale pink turban adorned with a large bow.

“My God, she’s adorable…” Roy murmured, losing himself in the baby’s sparkling brown eyes.

She looked like a little exotic doll with her short, fine black hair, almond-shaped eyes, tiny nose, and that round mouth opening into an irresistible smile.

Unlike her father, little Aileen bore a stronger resemblance to an Asian child, as her mother was of Anglo-Korean descent. The latter had stayed in England just long enough to give birth before returning to South Korea, never to return. Aileen was an accident she wanted to forget, unlike William, who fully embraced his role as a father alongside his family.

Despite being only twenty-two, the brave soldier was remarkably mature and responsible, living solely for his daughter, his family, and the army.

“Would you like to hold her?” Ophelia offered, her green eyes meeting the towering Scot’s.

He widened his eyes, suddenly self-conscious about his muscular frame. Could he hold such a tiny person without hurting her?

Sensing his hesitation, the young woman gave him no choice and placed the baby in his strong arms.

Oh!

Caught off guard, Roy had no choice but to accept the baby pressed against him, all while enduring being so close to Ophelia and the spellbinding power of her perfume. Terrified of dropping little Aileen, he stood rooted to the spot, his solid legs locked, his arms rigid to control her enthusiastic movements.

“Don’t worry, she won’t fall with the way you’re holding her!” Ophelia teased, a smile blooming on her full, rosy lips.

“Oh, Roy, you look so good holding a baby!” Bridget exclaimed in an enamored tone. “Look how she’s cooing! I can’t wait for us to have one of our own!”

The pretty blonde then turned to the sophisticated brunette, speaking warmly:

“You’re even more beautiful than in your brother’s photos, Ophelia. I’m so happy to meet you.”

“Thank you so much. I’m delighted to meet you too… but I’m sorry, I don’t know your name…”

“I’m Bridget, Roy’s girlfriend. And to be honest, you’ve managed what I never could—getting this big guy to hold a baby!”

A laugh bubbled up from the blonde’s throat, and then a sudden idea crossed her sharp mind.

“Actually, we should take a photo of you in front of those beautiful medieval doors! Our little star deserves an unforgettable picture with her godfather and godmother,” she added, gently stroking Aileen’s cheek.

The baby babbled happily, and William chimed in:

“That’s an excellent idea! Let’s do it now, before the weather turns. I think it’ll be raining when we leave the church.”

Ophelia and Roy exchanged a knowing glance before moving closer to the magnificent doors framed by the two mysterious trees. The soldier still held the child as if she were a priceless Ming-era porcelain vase.

“Bridget’s right; you do look good holding babies,” Ophelia said, her green eyes lingering on Roy’s face.

Strangely, her heart pounded harder as she admired the perfect outline of his rugged profile. Of course, she had seen him in countless photos without fully realizing just how attractive he was. His chestnut hair was cropped short, his jawline square, and his intense blue eyes held a mix of noble emotions. He seemed so powerful, steadfast, and reliable that you could entrust him with the protection of the entire world.

William couldn’t have chosen a better godfather for his daughter.

“You think so?”

“Yes, and Aileen seems very happy nestled against you,” the young woman noted, stepping closer to adjust the turban on her niece’s head.

Even in her heels, there was at least a twenty-centimeter height difference between them, as he stood well over six feet tall.

Roy watched her, focusing on her movements and the way her full lips moved as she whispered sweet words to the baby.

She was undeniably stunning and would make an exceptional mother one day.

“It’s crazy to think we’re responsible for her for the rest of her life, especially if something were to happen to William… She’s our bond, in a way.”

Roy was struck by this reality and held the baby closer, while Ophelia dusted off the hem of her elegant lace dress before stepping back to his left.

All eyes were now on them, as if they were the protagonists of the event—which, in a way, they were.

“Move a little closer; you’re too far apart!” Bridget called out with an expert eye, while William prepared his camera beside her. “Ophelia, Roy won’t bite. You should hold onto his arm to create a more harmonious image.”

The young woman complied without a word, and the warmth of their bodies seemed to send a gentle electric current through them.

