The wheels touched down with a hush of rubber against tarmac, a soft jolt that stirred Liam from the near-hypnotic trance of flight. Outside, the night wrapped Bologna in gold and charcoal. Streetlights glowed like scattered embers. The private tarmac shimmered in the distance, lined with sleek black vehicles and the silent presence of security, expressionless and sharp, like men trained to disappear until the moment they strike.
Carlo sat upright beside him, spine stiff, jaw tense. He hadn’t spoken since the captain’s announcement. Not really. Not since “ten minutes to descent.” His eyes hadn’t left the window. Liam watched the faint reflection of Carlo’s face in the glass. He looked handsome and composed. But also a bit pale. And definitely not calm.
The aircraft rolled to a halt, the engines exhaling one last breath as silence settled in. And with it came the cold weight of what waited beyond the door.
Carlo’s fingers drummed once on his knee, then stilled. His lips parted slightly as if he might speak, then closed again.
Liam reached across the space between them and took his hand.
It was clammy. Tense. A little too still.
“Hey,” Liam said, his voice low. “You’re not doing this alone.”
Carlo turned to him at last, eyes tired but grateful. He gave a faint nod. “Thank you.”
The cabin door opened with a soft hydraulic sigh. The steward from earlier gave them a shallow nod and stepped aside. There was no trace of embarrassment on his face, but Liam didn’t miss the flicker of something in his eyes. Something remembered.
Outside, cool night air spilled into the cabin. Liam inhaled deeply. It tasted different here. Less salty. More mineral. Like stone soaked in moonlight.
A man in a sharply cut navy suit waited at the base of the stairs, posture impeccable, silver at his temples gleaming under the floodlights. He stepped forward with the subtle grace of someone used to waiting for royalty, not chasing it.
“Your Highness,” Gustavo Bianchi said with a gentle smile, stepping forward as the couple descended the stairs. He inclined his head, but the gesture lacked stiffness. It felt more like an old friend’s greeting than a courtly bow. His eyes shifted to Liam, softening. “And Mr. Marais. It’s an honour to finally meet you.”
Liam extended his hand, slightly caught off guard. “You know who I am?”
Gustavo took it warmly. “Let’s just say I’ve been kept informed. You’ve made quite the impression, even from afar.” His tone was careful but kind, the understatement carrying quiet approval.
Carlo glanced at him, eyes searching. Gustavo met his gaze with the faintest nod. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Carlo understood. Some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, the tightness in his jaw relaxing just enough to let a flicker of relief show.
Carlo murmured, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
Gustavo’s expression softened. “None of us expected this path, sir. But I’m glad it led here.”
He turned to Liam again, more serious now. “Mr. Marais, Liam Hart is how you were known when His Highness met you. If you choose to keep that name, I believe the world will learn it with pride. How would you prefer we introduce you?”
Liam gave a small smile.
“I was christened Liam Gabriel Marais. But Liam Hart is who I was when Carlo and I fell in love. Let’s keep it that way.”
He added, more thoughtfully, “Maybe save the middle name for official business only.”
Then he winked.
Gustavo nodded without hesitation. “Then Liam Hart it is. The Palace will honour that choice.”
He stepped back and gestured toward the waiting car. “Come. Let’s get you both somewhere private.”
Liam nodded, grateful for the calm authority in the man’s voice. “Thanks.”
“This way, please.”
They followed him across the tarmac. The men waiting by the vehicles stood with perfect posture, alert but composed. Their suits were sharp, their expressions unreadable. Every gesture, from the way they held their hands to the subtle scan of their surroundings, spoke of high-level training and silent readiness. Gustavo opened the rear door himself.
“Her Majesty thought you might appreciate a private ride to the palace,” he said, the meaning behind the words clear. “Your driver has been briefed to leave the partition up.”
Liam and Carlo climbed in. The door closed behind them with a quiet thud. The noise of the city faded. The partition sealed, enclosing them in stillness.
The interior was hushed and immaculate, lit with a soft amber glow. The leather seats cradled their weight as the car slipped into motion, gliding through Bologna’s winding streets.
Neither of them spoke at first.
