She tucked a curl behind her ear. It made his fingers tingle. He’d done that once.

‘Can I help you?’ someone asked him.

He shook his head. It was now or never.

He stepped forward. ‘One of those referral cards will be from me.’

Ruby spun around to face him. The professional mask fell as quickly as the cards from her hand. His accent was unmistakable; she couldn’t fail to recognise it.

‘Alex,’ she said. Nothing else. Her eyes locked on to his.

‘Ruby.’

She tilted her head to the side, as if she were contemplating a million different questions, before sucking in a deep breath and giving a visible little shake of her head.

Ten years. Ten years since he’d run his fingers through those soft dark curls and looked into those chocolate-brown eyes. Ten years since he’d felt the silky softness of her skin, tasted the sweetness of her lips.

Every sensation, every touch, every taste flashed in front of him in an instant.

But Ruby wasn’t caught in the same spell that he was.

She bent down to retrieve the cards and he knelt to help her. It was inevitable that their hands touched as they reached out towards the same card.

She pulled her hand away as if she’d been stung. ‘Why, Alex? Why are you here?’

It was as if someone had reached into his chest and twisted his heart. There it was. In a few simple words a whole multitude of hurt. No one else would hear it. No one else would understand. But Ruby’s deep brown eyes were fixed on his and he could see everything there. She looked wounded. Ten years on and her hurt was still easily visible.

But what did she see when she looked at him? He wasn’t Alex the twenty-four-year-old any more—the bachelor Crown Prince with the world at his feet. He was a father. He was a widower. He was Prince Regent. The Prince continually in waiting.

And he was desperate.

In his head this had all been so easy. Find someone you would trust with your daughter. Find Annabelle the expert help she needs.

It had even seemed sensible to the palace advisors. If they’d questioned his choice of therapist at first, once they’d researched Ruby’s qualifications and seen her recent publications all queries had vanished.

But now he was here in the flesh it was so much harder. Now he could see her. Now he could hear her. Now he could smell her. Her light floral scent was drifting around him.

He’d had no idea of the effect seeing Ruby again would have on him. Ten years... Ten years lost. Ten years of what might have been.

‘Alex?’

The word jolted him and he smiled. No one called him Alex any more. No one had ever really called him just Alex.

He straightened up and handed her the final cards.

‘I’m here because I need your help, Ruby.’

* * *

Any minute now a bunch of unicorns would come cantering along the hospital corridor, with exploding rainbows all around them.

She’d dreamt about Alex before. But never like this. Never in her workplace. All those dreams had been set back in Paris. Or in the Euronian palace that she’d looked at online.

But Alex standing in front of her at work, asking for her help...? She was obviously losing her mind.

He reached out and touched her bare arm. Short sleeves were essential in a hospital environment, to stop the spread of infection. This time she didn’t pull away. This time she let the feel of the pads of his fingers spread warmth through her chilled arm.

He was really here.

This wasn’t a strange hallucination due to overwork or lack of chocolate.

Ten years she’d waited to talk to this man again. Ten years waiting to ask him what the hell had happened back in Paris and why he’d never contacted her.

Alex—her Alex. Her prince was finally standing right in front of her.

He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. Better, even.

Tanned skin, dark hair and bright blue eyes. She’d sometimes wondered if she’d imagined how blue they were. But she hadn’t. If anything she’d underestimated their effects. But, then again, she’d never seen Alex in daylight.

She wasn’t imagining any of this. All six foot four of him was standing right in front of her.

Her eyes lowered to where his hand was touching her. Tiny electric pulses were shooting up her arm. She didn’t know whether to cry or be sick.

Every part of her imagination had just turned into reality.

In a way, it was a relief. She had met Alex. He did remember her. So why was that making her so darn angry right now?

He pulled his hand back from her arm and she lifted her head, pulling her shoulders back. He’d taken his hand away. And it had left her feeling bereft. Now she was feeling angry with herself. She didn’t have a sensible thought in her head right now.

She swallowed and looked him in the eye. ‘How can I help you, Alex?’ The words were automatic. It was all she could manage right now.

He looked around. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

She nodded and gestured with her arm for him to walk down the corridor, stopped at a door, pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

Her office. It even had her name on the door: ‘Ruby Wetherspoon, Head of Speech and Language’. She’d done well. Most days she was proud. Today she had no idea how she felt.

The office was small, but neat and tidy. She pointed to a chair and invited him to sit. It was almost a relief to sit at the other side of the desk and have the heavy wooden structure between them.

‘How exactly do you think I can be of assistance to you, Alex?’

Her words were formal, her professional façade slipping back into place. The juggling of the cards on the table-top was the only sign of her nerves. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

‘It’s not me. It’s my daughter Annabelle. She’s three years old now and she isn’t speaking.’

Ruby nodded automatically. His daughter. Of course. Why else would be come to her?

She had this sort of conversation every day. This one wouldn’t be much different.

‘Three years old is still an acceptable age for speech development. All children develop at a different rate. Some children have a delay in their speech and language development. Have you had her hearing checked?’

He sighed. She was going back to basics—which was the correct thing for a health professional. But she could tell from his expression he’d heard it all before.

‘I’ve had ten different professional opinions on Annabelle. The latest of which is selective mutism. Her hearing is fine. Her comprehension is fine. She doesn’t seem to want to speak.’

She could feel herself bristle. Ten assessments on a child? Talk about overkill. Why not just let her develop at her own pace? She tried to be pragmatic.

‘How does she communicate with those around her?’

‘She signs.’

Ruby was surprised. ‘Proper signing?’

He nodded. ‘We have a member of staff who’s deaf. She’s been able to sign since she was young.’

It wasn’t particularly unusual in children who were deaf, or in children who had deaf siblings. But it was unusual in a child who could apparently hear and speak.

She lifted her hands. ‘Then maybe she thinks that’s normal?’

He shook his head.

It was time to ask some more questions.

‘Has Annabelle ever spoken? Ever said a few words?’

‘Only on a few select occasions.’

Strange... Ruby couldn’t help but be a little curious. Selective mutism was certainly unusual but she’d dealt with a few cases before. She’d even published some professional papers on it.

Ruby lowered her voice. ‘Does she speak to you, Alex?’

The question was straight to the heart of the matter. It was a natural question for any health professional, but she saw him recoil. She’d seen this before. He felt this was his fault. She’d dealt with lots of parents who felt guilty about whatever issue their child had. Most of the time it was just hard luck. Genetics. A developmental delay. A head injury or similar accident.