The curse that followed Cyril out the door could be understood in any language.
Chapter 4
“I could probably get used to this royalty thing, you know,” Frannie said dryly as they walked into the grand atrium of the Visitors’ Palace. “I’m sure that says something not very flattering about my self identity, but I thought I’d put it out there.”
Above them, the soaring glassed-in roof showed a flawless summer-blue sky, and Em sighed, looking up at it, imagining what it would be like to dance beneath a starlit night. Surely that had to be the number-one use for this space.
The tour guide confirmed it, detailing the recent balls hosted by the royal family, all of them to benefit one or another of the queen’s favorite charities, or to honor visiting dignitaries who had helped soothe issues or broker agreements among their war-torn or financially bankrupt neighbors. How did little Garronia manage to keep hold of its money when no one else did?
She snorted. Probably because barely anyone knew it existed. Though a popular European destination, the country was too far east to tempt most Americans, even those looking for the quintessential Mediterranean escape. In fact, they were among the only Americans in the entire tour, most of the guests hailing from Australia or Italy or England.
They’d lost the couple with the enormous camera almost immediately, and she imagined them roaming through the palace unchecked. Maybe they were invited magazine people or something like that, photographing décor for Royal Living. She wondered who the typical reader would be for such a magazine. Not her, certainly, but for the discerning multibillionaire, she was sure that the Visitors’ Palace’s gracious furnishings might inspire at least a few redecorating touches—such as the Waterford crystal chandeliers, the deep-pile Persian rugs, and the vases that she hoped weren’t Ming, given their size and the fact that they weren’t sitting behind thick velvet ropes, but probably were.
“It really is perfect here, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “Lauren was right, this is going to be one of my favorite memories of this trip.”
“Well, hello, it’s about to get more perfect. Prince Charming and his posse of hotties are at your twenty.”
“My what?” Em looked up, startled at Frannie’s suddenly tight words. Then she saw him too. Kristos Andris had been unbelievably beautiful on the beach, no question, but he’d also been just a man, a soldier—not a prince. And he’d been soaked to the bone in a scruffy tank top and scuba pants, his hair matted to his head and sand streaking his wet skin.
That wasn’t the case now. As he strode out of a large doorway at the back of the grand ballroom, the crown prince of Garronia looked positively regal in a gleaming white shirt open at the collar and a sharply tailored black suit, the jacket unbuttoned, a glint of silver at his wrist and polished loafers on his feet. His expression was open and relaxed, and Em’s heart surged as their gazes connected and his smile deepened further. She gripped Fran’s arm to keep herself standing upright. He didn’t seem like he was annoyed that she’d played the tourist card by showing up here, thank God. In fact—
“Girl, for those who are keeping score, Lauren was completely dead-on about this guy. He is way into you.”
“He’s just being polite.” Em turned to Fran. “You have your camera, don’t you? Do I look okay? Lauren thought he’d be willing to do a photo. Do you think she’s right?”
“Oh, she was so right. He’s coming your way.” Still, Fran’s eyes widened as she glanced again over Em’s shoulder. “And the attending guard isn’t slowing down either. They look a little too purposeful, honestly. There’s something a little…off about this.”
“What?” Em turned around and blinked, startled at how close Kristos already was. Close and coming fast. He gazed at her with unquestionable warmth, and Em immediately felt herself going stiff, wary, despite his welcoming expression. Am I supposed to curtsy or something? Is that what you do?
The prince—before she’d known he was a prince—had bowed to her after he’d almost tackled her on the beach. Was bowing a common practice? Was that what she should do? What was proper Garronia royalty etiquette and why don’t I already know?
“Um, here’s what I think,” Frannie murmured beside her. “He’s acting a role here, and you’re a very important part of it.”
“Acting,” Em managed without changing her expression. She watched Kristos approach, as if they were some kind of long-lost friends. “Why would he be acting?”
“No idea, but he definitely is.” Frannie spoke quickly. “So he needs you to be delighted to see him as well, delighted and not stiff, not freaked out. Whatever his lead, you go with it, okay? At least until we can figure out what happened to set him off.”
Em nodded as she surveyed the crowd, the other tourists in the great atrium. They’d noticed the prince as well, of course. Cell phones were up, photos were being taken, and a sudden buzz of conversation swept through the room like an eager rise of bees. What were they talking about? Em wondered. A few of the tourists and then more glanced her way, and she felt their interest like a physical touch. Suddenly, it seemed like there were people all around her—too close, too intense.
“No, you don’t, Em. I’m serious, chin up.” Fran’s hand was firm on her elbow. “You’re allowed only one near-drowning experience a day, and you already punched that card.”
“But there are so many people looking at us.”
“Too many, yeah,” Frannie agreed, her eyes sharp on the crowd. “Which means something happened, something that everyone knows about except—” Her face suddenly cleared, a mixture of understanding and surprise, with a touch of dismay chasing over her features. “Oh shit.”
“What?” Em tore her eyes away from the prince and his suit to stare at Fran. “Oh shit what?”