Then Carlo shifted closer, his thigh brushing Liam’s. “My heart’s racing,” he said quietly.
Liam glanced over, saw the tight set of his jaw, the subtle tremor in his hand where it rested on his knee.
Without a word, Liam reached across and slowly unzipped Carlo’s trousers, freeing him with careful fingers.
Carlo exhaled, a sharp rush of air. “Liam…”
“Let me help.”
The leather seat gave a soft creak as Carlo eased back, his eyes fluttering shut. Liam stroked him slowly, deliberately, watching his chest rise and fall, the tension melt from his frame. He moved with confidence, not just to arouse but to comfort, to calm.
Carlo’s hand found his wrist, not to stop him, but to anchor them both.
His release came with a muffled groan, his body trembling, heat spilling across Liam’s fingers.
Liam stayed there for a moment, palm resting against Carlo’s stomach, before quietly reaching for a napkin from the console. He wiped his hand with easy efficiency.
Then he leaned in and kissed Carlo’s cheek, his voice soft against his skin.
“You always make a mess when you’re stressed.”
Carlo gave a breathy laugh, eyes still dazed but full of warmth.
“Better?” Liam asked.
Carlo nodded, cheeks flushed, breath evening out. “Much.”
Outside, through the window, the royal palace loomed larger now, carved in light and shadow. Liam couldn’t stop staring. The gates parted slowly to reveal sweeping arches and golden lamplight spilling across ancient stone. Balconies curved like ornaments. Every corner gleamed with quiet grandeur. It looked less like a building and more like something conjured, a place from fairytales or oil paintings. It didn’t look real. And yet, it was about to be his new home.
He swallowed, pulse ticking in his throat.
Carlo, beside him, sat taller. His eyes had sharpened the moment they crossed onto royal ground. His back straightened. His voice, when he gave a quiet instruction to the driver, carried that same practiced poise Liam had first seen in Los Angeles. It was the prince’s voice now, not the man’s. The shift wasn’t intentional or cruel, but it was impossible to miss.
Liam turned to him, studying the profile he loved. The strong jaw. The olive skin. The ease.
He fits here, Liam thought.
And I don’t.
The car rounded a final curve, revealing a marble staircase lit by wrought-iron lanterns. A receiving party waited somewhere beyond the doors. Liam could feel it in his spine.
He shifted in his seat.
Carlo glanced over. “You okay?”
Liam nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just taking it in.”
But his chest ached, suddenly.
This world wasn’t built for people like him. He was the outsider. The personal trainer who had stumbled into something too perfect, too fragile. And while he’d fought to be here, wanted it more than anything, part of him still feared waking up. Or worse, being asked to leave.
The car slowed to a final stop.
Outside, the palace doors waited, and everything beyond them was unknown.
The palace doors hadn’t yet opened when the car pulled to a full stop, but they didn’t stay closed for long.
The moment the engine cut, the great doors burst open with a graceful kind of urgency. Light spilled out in ribbons across the stone steps, followed quickly by movement. Voices hushed. Shoes clicked. And then she appeared.
Queen Elena descended the steps with the full weight of command, flanked by two aides who struggled to keep pace. Her hair was perfectly set, swept back into an elegant chignon. She wore navy velvet and pearl earrings, regal even at this late hour. But her composure cracked the moment she caught sight of her son.
“Carlo,” she breathed, not waiting for protocol.
The car door opened before Liam had time to react. Carlo was already moving, already out and up the stairs, into her arms.
“Figlio mio,” she whispered, holding him tightly. In that moment, she was not a queen. She was just a mother.
Liam stepped out more slowly. He smoothed his shirt, unsure of where to place his hands, his eyes, or his presence.
Then Elena looked at him.
Her expression shifted again, becoming warmer and more personal. She moved toward him without hesitation and stopped just close enough to take his hand.
“Liam,” she said, her voice gentler now. “I’m so glad to see you safe.”
He smiled, relieved. “And you. Thank you for everything. For Jacob’s Bay. For trusting me with him.”
“Oh, I didn’t trust you,” she said, her tone teasing as her hand reached up to touch his cheek. “I trusted him with you, Liam. And that’s the greater trust. There’s a difference.”
