amative (not comparable) Pertaining to love; amorous.

Prologue.

'We're almost there,' he said.

A shrug of the shoulder was her only response. Eleanor sat with her back towards him, staring out of the window of the limo. Their unexpected closeness in the stadium, her hand reaching for his, his arm tightly around her waist, had come to a sudden death as they entered the back of the limo and she had positioned herself as far away from him as was possible in the confined space. He let her. She had been through enough. He had put her through enough. He could deal with this.

The inside of his hand still burned with the lingering imprint of her fingers. It burned almost as much as his heart did. When he had seen her hand tremble, he had known he couldn't let her go through with it. He had promised to be there for her and he would be. She could be weak sometimes. He would carry her burden. He had taken her arm, softly pulling her away. Then he had pushed the button himself. Her reaching for his hand was all the proof he needed to know he had made the right choice.

'James is waiting for us at the palace,' he continued. 'Once we're through the gates, I need you to keep your head down. He will escort you to your room together with Baker.'

Her breathing hitched. He almost missed it.

'Liam is already inside the palace, so is the Queen Mother. Once you're secure, the palace will go on lockdown. You'll be safe then.'

Even in the reflection of the window, he could see the lingering question clearly on her face. Could see her wondering where he would be in all of this. She said nothing though. So neither did he.

There was hardly a crowd at the palace gates, but Jasper knew that in less than an hour, most likely sooner than later, it would be crawling with reporters, paparazzi and other curious, annoyingly so, citizens. In his experience, Royal scandals and drama always attracted the most vultures.

'It's relatively calm still.'

He wasn't a man of many words, but the silence made them tumble out of his mouth. The palace was near, so near, and there was so much he had yet to tell her. Show her. Things that only he could make her feel, if only she gave him the chance.

'I want you to know I'm sorry.'

Her fingers still burned in his hand.

'I know I said it before, but you have no idea how goddamn sorry I am.'

The last words she had spoken to him in her bedroom ran through his mind.

'I need you to know that you can rely on me.'

He did not want to leave.

'I might've come to rob you, but that isn't the reason I stayed.'

He wasn't sure he could leave. Not now, not ever.

'I... I don't know how to say this.'

She turned her head slightly towards him, just the littlest bit, but he noticed and took a deep breath.

'I don't know how to tell you, but you need to know…'

He fell silent, swallowed slowly and deeply.

'Your mother, Samantha.. Mandy. The diamond. It wasn't worth it. Worth this. Just something to pass time. I mean, it meant nothing. Means nothing- '

'Shut up.' She had stiffened, cut him off.

Cut him severely with those two words. She turned back to the window, wrapping her arms around herself again. Something to pass time. He could practically hear her think it.

'Shut up and just leave already.'

It was whispered but Jasper heard it as clearly as when she'd been yelling. He started to reach for her, but thought better of it. Pretended he had meant to take off his glasses.

His hand burned but not as much as his heart.

They had reached the palace grounds, were turning towards the broad stairs and he could see James standing on the landing, waiting.

He made to open the door, hesitated.

'Eleanor…'

Sighed.

'Eleanor, you know I didn't mean it that way.'

She stubbornly stared out of the window.

'I'll make it all up to you, every single damn thing. I'll fix it all. But you need to let me stay.'

He ran a hand through his hair and his voice dropped to a strained whisper.

'Eleanor, please. Let me stay.'

'I don't need you anymore, Jasper,' she said, deliberately slow. 'I don't want anything you have to offer. There's nothing to fix or make up for. I just want you gone.

'Please.'

He was never able to deny her anything.

The silence was heavy. He didn't dare breathe for fear of breaking it. His hand inched towards her, slowly. Were it any other moment he would've laughed at his own trembling. He almost touched her. Almost, but not really. A knock on the window made him drop his hand. The relieved breath she released did not escape him.

This time he did open the door without any hesitation. He held out his hand for her to take, but she ignored it. She looked up at him for only a second, too fast for him to read anything in her eyes, but she didn't have to. The cold look on her face spoke all the words she did not say. He clenched his jaw, cursed himself for reasons he had yet to accept, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'Frost.'

He acknowledged the shorter bodyguard with a nod and stepped aside. Stood beside the car as she accepted James' help. Watched as the older man wrapped an arm around her – it should've been him – and waited for them to ascend the stairs leading to the great oaken palace doors. He saw Hagrid – when had he started to refer to him as Hagrid as well? – open the doors from the inside, the mountain of a man's eyes immediately searching him out. They nodded at each other, understanding passing and a silent promise being made that the man would keep the Princess safe.

He stared at the doors long after they had been closed again. Was still staring when the curious crowds finally descended upon the palace gates. Kept staring as he recalled the past months. The wine cellar and their first contact. Their bodies entwined. The pushing and the pulling.

Oh, how his hand burned.

The stadium. The feeling of her fingers wrapped around his hand. His arm, protectively around her waist. Those fleeting moments when he stupidly, almost despairingly, had hoped she might let him stay. He knew he had hurt her, had hurt himself by doing so, but from all this pain something beautiful had been born. And he could not deny, would never deny, not to himself, how much he loved her. He fucking loved her so much.

His hand still burned.

He loved her enough to let her go. To give her the opportunity to be with a good man. One who wouldn't cheat on her with her mother, a man who wouldn't try to rob her. A man who was worthy.

He stood staring at the doors, blinked once, twice. He hadn't realised his breathing had turned raggedly. His hands had curled into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. He wondered if this was what love felt like. Stared and blinked again.

Then he slid his glasses back in their place and left.

He did not look back.