by Dani Collins
‘Did you just sneeze?’ Prince Alek turned that unfathomable stare on her. ‘Are you allergic to cats?’
‘Well, why should he starve just because I’m a bad fit for him?’ She plucked a tissue from the packet on the bedside table and blew her nose pointedly.
But apparently the Prince had lost interest already, because he was now studying the narrow bedroom with a scowl.
‘I’d no idea Fi read so many thrillers.’ He picked up the tome next to the tissues. ‘I thought she was all animals. And how does she even move in this space?’
Hester awkwardly watched, trying to see the room through his eyes. A narrow white box with a narrow white bed. A neat pile of books. An occasional cat. A complete cliché.
‘Where’s she put all her stuff?’ He frowned, running a finger over the small wooden box that was the only decorative item in the room.
Hester stilled and faced the wretched moment. ‘This isn’t Princess Fiorella’s bedroom.’ She gritted her teeth for a second and then continued. ‘It’s mine.’
He froze then shot her a look of fury and chagrin combined, snatching his finger from tracing the carved grooves in the lid of the box. ‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’
‘You stormed in here before I had the chance. I guess you’re used to doing anything you want,’ she snapped, embarrassed by the invasion of privacy and her own failure to speak up sooner.
But then she realised what she’d said and she couldn’t suck it back. She clasped her hands in front of her but kept her head high and her features calm.
Never show them you’re afraid.
She’d learned long ago how to act around people with power over her, how to behave in the hope bullies would get bored and leave her alone. With stillness and calm—on the outside at least.
Prince Alek stared at her for a long moment in stunned silence. But then his expression transformed, a low rumble of laughter sounded and suddenly Hester was the one stunned.
Dimples. On a grown man. And they were gorgeous.
Her jaw dropped as his mood flipped from frustrated to good-humoured in a lightning flash.
‘You think I’m spoilt?’ he asked as his laughter ebbed.
‘Aren’t you?’ she answered before thinking.
His smile was everything. A wide slash across that perfect face that somehow elevated it beyond angelically beautiful, to warm and human. Even with those perfectly straight white teeth he looked roguish. That twist of his full lips was a touch lopsided and the cute creases in his cheeks appearing and disappearing like a playful cupid’s wink.
‘I wouldn’t think that being forced to find a bride is in the definition of being spoiled,’ he said lazily.
‘You mean for your coronation?’ She could hardly pretend not to know about it when she’d overheard half that phone call.
‘Yes. My coronation,’ he echoed dryly, leaving her room with that leisurely, relaxed manner that belied the speed and strength of him. ‘They won’t change that stupid law.’
‘Are you finding the democratic process a bitter pill to swallow?’ she asked, oddly pleased that the man didn’t get everything his own way. ‘Won’t all the old boys do what you want them to?’
He turned to stare at her coolly, the dimples dispelled, but she gazed back limpidly.
‘It’s an archaic law,’ he said quietly. ‘It ought to have been changed years ago.’
‘It’s tradition,’ she replied, walking past him into the centre of the too-small living room. ‘Perhaps there’s something appealing about stability.’
‘Stability?’
There was something impish in his echo that caused her to swiftly glance back. She caught him eyeing her rear end. A startling wave of heat rose within—exasperating her. She knew he wasn’t interested, he was just so highly sexed he couldn’t help himself assessing any passing woman. Her just-smoking anger sizzled.
‘Of having a monarch who’s not distracted and chasing skirt all the time,’ she said pointedly.
His lips curled. ‘Not all the time. I like to rest on Thursdays.’ He leaned against the doorframe to her bedroom.
‘So it’s a rest day today?’
‘Of course.’ His gaze glanced down her body in a swift assessment but then returned to her face and all trace of humour was gone. ‘Do you truly think it’s okay to force someone to get married before they can do the job they’ve spent their life training for?’
There was a throb of tension despite the light way he asked the question. He cocked his head, daring her to answer honestly. ‘You think I should sacrifice my personal life for my country?’
Actually she thought nothing of the sort but she’d backed herself into a corner by arguing with him. ‘I think there could be benefits in an arranged union.’
‘Benefits?’ His eyebrows lifted, scepticism oozing from his perfect pores. ‘What possible benefits could there be?’
Oh, he really didn’t want his continuous smorgasbord of women curtailed in any way, did he?
‘What if you have the right contract with the right bride?’ she argued emotionlessly. ‘You both know what you’re heading into. It’s a cool, logical decision for the betterment of your nation.’
‘Cool and logical?’ His eyebrows arched. ‘What are you, an android?’
Right now, she rather wished she were. It was maddening that she found him attractive—especially when she knew what a player he was. Doubtless this was how every woman who came within a hundred feet of him felt, which was exactly why he was able to play as hard and as frequently as he did. When a man was that blessed by the good-looks gods, mere mortals like her had little defence against him.
‘Perhaps when you’re King you can lobby for the change.’ She shrugged, wanting to close the conversation she never should have started.
‘Indeed. But apparently in order to become King I must marry.’
‘It’s quite the conundrum for you,’ she said lightly.
‘It has no bearing on my ability to do my job. It’s an anachronism.’
