She nearly collapsed with gratitude at his understanding. For just plain Natalie, it had been going just fine. She ached for more, to discover what making love to Finn would be like—utterly, mind-blowingly wonderful, she suspected. But for Princess Natalia, this had gone too far already. She had stepped right out of bounds.
Mutely, she nodded. ‘Er...yes,’ she finally managed to choke out, wary of his reaction and unable to look at him, focusing on the toes of her stilettos instead.
She’d heard what men called women who led men on and then said no and it wasn’t pleasant. She was still throbbing with desire for him, and he must feel at least as frustrated as she was.
‘It’s not that I’m not enjoying this—I am, very much—but—’
He reached out to her, placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up so she was forced to look at him. ‘It’s too soon. I get that. I want you, but only if you’re ready.’
No calling her a tease. No frustrated anger.
‘I... I...’ How could she explain when to do so would mean having to untangle the web of lies she’d woven since the moment she’d met him? ‘As I said earlier, I haven’t done this before.’
She hadn’t done any of this before. She could only imagine how surprised he would be if she admitted to her virginity.
Finn stood there, unbearably handsome in just his trousers, the belt looped where she had attempted to tug it loose.
‘No need to explain,’ he said. ‘You’re worth the wait, Natalie.’
‘Th...thank you. But you...you should probably go,’ she said.
‘If that’s what you want,’ he said.
He looked around for his clothes, so joyously removed by her in anticipation of what she now would never experience with him.
Mutely, she nodded. Suddenly self-conscious, she reached for the luxurious velour robe provided by the hotel and shrugged into it. She went to wrap it around her waist.
Finn watched her, his eyes half hooded in sensual awareness. ‘No need to do that robe up. I like the view with it open so much better.’
‘Oh...’ she said, blushing. ‘I’m glad. That...that you like the view, I mean.’
She took a step towards him. He took a step back.
‘Don’t tempt me, Natalie. I might not be as strong-minded if I have you too close.’
‘Of course,’ she said.
She really didn’t know how to behave. This was all new territory for her.
‘Have you been sailing on the harbour?’ he asked as he put on his shirt.
She was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. Then she realised the effort it was taking for him to turn the conversation to something other than their thwarted sexual escapade.
‘I’ve ridden the ferries,’ she said. ‘I took the Manly ferry all the way to Manly.’
He laughed. ‘Not quite the same. How about I swing around here tomorrow and pick you up? I’ll take you out on my yacht—we can have lunch on the water.’
‘You have a yacht?’ she asked, stalling.
She couldn’t in all honesty accept his invitation. Yet to outright decline it would entwine her in a more knotted tangle of lies. She realised she was twisting her hands together, something she did when agitated, and forced herself to stop it.
‘A very beautiful yacht.’
He shrugged on his jacket, swept up his bow tie and cufflinks and shoved them carelessly into his pocket. Such a shame to cover that expanse of splendid male body, she thought with fleeting sadness.
‘The best place to see Sydney is from the water. You’d love it.’
She couldn’t call herself a sailor, but there was nothing she would like more than to be on a boat with Finn. If it were in any way possible she would jump at the chance.
‘I’m sure I would,’ she murmured.
‘I’ll see you at ten tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘I’ll call to confirm.’
‘That would be nice,’ she said.
It would be nice. But she would not be here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.
She looked up at him. At his open shirt collar, his thick straight black hair dishevelled by her caresses, his handsome, handsome face, his intelligent, kind eyes...
‘Finn, I’m sorry about tonight. How things ended. Or...or didn’t end. I—’
‘No apologies. No explanations. It moved too fast for you. We have tomorrow.’
‘Er...yes.’
Tomorrow would come, but not for them.
He took her in his arms, kissed her swift and hard on the mouth. ‘I wasn’t keen on going to the wedding—I expected it to be insufferably boring. But it turned out to be anything but boring. Because of you.’
‘The wedding was...magical. Because of you.’
She reached up to trace her fingers down his cheek to the corner of his mouth, frantic to store his face in her memory.
He caught her hand and kissed the centre of her palm. It was almost unbearably pleasurable.
‘Tomorrow can be magical too. There’s something very special about being out on the harbour. You’ll see.’
‘Yes...’ she said, the word trailing away.
‘I have to go, or I might be tempted to talk you out of your decision. Goodnight, Natalie,’ he said, and turned towards the door.
‘Wait.’ She reached up, cradled his face in her hands. ‘Thank you, Finn. Thank you for your patience with me. Thank you for...for everything. The best thing I ever did was switch those place cards. I had the most wonderful time with you. More wonderful than you can imagine.’
She kissed him on his mouth, slow and lingering, for the last time.
‘I... I don’t know how to say goodbye,’ she said, choking up.
‘Then don’t,’ he said. ‘Alla prossima, as we say in Italian.’
‘Until we meet again,’ she translated.
‘You speak Italian?’ he said.
She nodded.
‘There’s so much I don’t know about you,’ he said slowly.
If only he knew just how much.
