#gracedgrimaldi

When he saw her on the training field,  brown hair illuminated gold by bright sunlight, Marcus nearly dropped the crate of pistols he was holding. Camilla -- a close friend, near-fling he had to leave the moment his duty called him back to England. “No fucking way,” he muttered to himself, as his feet unconsciously made a beeline -- dodging runners, joggers, walkers, as he brought himself closer to her. During their short time in Monaco, he never told her about his real occupation, and apparently, neither did she. He didn’t know how he would feel if he were to find out she was destined to run a country.