‘Then why not just make an arrangement with one of your many “friends”?’ she muttered with frustration. ‘I’m sure they’d all be willing to bear the burden of being your bride.’
He laughed and a gleam flickered in his eyes. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. Problem is they’d all take it too seriously and assume it was going to be happily ever after.’
‘Yes, I imagine that would be a problem.’ She nodded, primly sarcastic.
He straightened from the doorway and stepped closer. ‘Not for someone like you, though.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You’d understand the arrangement perfectly well and I get the impression the last thing you’d want is happily ever after with me.’
Too stunned—and somehow hurt—to stop, she answered back sharply. ‘I just don’t imagine it would be possible.’
Those eyebrows arched again. ‘With anyone or only with me?’
She suddenly remembered who it was she’d just insulted. ‘Sorry.’ She clamped her lips together.
‘Don’t be, you’re quite right,’ he said with another low laugh. ‘The difficulty I have is finding someone who understands the situation, its limitations, and who has the discretion to pull it off.’
‘Quite a tall order.’ She wished he’d leave. Or let her leave. Because somehow this was dangerous. He was dangerous.
He eyed her for another long moment before glancing to survey the neat desk she’d retreated behind. ‘You’re the epitome of discretion.’
‘Because my desk is tidy?’
‘Because you’re smart enough to understand such an arrangement.’ He lifted his chin and arrogantly speared her with his mesmerising gaze. ‘And we have no romantic history to get tangled in,’ he drawled. ‘In fact, I think you might be my perfect bride.’
&n
bsp; There was a look on his face—a mischievous delight tempting her to smile and join the joke. But this wasn’t funny.
So she sent him a dismissive glance before turning to stare at her desk. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ The humour dropped from his voice and left only cool calculation.
Definitely dangerous. Definitely more ruthless than his careless façade suggested.
‘You’re not serious,’ she said.
‘Actually, I rather think I am.’
‘No,’ she repeated, but her voice faded. She forced her arms across her waist to stop herself moving restlessly, to stop that insidious heat from rising, to stop temptation escaping her control.
She never felt temptation. She never felt. She’d been too busy trying to simply survive for so long...but now?
His gaze didn’t leave her face. ‘Why not take a moment to think about it?’
‘What is there to think about?’ she asked with exaggerated disbelief. ‘It’s preposterous.’
And it was. He’d walked in less than five minutes ago and was now proposing. He was certifiable.
‘I don’t think so,’ he countered calmly. ‘I think it could work very well.’
He made it seem easy, as if it were nothing.
‘You don’t think you should take this a little more seriously instead of proposing to the first woman you see today?’
‘Why shouldn’t I propose to you?’
Hester breathed slowly, struggling to slow her building anger. ‘No one would ever believe you’d want to marry me.’
‘Why?’
She mentally begged for mercy. ‘Because I’m nothing like the women you normally date.’
His gaze skidded down her in that cool and yet hot assessing way again. ‘I disagree.’
She gritted her teeth. She didn’t need him to start telling her she was attractive in a false show of charm.
‘It’s just clothes and make-up.’ He stole the wind from her sails. ‘Fancy packaging.’
‘Smoke and mirrors?’ She swallowed the bitterness that rose within her because she just knew how little the world thought of her ‘packaging’. ‘I meant I’m not from your level of society. I’m not a princess.’
‘So? These “levels” shouldn’t matter.’ He shrugged carelessly.
‘I’m not even from your country,’ she continued, ignoring his interruption. ‘It’s not what’s expected of you.’
He glanced beyond her, seeming to study some speck on the wall behind her. ‘I’ll do as they dictate, but they don’t get to dictate everything. I don’t want to marry anyone, certainly not a princess. I’ll choose who I want.’ His gaze flicked back to her, that arrogant amusement gleaming again. ‘It would be quite the fairy tale.’
‘It would be quite unbelievable,’ she countered acerbically. She couldn’t believe he was even continuing this conversation.
‘Why would it, though?’ he pondered. ‘You’ve been working for Fi for how long?’
‘Twelve months.’
‘But you knew her before that.’
‘For three months before, yes.’
Hester had been assigned as Princess Fiorella’s roommate when the Princess came to America to study. Hester was four years older and already into her graduate studies so it had been more of a study support role. It turned out that Fiorella was smart as, and hadn’t needed much tutoring, but it hadn’t been long before Hester had begun helping her with her mountains of correspondence, to the point that Fiorella had asked her to work for her on a formal basis. It had enabled Hester to reduce her other varsity tutoring, she’d finished her thesis and now focused on her voluntary work at the drop-in centre in the city.
She scheduled Fiorella’s diaries, replied to messages and emails and organised almost everything without leaving their on-campus apartment. It was perfect.
‘Then you’ve passed all our security checks and proven your ability to meet our family’s specific demands.’ Prince Alek took another step closer towards her.
Hester stared at him, unable to believe he was still going with this.
‘Furthermore it’s perfectly believable that we would know each other behind palace walls,’ he added. ‘No one knows what might have been going on within the privacy of the palace.’