She would cry if he stayed any longer. Sob and beg him to stay, spill the truth about her deception, beg him to forgive her for her lies.
But she had sworn to her family to tell no one in Australia the truth of her identity. And the habits of duty and obedience were impossible to break. Especially with the fragile state her parents had been in since Carl’s death.
‘And me about you,’ she murmured.
‘We’ll have to remedy that,’ he said, looking down into her face, a slight frown creasing his brow as if he guessed that all might not be as it seemed.
She put up her hand in farewell. ‘Ciao, bello,’ she murmured. Farewell, beautiful man.
‘Ciao, bella,’ he said. ‘The most beautiful girl at the wedding.’
She smiled shakily. ‘I don’t know that the groom would agree.’
‘It’s what I think that counts,’ he said. ‘See you in the morning.’
He turned, opened the door and walked away, turning back once for a final smile.
Natalie watched him go until he disappeared around the corner of the corridor. Then she let the door slam loudly behind him in frustration and anger at herself—and to make it clear to her security guards that her visitor was not staying. Scandal averted.
Immediately she regretted letting him go. Realised she might have made the biggest mistake of her life.
She would never see Finn again.
When he got here tomorrow morning he would be informed at the desk that Ms Gerard had checked out. What the hotel wouldn’t know—what Finn would never know—was that Princess Natalia of Montovia, along with her brother the Crown Prince and his wife the Crown Princess, had flown out of Sydney early in the morning on the royal family’s private jet and headed home to their ancestral palace.
She dragged one foot in front of the other back into the room, now achingly empty of Finn’s presence—but stopped when she noticed something glinting on the carpet. A cufflink. One white gold cufflink in the shape of a compass, its face picked out in tiny black diamonds. It must have slipped from his pocket.
She picked it up. Was it fanciful to think that it still felt warm from his body?
She held it to her heart and let the tears of regret and lost opportunity flow.
CHAPTER FIVE
Three months later. Royal palace of Montovia.
NATALIA DRESSED FOR dinner with her family almost automatically. She had her own private apartment within the palace, as did Tristan and Gemma. But she was expected to attend the regular receptions, rich with the trappings of royalty, in the state dining area, where the King and Queen entertained dignitaries both from Montovia and other countries.
Increasingly, Tristan, in his role as Crown Prince, invited people of strategic importance to their country, and also to the business interests he oversaw. Natalia hadn’t requested an invitation for anyone since she’d got back from Australia. It seemed too much effort.
She slipped into a full-length gown in midnight-blue silk, embellished with embroidery and crystals, beautiful in its simplicity and perfect cut. She teamed it with elegant stilettos covered in silk dyed the same shade of blue and scattered with crystals. She fastened earrings glittering with sapphires and diamonds and a matching bracelet. But she took little joy in her outfit.
Since her return from Australia she’d had to invest in a new wardrobe as she’d dropped two dress sizes. To someone with her interest in fashion, and the almost unlimited budget of a princess, shopping should have been a delight. Not so.
She was too down in the dumps to appreciate how lucky she was to be replenishing her wardrobe in the fashion capitals of Paris, Milan and London. Too unmotivated to appreciate what a boost her now too-large wardrobe would give to her next auction. Too darn exhausted to put 100 per cent into working alongside Tristan in promoting Montovia’s export business—something she’d wanted to do for ages. Too heartsore to engage in anything much but endless agonising about ‘what might have been’ with Finn.
To her friends who asked about her weight loss secret, what diet she’d followed to get so skinny so fast, she had no reply. Not an honest one anyway. She had sworn to keep her incognito visit to Sydney a secret. That meant she couldn’t confide in anyone the exhilaration of being Natalie Gerard, or the consequent deep dip in her spirits since she’d returned home.
Gemma knew about the trip, of course, but she couldn’t talk to her either, because that would mean confiding in her sister-in-law the emotional rollercoaster of her time with Finn. The high of her powerful attraction to him, the shared laughter and the fun. The soaring excitement of his kisses and caresses. The plunge into misery as she’d watched Finn walk away.
No, the regret, self-recrimination and guilt were all hers to suffer on her own, often in the restless, sleepless hours after midnight. She had not wanted to lose weight, but her ‘diet secret’ could be put down to loss of appetite, trouble sleeping and the thoughts of Finn that plagued her like a repeat cycle she couldn’t switch off, making her feel on the edge of anxiety.
She had run away from the only man she had ever wanted. Over and over she had relived that scene in her hotel bedroom. Wondered again and again what it would have been like if she had let Finn carry her to that bed. Regretted more times than she could count that she hadn’t gone all the way with him. Only to realise that if she had, how much worse leaving him would have been.
Or what if she hadn’t left? Why hadn’t she even entertained a plan of simply informing Tristan she would not be flying back in the royal jet but rather staying to enjoy a day’s sailing on the harbour before going home on a commercial flight when she was ready.
Because she would have had to tell the truth about her identity.