“Paparazzi. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You were seen, honey.” Fran gave her another hard squeeze. “Someone took your picture out there on the beach with your royal rescue committee. The prince here is clearly about to do damage control by acting like you two are old friends. You got it?”
Em got it, but she didn’t have time to respond to Frannie, because Prince Kristos was suddenly right there, saying her name as if it were some sort of magic charm.
“Emmaline.” He walked the last few steps without his men, who fanned out in a watchful semicircle, a move that simultaneously guaranteed they wouldn’t be attacked by the crowd—but also that they’d fully captured everyone’s attention. The solarium had gone completely silent as well, something that would have been unheard of in the States, but here it seemed that the event of a royal prince speaking to a commoner whom he’d just called by name was enough of a moment to merit listening closely. “This is a wonderful surprise. You should have told me you wanted to see the Visitors’ Palace, I would have taken you around myself.”
“Ah…” Em scrambled to keep her expression equally relaxed. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
“Nonsense.” Kristos’s warm tone indicated to her that she was playing her role well. His eyes were encouraging, and his hand, when he brought hers toward his mouth, squeezed her fingers gently. He brushed his lips across her knuckles, and Em couldn’t help but freeze, trying to fix the image in her memory so diligently that she would never forget it. “You are always welcome in my home.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, and she got a glimpse of the man he would one day be: weathered and happy, always ready to take on the world. Her very own prince to fill a thousand daydreams.
Kristos was saying something else, though, and she blinked at him. How had he moved so quickly to be so near? And what in the world was he thinking, looking at her that intently? Even if photographers had captured images of them on the beach, as Frannie suspected, it wasn’t as if they’d been having sex out there or anything.
That thought practically scrambled her brain, and she offered Kristos an apologetic and what she suspected was a completely
dazed smile. “I’m sorry?”
“Never be that,” he murmured, and before she could make sense of his words, he leaned forward the final inch and pressed his lips against hers.
Despite herself, Em drew in her breath with a sharp gasp, her fingers tightening compulsively on his and her knees practically buckling, such that the prince’s other hand snaked around to the small of her back, anchoring her to him. She let her eyes drift shut for one beautiful, glorious instant, then the sudden raucous sound of laughter and applause broke through her bubble of perfection, and she jerked back sharply, trying to straighten, to draw away.
But Kristos wouldn’t let her. He pursued her as she shifted back, his mouth claiming her anew, and suddenly, caution fled Em. This was her moment, damn it, her memory, and if she didn’t take it for all it was worth, she was going to regret it for the rest of her life.
She loosened her fingers from his grip and lifted her hands to either side of his face, cupping it gently, tenderly, as if they weren’t virtual strangers in the middle of a crowd of tourists, but a prince and his long-lost lover, reunited on the shores of some windswept beach, transported by their impossible passion for a moment more.
Then Kristos shifted, firmly and decisively, looking down at her with surprise but also with approval, satisfaction—and something else too. Something she wasn’t too certain about that chased through the depths of his golden eyes like a predator in full pounce.
“That,” he murmured for her ears alone, “was perfect.”
Kristos straightened, intrigued to see the relief brightening Em’s face. She hadn’t known. She clearly had been in the Visitors’ Palace the whole time, and hadn’t seen the images on the screen. His men had now gone into full-tilt royal-ambassador mode among the crowd. The people were dispersing—still gawking, many of them, but politely. Surreptitiously. This was Garronia, after all. There was a sense of decorum lacking in some of the other major cities of Europe, with their constant crush of people and the media monster that had to be fed.
Em seemed to sense his withdrawal and shifted away as well, which only made him want to grab her close to him again. For as much as she’d been acting the role he’d needed her to, he couldn’t shake the idea that she hadn’t been altogether present…like she’d been caught between reality and a daydream. Still, now she appeared firmly grounded in the present once more.
“Kristos, I’d like you to meet my friend, Francesca Simmons,” she said as she turned to the pretty, faintly Greek-looking woman standing next to her. “She was kind enough to come with me here—” Em hesitated, and Kristos knew without turning that a blush was climbing up her cheeks. “I guess—well, I sort of wanted to get a picture with you, if you happened to be here.”
“A picture!” Kristos snorted. “I don’t think you’ll have to search too hard to find pictures of us anymore.”
Emmaline frowned at him, then understanding flashed in her eyes. She glanced to her friend. “Fran said there had probably been photographers on the beach.”
“There are photographers everywhere.” Kristos fought a sigh, instantly regretting his actions, or, more to the point, his reactions. He had walked out here with a defined plan to rescue Emmaline from further scrutiny. Then he’d reached her, touched her hand, and that plan had gone up in smoke.
Now there would be more pictures of the two of them together, which meant more gossip and more news reports. The situation was already ridiculous, and he’d made it worse. “But come. I intended to free you from this crowd and to determine what we can do to restore some sense of privacy to your lives while you’re staying in Garronia. Unfortunately, I seem to have done exactly the opposite. Francesca, would you join us?”
“Of course.” The woman’s voice was low, almost sultry, and it fit with her dark hair and eyes. She might not be of Greek descent, but she had Mediterranean blood in her somehow, he would swear it. There was a definite cast to the shape of her face that he couldn’t quite place. Recognizing such things had never been his strong suit.