‘Sorry to poke holes in your narrative, but I’ve never actually been to the palace,’ she pointed out tartly. She’d never been to Triscari. In fact, she’d never been out of the country at all. ‘In addition, we’ve been in the same airspace only once before.’
Prince Alek had escorted Fiorella to the university in lieu of the King all those months ago.
‘And this is the first time we’ve actually spoken,’ she finished, proving the impossibility of his proposal with a tilt of her chin.
‘I’m flattered you’ve kept count.’ His wolfish smile flashed. ‘No one else needs know that though. For all anyone else knows, the times I’ve called or visited Fi might’ve been a cover to see you.’ He nodded slowly and that thoughtful look deepened as he stepped closer still. ‘It could work very well.’
Hester’s low-burning anger lifted. How could he assume this would work so easily? Did he think she’d be instantly compliant? Or flattered even? He really was a prince—used to people bowing and scraping and catering to his every whim. Had he ever been told no? If not, his response was going to be interesting.
‘Well, thank you all the same, Your Highness.’ She cleared her throat. ‘But my answer is no. Why don’t I tell your sister you’ll be waiting for her at your usual hotel?’
She wished Princess Fiorella would hurry up and get home and take her insane brother away.
‘Because I’m not there, I’m here and you’re not getting rid of me...’ He suddenly frowned. ‘Forgive me, I’ve forgotten your name.’
Seriously? He’d just suggested they get married and he didn’t even know her name?
‘I don’t think you ever knew it,’ she said wryly. ‘Hester Moss.’
‘Hester.’ He repeated her name a couple more times softly, turning it over in his mouth as if taking the time to decide on the flavour and then savouring it. ‘That’s very good.’ Another smile curved his mouth. ‘I’m Alek.’
‘I’m aware of who you are, Your Highness.’ And she was not going to let him try to seduce her into complying with his crazy scheme.
Except deep inside her something flipped. A miniscule seed long crushed by the weight of loss and bullying now sparked into a tiny wistful ache for adventure.
Prince Alek was studying her as if he were assessing a new filly for his famous stables. That damned smile flickered around his mouth again and the dimples danced—all teasing temptation. ‘I think this could work very well, Hester.’
His soft emphasis of her name whispered over her skin. He was so used to getting his way—so handsome, so charming, he was utterly spoilt. Had he not actually heard her say the word no or did he just not believe it was possible that she meant it?
‘I think you like a joke,’ she said almost hoarsely. ‘But I don’t want to be a joke.’
His expression tightened. ‘You wouldn’t be. But this could be fun.’
‘I don’t need fun.’
‘Don’t you? Then what do you need?’ He glanced back into her bedroom. ‘You need money.’
‘Do I?’ she asked idly.
‘Everyone normal needs money.’
Everyone normal? Did he mean not royal? ‘I don’t, I have sufficient,’ she lied.
He watched her unwaveringly and she saw the scepticism clearly in his eyes.
‘Besides,’ she added shakily, ‘I have a job.’
‘Working for my sister.’
‘Yes.’ She cocked her head, perceiving danger in his silken tones. ‘Or are you going to have me fired if I keep saying no to you?’
His smile vanishe
d. ‘First thing to learn—and there will be a lot to learn—I’m not a total jerk. Why not listen to my proposition in full before jumping to conclusions?’
‘It didn’t cross my mind you were really serious about this.’
‘I really am,’ he said slowly, as if he didn’t quite believe it of himself either. ‘I want you to marry me. I’ll be crowned King. You’ll live a life of luxury in the palace.’ He glanced toward her room before turning back to her. ‘You’ll want for nothing.’
Did he think her sparse little bedroom was miserable? How dared he assume what she might want? She wanted for nothing now—not people or things. Not for herself. Except that wasn’t quite true—and that little seed stirred again, growing bigger already.
‘You don’t want to stop and think things through?’ she asked.
‘I’ve already thought all the things. This is a good plan.’
‘For you, perhaps. But I don’t like being told what to do,’ she said calmly. And she didn’t like vapid promises of luxury, or the prospect of being part of something that would involve being around so many people.
But the Prince just laughed. ‘My sister tells you what to do all the time.’
‘That’s different. She pays me.’
‘And I will pay you more. I will pay you very, very well.’
Somehow that just made this ‘proposal’ so much worse. But, of course, it was the only way this proposal would have ever happened. As a repellent job offer.
He looked amused as he studied her. ‘I am talking about a marriage in name only, Hester. We don’t need to have sex. I’m not asking you to prostitute yourself.’
His brutal honesty shocked her. So did the flood of heat that suddenly stormed along her veins—a torrent of confusion and...other things she didn’t wish to examine. She braced, struggling to stay her customary calm self. ‘An heir isn’t part of the expectation?’
He stiffened. ‘Thankfully that is not another onerous legal requirement. We can divorce after a period. I’ll then change the stupid law and marry again if I’m ever actually willing. I’ve years to figure that one out once I’m crowned.’
Hester swallowed. He was clearly not interested in having kids. Nor ever marrying anyone for real. He didn’t even try to hide the distaste in his eyes. Too bad for him because providing an heir was going to be part of his job at some point. But not hers.