They chose to ignore it, and as if to dispel her unease, she murmured with a photogenic smile:

“Your girlfriend is quite the perfectionist, isn’t she?”

“She works at the BBC studios; she knows her stuff.”

Roy, in turn, flashed his best smile, tickling the baby’s belly to elicit a laugh, which William captured with his professional camera.

The baby’s joy was contagious, and everyone around them began laughing naturally.

Soon, the camera captured one final photo—the most vibrant and romantic of this autumnal series. It showed Ophelia, her head slightly tilted back, her gaze locked with Roy’s, while baby Aileen stuck out a playful tongue at a sparrow flying toward the enchanted trees1 foliage.

1 From Macau (a Chinese region that was once a Portuguese colony).

Chapter 1

♫River – Charlie Puth

Isle of Skye, Scotland

April 2, 2022

Standing in front of his younger sister’s camera, Roy sliced an eggplant on the counter of a rustic yet chic kitchen. He was preparing an eggplant and zucchini gratin with mozzarella live for his Instagram followers. Passionate about cooking, he had started sharing his aesthetically pleasing dishes and recipes online, unaware of how deeply his content would resonate. Now a prisoner of his own success, he had to maintain a consistent and professional posting schedule, which required the help of his sister, Moira. Of course, he never showed his full face, adding to the mystique of the chef behind the account @taurusmancooksforyou.

His 117k followers only knew a few things about him: he was a Taurus, a Scotsman with ruggedly handsome hands, a talented chef, and an officer in the Royal Marines. People were fascinated by his profile, eagerly trying out his recipes and admiring, almost hypnotized, the way his hands peeled vegetables, carved meats, kneaded dough, and whisked sauces. There was so much love in his approach to cooking that it was mesmerizing.

“The video’s done. I’ll film again when you take the dish out of the oven,” Moira announced, satisfied.

Roy flashed a smile at his sister, a pretty, slightly plump redhead in a green velvet dress, with a friendly face that resembled his own. They looked very much alike, except he had chestnut hair and blue eyes like their mother, while she had red hair and golden eyes like their father.

“Got it. Thank goodness you’re helping me; doing this alone takes forever,” he said, arranging the eggplant slices in an oval dish, layering them over other slices of vegetables and cheese.

He was finishing the plating of his dish.

“No kidding. Anyway, your gratin looks delicious. I hope it’ll satisfy our guest’s appetite.”

“No one can resist my cooking,” he said mischievously. “And I fully intend to make her eat—her brother ordered me to.”

Moira smiled again, her grin widening as the doorbell echoed through the house. They were in a large Scottish country home, converted into a guesthouse by their parents a few years ago. Moira loved meeting visitors, hearing their stories, and offering them a haven of peace and warmth in this secluded retreat far from the chaos of city life. But tonight, it wasn’t just any guest stepping through the door. And she had likely just arrived.

“I think that’s her!”

“We’re not expecting anyone else.”

Roy was amused by his sister’s excitement. He understood why she was so thrilled—after all, the person they were about to welcome was a famous romance author. Moira’s favorite novelist—she could hardly wait for the next installment of her stories—and also the younger sister of his best friend, Captain William Nicholson.

Roy was also pleased to host her, even though he didn’t know her very well. Over the nine or ten years they’d known each other, they’d met a few times, but never really taken the time to talk or get to know one another. He found her likable and interesting, but most of what he knew about her came from her brother, leaving her somewhat of a mystery to him.

“Ophelia!”

Moira’s voice carried all the way to the kitchen, and he imagined her bouncing with joy at the front door.

Roy faintly heard Ophelia’s response and quickly slid the dish into the preheated oven, setting the timer on his multifunctional military watch. His creation would be ready in an hour.

“… the landscapes are so wild and beautiful.”

He left the kitchen and walked down the hallway leading to the foyer of the large house. From a distance, he noticed a black suitcase and the long purple wool coat their guest was wearing, which fell to mid-calf. The color reminded him of the shiny skin of the eggplants he had lovingly sliced just moments ago. She matched the dish, not to mention the pastel mauve suede heels she wore, perfectly complementing the violet cream puffs he had prepared for dessert.