He blinked at that, momentarily disarmed.
Behind her, aides cleared their throats discreetly. Guards murmured in low voices. But Elena ignored them.
She guided them inside, her grip gentle but certain. The entryway opened into a vaulted hall glowing with soft amber light. High ceilings stretched above them, carved with frescoes and gold detailing that caught the chandelier’s shimmer. Liam’s breath caught. He had seen beauty before, had even trained celebrities in mansions, but this was something else. It wasn’t just opulence; it was history draped in elegance, legacy wrapped in grace.
At the far end of the hall, a long mahogany table waited under a canopy of glass. It was covered in silver trays and porcelain platters, each one artfully arranged with fruit, cheeses, fresh breads, cured meats, and delicate pastries. Wine glinted in crystal decanters. Even the napkins had been folded into elaborate shapes.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Elena said simply, reading Liam’s awestruck silence. “The kitchen staff have been on standby since wheels-up.”
Carlo gave her a look, part amusement and part affection. “Mother…”
She smiled faintly. “You grew up with this. But he didn’t. Let me have this moment.”
Liam looked to her, still trying to find his place in this world of velvet and velvet-gloved power. She met his gaze and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
“This is your home too,” she said. “Even if it takes time to believe it.”
They were just settling at the table when soft footsteps approached from the corridor beyond the hall.
“Carlo?” came a voice from beyond the corridor. Older, but steady. Full of music, like the remembered notes of lullabies sung long ago.
Carlo turned sharply, eyes brightening. “Nonna.”
She moved slowly, leaning slightly on a carved cane, but her posture held pride. Her silver hair was neatly brushed back and secured at the nape with a tortoiseshell clip, catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. She wore a long cardigan over a silk blouse and wool skirt, with pearls at her throat and warmth in her expression.
Carlo was at her side in an instant. He kissed both her cheeks, then held her hands for a long moment as if anchoring himself.
“You look tired,” she said softly, brushing a thumb over his knuckles. “But whole.”
He nodded, voice catching. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I would not have missed it.”
Then she looked to Liam.
“And you,” she said, her eyes softening even more. “You’re the one who brought him back to us.”
Liam straightened, unsure how to respond.
She stepped forward and took his hand in both of hers. “Then you are family.”
He blinked, overwhelmed. “Grazie,” he managed.
Nonna smiled gently. “Come. Sit. Eat. This house is big, but it should never feel cold.”
Carlo glanced at Liam across the table as Nonna lowered herself into her chair. And for the first time since they landed, Liam felt the edges of the palace soften.
The table filled with gentle sounds: clinking cutlery, the soft rustle of napkins, the pour of wine. Steam curled from warm bread. A bowl of olives passed from hand to hand. It should have felt ordinary.
But nothing about this felt ordinary.
Liam reached for a piece of burrata, trying not to notice how the polished silver caught his reflection. Carlo sat close, their knees brushing beneath the table, but even that grounding touch didn’t ease the odd weight in Liam’s chest.
Nonna broke the silence with the same ease she brought to everything. “You’re quiet, my boy,” she said, turning to Carlo. “That usually means your thoughts are too loud.”
Carlo gave her a wry smile. “It’s a lot to return to.”
“You’ve brought someone with you this time,” she said. “That changes how you come home. And how we see the house.”
She turned to Liam. “I want you to know something. When I married into this family, it was not love that brought me here. It was arrangement. It was duty. That came first. Love had to grow around it like ivy around stone.”
Liam didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he could.
“But I see how Carlo looks at you,” she went on. “And I see how you look at him when you think no one’s watching. That kind of love... it’s rarer than titles. More enduring than legacy. You have it already. The rest, we will help you carry.”
Across the table, Queen Elena’s wine glass paused just before her lips. “There’s truth in that,” she said quietly. “But we’d be dishonest not to acknowledge the weight of what lies ahead. If you stay... if you and Carlo choose to, dare I say it, commit to each other..., it won’t just be love between you. It will be expectation. Ceremony. History.”
Liam set his fork down. “I know.”