She sighed as she gave a final smoothing to the back of her hair. Her day-to-day life was fulfilling, what with her charity duties and her work with Tristan. Although somehow, caught up in her grief over Carl and her parents’ obsession with the line of succession, she had gone backwards in terms of personal freedom as she got older rather than moving forward. But that was her life right now, and she wasn’t sure what she could do to break out of it.
Other than run away to Sydney and find Finn...
Now, she headed down in the elevator to the state rooms, weary at the thought of having to divide her time equally between the person on her right and the one on her left, making polite, diplomatic small talk that would advance the interests of her country.
When had the thrill gone out of such occasions? Had they ever been more than endless duty and obligation?
Mentally she chastised herself for such ungrateful thoughts—she led a life of unimaginable privilege and should be unquestioningly thankful that she had won the lottery of noble birth. But a nagging thought kept intruding—the happiest days of her life had been those when she’d roamed incognito around Sydney, her only real obligation being to hide her identity. The happiest hours of all were when she’d been with Finn.
It always came back to Finn.
Natalia pasted on her most regal smile. As both Princess and dutiful daughter, her role was to be gracious and charming to the guests while cocktails and canapés were served before a formal dinner. She chatted to both people she knew and people she didn’t, switching from one language to another as required. She felt her parents’ approving glances upon her. This was what she’d been trained for, but since her time in laidback Australia she sometimes felt like an outsider, looking in on the rituals that she had been part of since birth.
Her smile was beginning to feel forced by the time she caught sight of Tristan walking into the room, deep in conversation with another man in black tie. Good, her brother could take over some of the work they were meant to share. But as they moved closer she froze. His companion was tall, broad-shouldered, with thick black hair. Something about the way the man held himself caught her attention, and for a crazy, breath-stealing moment she thought it was Finn.
She gave herself a mental shake. Don’t be so ridiculous.
Was her heart going to jolt every time she saw someone even vaguely resembling the Australian man she was unable to forget? She thought she saw Finn everywhere: getting out of a car on Bond Street in London, striding along the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré in Paris, even on the streets of the Montovian business capital, St Pierre.
Of course it was never him—never the man she wanted. When they turned around they didn’t resemble him at all and she felt deflated and embarrassed.
Finn had become an obsession.
And now her feverish imaginings had conjured up a phantom Finn, right here in the palace.
She headed towards Tristan, just to be sure. Tristan’s companion, as if he’d sensed her gaze on him, turned around to face her.
Him!
Natalia had to grab on to the plinth of a nearby piece of priceless sculpture—irreplaceable if it wobbled and fell. She didn’t care. She had to anchor herself or she might slide into a faint. She felt light-headed, dizzy, overwhelmed by a wave of sheer joy and exultation.
Finn. It was really him. There could be no mistaking his dark good looks.
Finn. Here in Montovia.
It was as if all her hopes and dreams of the last three months had materialised into six foot two of solid, handsome Australian male. Had he discovered who she was? Come after her? Had he longed for her as she’d longed for him?
Panic tore through her like a whirlwind. What could she possibly say that would make sense after the way they had parted? She had treated him with unforgivable rudeness, leading him on, standing him up and then disappearing. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and thank him for seeking her out. Apologise. Beg his forgiveness. Grovel.
He looked over and caught her eye. She attempted a smile, but it was as if her mouth had had enough of smiling that evening and she could only manage something that was more grimace than grin. His expression in return was polite, restrained—the kind of look she often saw on the faces of strangers in such a social situation, when commoners encountered royalty.
Her mouth went dry. All this angst for nothing.
He didn’t recognise her.
* * *
Finn guessed the elegant dark-haired woman in the glamorous gown must be Tristan’s sister, Princess Natalia. He was predisposed not to like her. Irrational, he knew, but the name was too uncomfortably close to the name of the girl who had so cruelly played him in Sydney and left him high and dry.
Tristan confirmed his guess as to the woman’s identity. ‘Come and meet my sister,’ he said now, with an amused sideways glance that Finn did not understand.
‘With pleasure,’ Finn said, letting Tristan guide him across the room.
When he’d made fun of Eliza having a real-life prince at her wedding, he’d never imagined he would end up doing business with him. Or that he’d like the guy. He’d been briefly introduced to Tristan at the wedding, and then had been surprised to be contacted by him when Tristan was renegotiating the contract for the distribution of Montovia’s renowned chocolate and cheeses into Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific region.
Finn had won the lucrative contract. He had also proposed to Tristan that he work with one of his other clients to develop a prestige Montovian chocolate liqueur. Tristan had been very taken with the idea and had invited Finn to visit his kingdom.
He’d flown in that morning via London, to the small town of Montovia, which took its name from the country. Stepping off the plane had been like stepping through a portal to a totally different world. The place was like something from a movie, where witches and wizards might suddenly appear. A fortified medieval castle was perched high on a mountainside above a lake, looking down on cobbled streets, gingerbread-style houses and the spire of an ancient cathedral. And now here he was, inside the grand stateroom of the glittering palace that Tristan and his family called home.
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