What a funny coincidence.

“Good evening, Roy.”

The Marine stopped admiring the heels and, as he approached the two women, lifted his gaze to meet a pair of intense green eyes, perfectly framed with eyeliner. They sparkled under the elegant rustic chandelier in the foyer.

“Good evening, Ophelia. Welcome to our home,” he said warmly, though he couldn’t quite explain why his breath had quickened slightly.

He stood before her, about a meter away, studying her as if seeing her for the first time. After all, it had been three years since they’d last met, and she had changed a bit. She was slimmer than he remembered, her cheeks more hollow, though she had never needed to lose weight. But the most striking change was the length of her thick, straight black hair. The last time he’d seen her, she had a sophisticated bob that perfectly suited her role as a young London lawyer. Now, her hair cascaded down to her waist.

Her mane was impressive, giving her the air of a medieval princess, as if the heroines of her chivalric novels had inspired her new look. It suited her well. She seemed more romantic, more human, less urban and untouchable.

“Thank you. It’s so nice to see you again after all these years.”

“We’ve been looking forward to having you here. I hope you’ll find inspiration in our home because I can’t wait to find out what happens to the ninth enchantress!” Moira confessed theatrically.

Ophelia’s full lips, a lovely shade of deep pink, curved into an amused smile, and Roy chimed in, feigning exasperation:

“Give her a break, she just got here.”

“But that’s the whole point of her stay, isn’t it, Ophelia?”

“You’re right,” the writer replied. “I urgently need to find some inspiration again.”

“And your appetite,” Roy added more seriously. “Your brother gave me a mission, and as a proper commando, I have to complete it.”

Ophelia turned her gaze back to him, her expression tinged with sadness. She knew exactly what he meant. Her retreat to the Isle of Skye wasn’t just about inspiration; it was about healing her soul and body.

A sigh caught in her throat as a tidal wave of emotion swelled in her chest. For three months, she had been on edge, vulnerable, and consumed by physical and emotional pain. At any moment, she felt she might collapse, surrendering to the spiral of anxiety.

Stop, Ophelia. Focus.

She took a deep breath, anchoring herself to the blue eyes of her host in her mind. Lieutenant Roy McKenna, elite soldier in the Royal Marines and her older brother’s best friend. She had forgotten how tall and solid he was, like the standing stones that majestically dotted the surrounding countryside. He was in peak physical condition. His muscles were evident beneath his crew-neck sweatshirt and light gray Nike fleece pants.

She couldn’t recall ever seeing him dressed in anything other than fatigues, formal uniforms, or sportswear. His casual style had always slightly disconcerted her, given her appreciation for British elegance, though she had to admit it suited him. It was simple, relaxed, and effective.

And it was clear he took care of himself, from the neatness of his nails to his teeth and skin. Not to mention his closely cropped chestnut hair and the minty scent that clung to him.

Roy hadn’t kissed her cheek or shaken her hand. He stood about a meter away, but it was enough to catch his fresh, reassuring scent.

“You must be tired from your journey. Let’s show you to your room so you can rest a bit before dinner,” he finally said after a few seconds of silence.

His deep voice, tinged with an irresistible Scottish accent, was just as she remembered. Once, she had caught herself replaying the only voicemail he had ever left her about an urgent matter, simply because she loved the sound of his voice. Hearing it again calmed her, and she nodded with a faint smile.

Yes, she needed to freshen up and settle into her room after a twelve-hour drive from Bath, her hometown.

Ophelia bent down to grab her suitcase, but he did the same, and their hands brushed. They chose to ignore it.

“Let me take it; it’s heavy,” he said kindly, and she watched as he carried it toward the grand white staircase leading upstairs.

“Thank you.”

“We’ve reserved the bridal suite for you, the best room in the house,” Moira informed her with a wide smile. “I decorated it with my mom.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see it.”