Elena met his gaze. “Do you? It’s not just walking beside a man you love. It’s walking into centuries of tradition that were never built for couples like you.”
Nonna gave a small, thoughtful nod. “But perhaps that’s why you’re here. To be the beginning of something new.”
Liam looked between them. “Are you saying you approve?”
“I’m saying we see you,” Elena replied. “You’ve been tested. Publicly. Privately. And you are still here.”
Nonna smiled gently. “I would not trade my years with Paolo’s father, difficult as they were. But if I could give one thing to Carlo, it would be a partner who chooses this life freely. Not out of duty. But love.”
Carlo’s hand slipped into Liam’s beneath the table, their fingers twining.
“I do choose it,” Liam said, voice steady. “I choose him.”
Nonna lifted her glass. “Then we will stand beside you.”
And just like that, the table felt warmer. The weight didn’t vanish, but it shifted. Became something shared. Something sacred.
A different kind of blessing. The beginning of something real.
The wine flowed a little easier after that. Plates were refilled. Carlo relaxed visibly, his hand still wrapped in Liam’s beneath the table, his smile inching closer to the one Liam remembered from Jacob’s Bay. It was unguarded, a little crooked, and entirely his own.
Nonna dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “You know,” she said, tilting her head toward Elena with a sly glance, “I didn’t care for her the first time we met.”
Elena gave a soft scoff. “You most certainly did not.”
Carlo blinked. “Wait, what?”
Nonna raised a brow. “She wore a suit that looked like it had been starched in the seventeenth century. And she bowed too deeply. I thought Paolo had brought home a governess, not a future queen.”
“I was nervous,” Elena defended, feigning offense. “And I was only nineteen. I thought the deeper you bowed, the more they’d like you.”
Liam laughed, enchanted. “So how did you win her over?”
Elena lifted her glass, smiling into the rim. “I stayed. I listened. And I let her correct me.”
“She argued back,” Nonna added with fondness. “But not cruelly. Not even when I deserved it.”
Liam leaned in. “And now?”
Nonna gave a theatrical sigh. “Now I adore her. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“Too late,” Elena replied, clinking their glasses together.
Nonna gave her a small nod, the kind that spoke of trust between women who had carried a kingdom together. Elena answered with a wink.
Liam glanced at Carlo, who was shaking his head with a grin.
“You know,” Elena said, turning to Liam with a playful glint, “Carlo used to sleepwalk as a child. Always ended up in the kitchen. Once I found him trying to put an entire peach inside a teapot.”
“Mother,” Carlo groaned.
“It was a very large peach,” Nonna chimed in helpfully. “And he was naked.”
Liam choked on his wine.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Elena said. “He hated pajamas. Still does, from what I gather.”
Carlo pressed a palm to his face. “This is a betrayal.”
“Consider it balance,” Nonna said sweetly. “I once caught him trying to impress a girl by pretending to play the violin with a broomstick.”
“I was eight!”
“And very convincing,” she said. “The broom was quite charmed.”
Liam was laughing freely now, the ache in his chest replaced by something warmer. These weren’t rehearsed speeches or diplomatic performances. This was family, woven with love, mischief, and memory.
Elena refilled Liam’s glass herself. “It’s tradition, you know. Embarrassing stories for the newcomer. If you can survive the peach and the broomstick, you’re halfway to acceptance.”
“I’ll brace myself,” Liam said, still smiling.
Carlo leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Wait until they bring up the goat.”
“There’s a goat?”
“Not tonight,” Carlo begged.
“Oh, I think tonight is perfect,” Elena said, her eyes gleaming. “Liam should know exactly what he’s getting into.”
Nonna leaned in, voice conspiratorial. “You must understand, Carlo was a very serious little boy. Always tidy, always obedient. Until the goat.”
“Liam blinked. ‘The goat Carlo didn’t want me to know about... but still told me anyway?’”
“Exactly. The royal goat,” Elena corrected. “It was meant to be symbolic. A gift from a visiting dignitary. Sacred lineage, centuries of ritual.”
“And Carlo named it Biscotti,” Nonna said with a laugh. “And let it sleep in his bed.”