Ari would know, he thought, a sudden pang jolting him back to the task at hand. Because of Ari, he was in this mess to begin with. He needed to focus.
They stepped back into the phalanx of guards, but Kristos’s exit was hampered by requests from the crowd—autographs, photos. Ruthlessly, he forced himself to remain gracious with the press of people and to be glad that there weren’t more, since they were still inside the Visitors’ Palace.
Cyril had warned him about this in more than a few of his countless missives about Kristos’s impending role of crown prince. He was going to be a celebrity, and with that status came responsibility. And of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d ever been singled out for this attention. But what was new was that he wasn’t being “singled out” at all.
“Could I take a picture of you both?” A matronly woman with an Australian accent clutched her camera—a real camera, he recognized instantly, but not such high quality that he suspected she was a member of the press.
Suddenly not caring if she was or not, he drew Emmaline closer to him. “Of course,” he said, earning him a startled glance from Emmaline. “If it turns out well, you can send it to the palace PR department through our website. We’d love to have a copy.”
“Oh, well, of course! I’d be happy to do that!” The woman lifted her camera, and Kristos could see the slight tremor in her hands, probably from excitement. If that picture took at all, it would be a miracle. Still, he leaned close to Emmaline, reveling in her nerves, her heat, and he realized that he was eager to kiss her again.
The embrace they’d just shared had not been what he was expecting, exactly. After all, he’d already kissed her once, so he knew what she should feel like. The attraction between them was easy to understand, but this newest kiss with Emmaline had seemed almost special. Like she was bottling up the moment, somehow afraid to breathe.
What had been going on in that busy mind of hers?
The tourist fairly bounced as she thanked them, then Kristos motioned to the closest guard as a surge of other tourists pressed forward. “He’ll get you safely away,” he said as Emmaline shot him a questioning look.
“What about you?” she asked, her worry plain. As if she could somehow help him out of this tight spot, when she knew nothing about his world.
Kristos’s smile felt almost odd on his face as he handed her off to the waiting aide. “It’s part of the job.” Watching his guard usher her out ahead of them made him feel uneasy, though, and he focused on the people around him while he tried to collect his thoughts.
What was he going to do with Emmaline now that he’d helped perpetuate the rumors that Cyril had assured his father would be featured on every entertainment “royals watch” within the day? And could that actually be true? Was there really so little going on in the world that anything that happened to his family was news?
Then again, this was the story of a strange American woman who’d appeared out of nowhere and had landed in a prince’s arms. If he didn’t know the key players in the drama, he’d probably be curious too.
He twisted his lips. Now that this media distraction had happened, though, he should turn it to his advantage. His father wanted him to announce a bride—and here a potential bride had shown up, completely unwittingly. Even better, there was no way Emmaline would think his actions were sincere.
Unless, of course, she watched the news and believed what she saw on TV.
Hmm.
It still didn’t matter. Emmaline was an American, with a life halfway around the world, who had no idea that her presence was giving him a much-needed out to satisfy his father and the general public and their desire for “royal tradition.” He could create a sham relationship with her easily enough, then send her on her way after he’d figured out a more permanent solution to get him off the throne and back into the line of fire with his fellow soldiers.
Time. That was what he needed. Just a little more time.
And, in particular,
a little more time with Emmaline. That was a definite requirement.
“Sir?” A guard was at his side, one of the men he’d trained with, and the soldier’s eyes were deferential but also apologetic. “We should get you inside as well,” the guard said. As if Kristos could not adequately protect himself in a room full of tourists in thick-soled walking shoes and nylon money pouches.
Still, he nodded, allowing the protocols of his new position to guide him, even as he reinforced his decision to use the opportunity Emmaline’s presence provided.
He simply couldn’t imagine this as his future. He hadn’t been born to be cooed at and feted and dragged along from place to place, nodding earnestly and signing photographs. It wasn’t possible.
Had Ari seen this as his future too? He and his older brother hadn’t much discussed their differing roles over the past few years. After nearly two decades of life pretty much on equal terms, they’d both diverged sharply in their midtwenties—Ari to become the prince he was born to be, Kristos to rise higher in the ranks of the military. It was the way things were supposed to turn out.
Now Kristos frowned, stepping out of the buzzing glass ballroom and into the hushed quiet of the corridors beyond. The short hallway opened into another chamber, this one also outfitted with a conference table and the requisite wall of video screens. Emmaline stood at the edge of the room, snugged up against her exotic-looking friend, staring at the screens as if they were a horror movie that wouldn’t shut off.
“Mermaid Princess?” ran one caption as pictures scrolled through—these starting out earlier than the first feed, showing Kristos on the shore with his men as Cyril drove up, then diving into the water. The camera followed him the entire way, until he lifted Emmaline free of the current and tugged her to shore. Then came the pictures that had everyone in a lather, with him cradling her on his lap. At the time, it hadn’t seemed like such an intimate act, so brazen and possessive. At the time, it had simply felt…right.
Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1 Page 5