Moments later, Ophelia stepped into her room, following her hosts. Her eyes widened in wonder as she took in the spacious room beneath a high, sloped ceiling, decorated in a rustic chic style with cream, pastel blue, and rust tones. The massive bed stood at the center of the room, its hand-carved wooden frame upholstered in pure ecru linen, dripping with elegance. It beckoned her to sleep with its array of white and blue cushions, a creamy duvet, and a chunky-knit burnt orange throw. It faced a large, tall window with small-paned glass, overlooking the expansive grounds of the estate.

There, in the twilight, she saw three Highland cows with reddish-brown coats grazing peacefully.

“Wow! This room is stunning; you have excellent taste,” Ophelia said, spinning around to admire the mirrors, paintings, and romantic furniture adorning the suite.

In the middle of the room stood a white-painted spiral staircase leading to the sloped roof, where another small room awaited. After setting her suitcase near a tall wardrobe, Roy approached the stairs, and she couldn’t help but admire him for a moment. He was incredibly tall and impressively strong. Her brother had once mentioned that Roy often participated in the Highland Games, a series of athletic competitions showcasing spectacular feats of strength.

She would have given anything to see him in action tonight.

“The bathroom is upstairs,” he informed her, pointing to the sloped roof. “It’s been renovated recently; you’ll love it. Moira, can you continue showing her around? I need to get back to cooking.”

The redhead was delighted to finally have her favorite author to herself, as she had so much to say, and her brother’s presence wasn’t necessary. Out of the corner of her eye, Ophelia watched him leave the room.

“Honestly, I’m so disappointed I can’t stay with you longer than one evening. Tomorrow morning, I’m heading to Portugal to join our parents. They’ve rented a villa there for three weeks.”

Ophelia hadn’t expected this revelation and, surprised, asked:

“You mean I’ll be staying here alone with Roy?”

“Yes, for the rest of your stay. But you won’t really be alone with him; there are also the cows,” Moira teased, her Scottish accent rolling melodiously.

Ophelia’s breath hitched as her thoughts raced. Two weeks alone with Roy, just the two of them? The situation didn’t scare her, but she hadn’t really prepared for it. She had never spent two weeks alone with a man who wasn’t her father or brother, not even with her two ex-boyfriends.

I’m here to write, anyway. I’ll be holed up in this gorgeous bridal suite most of the time.

“I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful stay here. My brother is an excellent coach, chef, and tour guide,” the redhead assured her, moving toward the spiral staircase. “Follow me; I’ll show you your royal bathroom.”

Chapter 2

♫Memories – Maroon 5

Roy was lighting the last purple candle on the dining room table when Ophelia reappeared. She immediately drew his gaze, and he could finally study her without the protection of her long coat. She now stood before him in a mauve cashmere sweater, black straight-cut trousers, and the same heels she had worn upon arrival. She must have put them on right after her twelve-hour journey, for if there was one thing he knew about Ophelia and William Nicholson, it was that they prided themselves on always looking presentable.

Roy had always felt a twinge of guilt for openly observing her. After all, she was his best friend’s little sister, and back then, he had been engaged. Yet, he had never been able to resist admiring the curves of her body, the movement of her hair, or the expressions on her beautiful Eurasian face.

He remembered that she had been curvier in the past. According to William, she had lost seven kilos since January, leaving her once harmonious and slender frame somewhat gaunt. The cause of this unintentional weight loss: depression.

On New Year’s Eve 2022, Ophelia’s best friend had jumped to her death in front of her during a party in Rome. After catching her boyfriend cheating with another woman and fueled by alcohol, her friend had leapt from the sixth floor before anyone could stop her.

Ophelia had witnessed the entire scene and was so traumatized that she lost her ability to sleep, her appetite, and even her zest for life. In addition to the psychological trauma, a sense of guilt poisoned her daily existence. She had been the one to insist on attending the party in Rome, while her best friend had wanted a quieter celebration. It was all her fault.

Roy knew from William that she couldn’t sleep without anti-anxiety medication, that nightmares woke her, that she no longer ate properly, and that she hadn’t written a word in three months. The situation was becoming alarming, not only worrying the Nicholson family but also jeopardizing Ophelia’s physical and mental health, as well as her burgeoning career as a novelist.