“You didn’t,” Liam gasped, eyes wide.
Carlo groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I was seven years old!”
“He fed it by hand,” Elena added. “Brought it into the dining hall during lunch. When the staff protested, he issued a decree. ‘Biscotti goes where I go.’”
“It ate the hem of my gown,” Nonna said, completely unbothered.
“It pooped in the conservatory,” Elena said, with fond horror.
“And he wept when we had to send it to the royal farm,” Nonna finished. “He wrote it letters.”
“They had emotional depth,” Carlo muttered. “And excellent penmanship.”
Nonna sniffed delicately. “If you can call them that. He was seven. Most of the letters were just stick figures and declarations of eternal love.”
She smiled fondly. “One even had a drawing of the two of them getting married, the goat in a veil.”
Carlo groaned. “I was going through a phase.”
“We all were,” Elena said with a perfectly straight face.
Liam was laughing now, chest aching, eyes wet. “Please tell me there are photos.”
“There’s a whole album,” Elena laughed. “I’ll have them brought down for breakfast. We even saved some of these so-called love letters.”
Carlo reached for his wine. “I’m never speaking again.”
Nonna patted his cheek. “That would be a blessed reprieve.”
Liam leaned closer, resting his shoulder against Carlo’s. “You wrote letters to a goat?”
Carlo sighed. “And now you know too much.”
Liam smiled. “Not enough. Not nearly.”
Liam’s grin lingered. For the first time since arriving, he felt not like a guest, but like someone being folded into something ancient and alive. Like family.
The last of the wine was poured, and the conversation softened into that slow, golden hour of stories that taper into silence. The fire crackled in the corner, casting long shadows against the frescoed ceiling. Dessert plates sat mostly empty, crumbs and fruit skins the only evidence of what had been a lavish spread.
Nonna pushed back from the table with a sigh that sounded more satisfied than tired. “I am going to bed before someone brings up the time Carlo tried to baptize a cat.”
“That was a holy moment,” Carlo muttered, eyes wide with mock indignation.
Nonna kissed his cheek and then Liam’s, hands cool and soft. “Sleep well, both of you,” she said. “And remember — locks on doors were invented for a reason.” Her eyes twinkled with something far too knowing as she drifted from the room.
Elena stood next, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. “The staff have prepared separate chambers in the east wing. It’s what’s expected, of course.” She paused, glancing between them. “But expectations have never been your strong suit, have they?”
Carlo tilted his head. “We’ll be respectful.”
“You always are,” Elena replied. She stepped close and kissed her son’s cheek, then turned to Liam and touched both men’s shoulders lightly. “I expect I’ll see you at breakfast, regardless of which room you start in.”
Liam smiled. “Good night, Your Majesty.”
She smiled, warm. “Not tonight. Tonight, it’s just Elena.”
“Thank you,” Liam said, quieter now.
Her smile was warm but tinged with something else. A kind of hesitation. A mother’s weight. Something left unasked, unanswered by default.
She lingered at the threshold, her fingers resting lightly on the doorframe as if reluctant to leave just yet. “Sleep well, both of you.”
Carlo rose and crossed the room to his mother. The question had to be asked. He spoke softly. “Where is he?”
She didn’t pretend not to understand. Her gaze held his.
“There was a late-night diplomatic banquet in Sardinia. Crown-level only. Some secret boys’ club thing that the wives don’t get invited to on purpose if you ask me. Princess, lady, queen or not. He left this morning. Reluctantly, I might add. He wanted to be here, but...”
“But duty,” Carlo finished, his tone unreadable.
Elena gave a faint nod.
“You know what it’s like. He wears the crown, not just the title. And sometimes, it weighs differently on him.”
Carlo looked away for a moment, his jaw working. “Will he be back tomorrow?”
“He’ll land early,” she confirmed. “He’s asked for coffee with you in the west solarium. Just the two of you. First light.”
Liam tried not to stiffen, but Elena noticed.
She turned her gaze toward him. “He’s been quiet since we told him. Not angry. Not unkind. Just cautious. You have to understand, this is not a man who moves quickly, even in matters of the heart.”
