My Wife is a Crown Princess

A Chance Meeting

The soft hum of conversation blended with the clatter of coffee cups as Eric settled into the café's corner seat. He had always preferred small, tucked-away places like this one, where the walls were lined with worn bookshelves and the barista greeted you with a warm, familiar smile. The air smelled of freshly ground coffee beans and pastries still warm from the oven. It was a perfect spot to unwind after a long day of work, especially for someone like him, a photographer who found beauty in the unnoticed.

Eric Andrews was the type of man who felt more at home with a camera around his neck than at a formal dinner table. With his rugged, unshaven look and tousled dark hair, he seemed like someone who spent more time in the wild than in polished city streets. His clothes reflected his easygoing nature—worn jeans, a simple shirt, and boots that had clearly seen more than a few adventures. Despite his casual appearance, there was something about him that commanded attention. He was confident, but not cocky; laid-back, but not careless. And perhaps it was this balance, this authenticity, that made people naturally gravitate toward him.

As Eric sipped his coffee, his gaze drifted toward the window, watching pedestrians pass by in the early evening light. He had been in this town for a few days on assignment, capturing landscapes and portraits for a travel magazine. His life was a series of fleeting moments—different cities, different faces—but he liked it that way. The unpredictable nature of his work suited him, and he thrived on the spontaneity that each new place brought.

He was about to reach for his camera, always ready to capture a candid moment, when the door to the café swung open. A gust of cool air followed a woman as she stepped inside. Eric's eyes lingered on her, not out of simple curiosity but because there was something distinctly different about her.

She was poised, almost regal in her movements, yet there was an effortlessness in the way she carried herself, as though she was used to blending into the background despite her striking appearance. Sophia Devereaux was unlike anyone Eric had encountered on his travels. Her beauty was undeniable—long chestnut hair that cascaded in soft waves down her back, bright green eyes that sparkled with a quiet intensity, and a graceful figure that seemed out of place in such a humble café. But it wasn't her beauty that captured Eric's attention. It was the subtle air of mystery that surrounded her, the way her gaze seemed to take in everything around her while revealing nothing about herself.

Sophia glanced around the room, her gaze briefly locking with Eric's before she moved toward the counter. She was dressed simply in a light trench coat, a soft scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, and dark sunglasses perched on her head, as if she was used to needing them to hide from the world. To most, she would appear as just another traveler passing through town. But in reality, Sophia was far from ordinary. She was a member of one of Europe's most distinguished royal families, though she had chosen to live in relative anonymity whenever she could. Life in the public eye had become suffocating, and these brief escapes were her way of reclaiming a piece of normalcy.

At the counter, she ordered her coffee with a soft, melodic voice. When she turned around to find a seat, Eric's eyes met hers again, and this time, there was a flicker of recognition—perhaps a spark of curiosity—from both sides. It was Sophia who broke the silent exchange first, moving toward an empty seat at the table next to his.

Eric, never one to ignore his instincts, leaned over with a friendly smile. "Looks like you found the best spot in town," he said casually, motioning toward the café's cozy ambiance.

Sophia glanced up from her cup, her eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "It certainly has its charm. I'm just glad it's quiet."

Eric chuckled. "Quiet is hard to come by these days. You traveling alone?"