After three months of listening and fruitless efforts, William had found no better solution than to implore Roy for help. Roy was more perceptive, detached, and patient than him. He also had a knack for motivating others, bringing out the best and strongest in them. Finally, he could spoil her with his spectacular dishes and reignite her inspiration with his home and the breathtaking landscapes of the Isle of Skye.

According to William, entrusting his sister to Roy was the miracle solution. For Roy, it would be a significant challenge, but he loved helping others and proving that no case was truly hopeless, no matter the scars of the past. Besides, he had two weeks of vacation to spend, and nothing seemed more fulfilling than helping Ophelia rise from her ashes.

And when he got lost in the depths of her luminous almond-shaped green eyes, his heart swelled with hope and determination. Yes, this woman would regain her joy, her weight, and her inspiration—he vowed it.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight,” he said bluntly, his gaze analytical.

A flicker of surprise crossed Ophelia’s eyes, and he soon guessed what she was thinking. He was bold to throw that in her face when they weren’t that close.

“William told me you’re barely eating,” he continued, and she shrugged, a little helpless.

“I just don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Get ready to leave here with a few extra kilos because I won’t tolerate a lack of appetite,” he warned seriously.

A shiver ran down Ophelia’s neck, not anticipating his suddenly commanding tone. Apparently, Lieutenant McKenna was taking this mission to heart. Far from unsettling her, it pleased her, and she quipped dryly:

“What will you do otherwise? Tie me to a chair and force-feed me until my calorie intake, blood sugar, and cholesterol skyrocket?”

Without losing his serious expression, Roy pretended to consider it.

“It’s a possibility.”

“Don’t provoke him; my brother can be a real tyrant,” Moira interjected, entering the living room with a bottle of rosé in hand.

Roy confirmed this truth with a mischievous glance, and Ophelia bit her lower lip to keep from grinning ear to ear.

“Let’s sit down before it gets cold,” he suggested, pulling out a chair to invite the novelist to sit.

She complied, murmuring a quiet thank you, secretly unsettled by this man she hadn’t seen in so long. In truth, he had impressed her the first time they met, and only now did she dare to hold his gaze for more than five seconds. There was an intense and kind light in the depths of his richly colored eyes. They weren’t just blue; they were also tinged with gray and brown, scattered like flecks.

Suddenly, she blushed. It wasn’t because of the warmth from the three candles on the table or the fireplace crackling a few meters away. Nor was it due to a wave of anxiety. No, she was simply ashamed of not being her best self, of no longer being as beautiful and confident as she once had been.

To dispel this unpleasant feeling, she focused on the table. It was set in the middle of a living room as rustic as it was elegant—like the rest of the house—and its decoration had been carefully thought out. There were garlands of ivy leaves and red apples placed on the off-white table runner, three wooden candlesticks each holding a purple candle, and beautiful earthenware dishes ready to hold the steaming food. It felt a bit like a medieval fantasy.

“I really like the table setting.”

“I was inspired by the ambiance of your novels,” Moira admitted.

Ophelia was touched, flashing her a grateful smile. The redhead had seated herself to her right, while her brother had taken the seat directly across from her.

“This is exactly how I imagine the tables when I describe the enchantresses’ feasts.”

“I hear you include a collection of medieval recipes at the end of your books,” Roy said, lifting the cloth covering his homemade olive bread. “I’d love to try recreating one with you. What do you think? We could film ourselves cooking, and it’d give you some publicity since I understand you haven’t posted anything on Instagram lately. Your fans need consistency, updates, to know you’re alive and full of projects.”

Ophelia studied him again, raising one of her fine black eyebrows.

Seeing her curiosity, he continued:

“My sister talks about your books nonstop, and I follow you on Instagram you know—did you forget?”

“Oh… no, I didn’t forget. I follow you too… @taurusmancooksforyou.”

He appreciated the hint of humor in her tone.

“Your cooking is even tastier in person,” she admitted, admiring the olive bread, the eggplant and zucchini gratin with mozzarella, and the platter of cheeses and charcuterie.