Carlo’s voice dropped. “Is he willing?”
“To listen, yes,” Elena said. “He’s spoken with me about it at length. But he’s also a man of traditions. And sometimes he allows them to matter too much.”
She exhaled then, the first real trace of fatigue showing.
“But if he sees what I see, how much stronger you are together, how much you’ve grown. If he sees the man you’ve become, then, there is hope. Just don’t expect his warmth to look like mine.”
Carlo nodded slowly.
“Tomorrow is not a test,” Elena added. “But it may feel like one.”
Liam gave a small smile, trying to mask his nerves. “We’ve been through worse.”
“Maybe,” she said, stepping back into the hallway. “But this is closer to home.”
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Silence settled in.
Neither man moved for a moment. The fire cracked gently in the hearth. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, the city breathed.
Liam finally turned. “Are you scared?”
Carlo hesitated, then answered honestly. “Yes.”
“But I want him to know this side of me. And I want him to know the man I love. And I need him to understand why I’m never walking away from you again. Why I will no longer hide you.”
Liam crossed the room and kissed him softly. “Then let’s make sure he sees all of it.”
They lingered in that quiet promise for a moment, breath shared, foreheads gently resting together. Then, without another word, they moved toward the door.
The corridor beyond was hushed. The palace dimmed around them, glowing with candlelight and the quiet weight of centuries. A discreet footman appeared and, with a silent nod, led them through vaulted hallways softened by velvet drapes and the muffled echo of their steps. At the end of a long passage, a set of carved doors opened into their suite.
No guards. No curfew. Just silence and firelight waiting.
The fire had burned low. Only amber light flickered now, throwing long shadows across the thick stone walls of the guest chamber. Carlo turned the latch gently and locked the door behind them. Not out of rebellion. Just... privacy. The kind that came from finally being somewhere safe.
Liam stood near the window, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, eyes on the soft lights of Bologna scattered across the valley below. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. The air between them was thick with understanding.
Carlo stepped closer, his fingers finding the buttons of his own shirt. “Will you sleep here?” he asked, though the answer was already clear.
Liam nodded, slipping the shirt off his shoulders and folding it neatly over a nearby chair. His skin caught the firelight, golden over muscle, all clean lines and deep shadows. The play of light across his chest highlighted the ridge of his pecs, the square cut of his abs, the slight taper at his waist. His body was a study in strength, all of it earned, none of it hidden.
Carlo watched him without shame, without hesitation, then peeled off his own shirt.
His body was leaner, but no less defined. Olive-toned skin stretched over a wiry strength that came from long swims and early fencing lessons, from hours in the saddle, from years of trying to be enough. A faint trail of hair ran from just below his chest down his stomach, curling delicately over his navel and disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers.
Liam stepped out of his pants first. No theatrics. Just bare skin and quiet certainty. His cock hung heavy and full, not aroused, but resting in that way it did after a long, emotionally charged day. There was something unguarded about him in this moment. A man with nothing to prove, and nothing left to hide.
Carlo followed. He toed off his shoes, dropped his trousers, and stood there completely naked under the flicker of firelight. His cock was slightly darker, longer but softer, with the foreskin just barely veiling the head. A fine line of hair framed it, clean and elegant. His legs were strong from years of movement, dancer-like in their symmetry, with just enough hair to soften the angles.
They stood like that for a moment, just looking. Not gawking. Not comparing. Just seeing. Two men with all their histories carved into skin and sinew. Each with his own kind of beauty. Each wholly himself.
Liam stepped closer and placed his palm on Carlo’s chest, just over his heart. Carlo mirrored the gesture. There was no rush, no need to fill the space with anything but breath.
Then Liam turned back the thick white sheets and climbed into bed. Carlo followed, slipping in behind him. They lay on their sides, naked and pressed close. Carlo’s chest to Liam’s back, an arm draped over his waist, their legs tangled. Skin on skin. Quiet.
Liam reached back, found Carlo’s hand, and held it tight.
No words. No fear.
Just warmth. Just breath. Just sleep.
And the certainty that they would face whatever came next, together.