“Tonight, I’m taking you to Italy, but tomorrow, you’ll eat Scottish.”

Ophelia liked his solemn way of announcing simple things. She had always known him to be like that—reserved, efficient, kind.

“Roy’s cooking is irresistible; you’ll always want more,” Moira assured with a cheerful laugh, which was muffled as she stuffed a large piece of olive bread and cheese into her mouth.

It wasn’t just his cooking that was irresistible; this man had other qualities women surely fought over. Ophelia was certain he must be a heartbreaker.

Intrigued by the platter of cheeses and charcuterie, the young woman nibbled as well while the tall ‘Taurus-chef’ served her a generous portion of gratin. Seeing this, she gave him a wide-eyed look, but he responded firmly:

“I’m warning you, you’re not leaving the table until you’ve finished that plate.”

Ophelia pouted, and he found her so endearing that a smile spread across his masculine lips, thin just the way she liked them.

“When your brother entrusted you to me, he had his reasons.”

“Actually, William asked me who I’d prefer to stay with, you or Winter. I chose you because you’re less extreme and strict than that other psychopath, in my opinion. I hope I didn’t make the wrong choice.”

There was a playful tone in her voice, and he knew full well that William had never—even for a second—considered their mutual best friend to help Ophelia through this tough time. Lieutenant Winter Graham was also in the Royal Marines; the three of them had met during training, but he was cut from an even rougher cloth. Known for his uncompromising nature and rebellious, brooding personality, life hadn’t been kind to the boy from London’s working-class neighborhoods, hardening his otherwise big, generous, and sensitive heart.

Entrusting Ophelia to Winter would have been the mistake of the century.

“I know that’s not true; you and Winter are genetically incompatible. Besides, he can’t even help himself, let alone someone else…”

“And you think we’re more compatible, you and me?” she countered with a playful glint in her eye.

Roy had just served himself. He gently set his plate down in front of him, then locked his gaze on hers once more. The candlelight cast beautiful shadows on their faces, giving the moment an air of magi. How had she forgotten his straight nose and strong, chiseled jawline? He had shaved closely today.

“Well, we have two weeks to see if we make a good team,” he replied before taking a bite of gratin.

Ophelia watched him chew, slightly mesmerized, then followed suit. Suddenly, the taste of the gratin filled her mouth, overwhelming her taste buds. She felt as though she were rediscovering the flavors of eggplant, zucchini, and mozzarella all at once. It was crunchy and creamy. My goodness, it was delicious!

Moira raised her finger, looking scholarly, and spoke in her cheerful voice:

“Astrologically speaking, you two are compatible. You’re both Taurus. Roy was born on May 2nd, and you on May 5th, if I’m not mistaken… that’s what your Wikipedia page says.”

Ophelia nearly choked on a bite of gratin, caught between surprise and amusement. She hadn’t realized Moira was such a devoted fan. It was truly touching.

“Yes, I was born on May 5th, 1994.”

“So we’re three years and three days apart,” Roy added. “Now that I think about it, your brother did mention that once.”

Three years and three days wasn’t much of an age gap. She had dated a man ten years her senior before. But then, why was she even thinking about that?

It must have been this indescribably delicious gratin messing with her mind.

“In any case, Tauruses usually love food. And I think I’ve already won over your stomach,” the Marine observed with satisfaction as she eagerly took her fifth bite. “Wait until you try the violet cream puffs—you’ll swoon with delight.”

The end of his sentence made her blush slightly, though it was barely noticeable. Taken out of context, those words could have been interpreted differently. But no matter; he was right. His cooking was… savory? Generous? No, it was downright orgasmic.

“Well, isn’t that partly why I came? To swoon with delight. From your dishes,” she clarified, and he gave her another smile, this one a bit enigmatic.

The gratin and her fatigue were making her say silly things.

Chapter 3

♫Photograph – Ed Sheeran

April 3, 2022

Ophelia hadn’t slept a wink, despite the twelve-hour drive behind her and the anti-anxiety pill she had taken before bed. The three of them had sp