‘Anything can bring us down right now,’ Sebastian answered grimly. ‘We’re on a knife edge. We have to find that diamond. So I want you here now.’
The phone went dead. Andreas was left staring into space. Hating it.
The royal goldfish bowl…He couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t hated it.
A memory popped up, uninvited and maybe untimely.
When he was six years old he’d been ill. Seriously ill, with rheumatic fever. He had glimmers of memory through a haze of fever. His huge bed with its starched white sheets, in the over-ornate hall that served as the royal nursery. Doctors surrounding him, looking grave. His mother coming into the room, sitting on his bed-an almost unheard of thing for the queen to do. His father restricted his contact with his parents to a ten-minute recital of his achievements for the day, formally performed before high tea. But this day she had stayed, and looked worried. And then he remembered the magic words-said to his nanny, Sophia.
‘Very well, if that’s what the doctors are ordering, you can take him home. I’ll defy his father, on this. But you’re not to let him forget what’s due to him.’
What followed was three months in Sophia’s home town, in Sophia’s own home. Sophia’s mountain village was known for its medicinal qualities-it was supposed to be a place where damaged lungs and hearts could find a place to heal.
Sophia had promised his father that he’d be treated as a prince, gravely and sincerely. They’d been driven to the village in one of the palace’s vast limousines. Sophia had been strictly formal all the way home, but as they stood in the doorway of her home and watched the limousine disappear into the distance she’d suddenly bent and hugged him.
‘I have you here, my little cabbage, and I’ll make you well,’ she’d said joyously. ‘This is our secret but for these three months I want you to be a child. I want you to be free.’
And he had been. As his health had improved he’d swooped around the village as part of the tribe of local kids, running, playing, going to the local school, getting into mischief, falling for the misbegotten mutts that were the family pets. He’d eaten at Sophia’s kitchen table with Sophia and Nikos-they’d both been granted leave of absence from the palace staff to take care of this sickly princeling.
They were sharing the rambling old house with Sophia’s two grown sons and their wives, and a tribe of grandchildren. Sophia had tucked him into bed each night-a bedroom he shared with Sophia’s oldest grandson. She’d hugged him and kissed him and he’d slept as he’d never slept before or since.
His mother’s words had stayed with him as he returned to the palace. You can take him home. That was what it had felt like. He’d wanted so much to go back. His time in Australia had been a desperate attempt to relive that experience-being normal-being a kid again.
And in a way it had worked. He’d fallen in love with Holly in the same way a six-year-old had fallen in love with Sophia. Or actually in a very different way, he thought ruefully. But there were similarities. He’d escaped into…love.
But both times had ended. Both times he’d been called back to the palace, to the place where shows of emotion were regarded as weakness. Where noise and mess, pets and mischief were not tolerated. Where the word home had no place. But he had no choice. It was his duty. It was his birthright.
He was needed now. He had to go back.
With Holly. It had to be with Holly.
She’d hate it, he thought. He had no right to ask this of her, even for a short while. But it was too soon to send her back to Australia.
Hell, he didn’t want her back at the palace, confined to royal protocol. His fantasy with Holly had never included royal trimmings.
He looked through the open bathroom door to the bedroom beyond. Deefer was watching him from the doorway. The pup’s intelligent little face was cocked to the side as if he knew his master was troubled.
‘Can you be a royal dog?’ he asked.
Deefer stared back at him, appearing to ponder the question. Then, bored, he gazed around him.
The bed had a massive brocade cover, tumbled now and lying half over the end of the bed. It had magnificent gold tassles on the side.
Deefer barked at the closest tassle. Then he crouched low, pounced, grabbed the tassle and headed for the main door. Dragging the priceless brocade with him.
Maybe not, Andreas thought ruefully. Maybe Deefer wasn’t a royal dog as Holly wasn’t a royal princess.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and flicked off the taps. He reached for his towel and padded through to find his clothes. A suit. Clothes to make him a prince again.
With wife? With dog?
Only if they both learned to toe the royal line.
They were on opposite sides of the helicopter again. This machine wasn’t meant for lovers. Nor was it meant for man and wife.
She didn’t feel like a wife right now. She was on her way to being a royal princess. She felt small and insignificant and scared.
Andreas was staring out the window to the land below. Aristo.
A reception committee was waiting. From the helicopter she could see a cluster of waiting suits, of media jostling for position.
‘The press?’ she asked in a small voice and Andreas sighed.
‘It’s only to be expected. Our marriage has caused enormous interest. However hopefully they’ll back off now I’ve done the right thing.’
‘Now I’ve done the right thing…’
He was still staring below. Preoccupied. How could he know that her heart felt as if it had been pierced?
‘They would have had my hide if I hadn’t married you,’ he said grimly, almost to himself. ‘It’s what being a royal’s all about. You’re pressured from day one. Your life’s not your own. Hell, if I’d been able to follow my own course…You’re better out of it, Holly.’
He turned to her then and she had to fight-really fight-to get her face under control. She felt sick.
‘I…How long do I need to stay?’ she managed.
‘I’ll talk to Sebastian.’
And that was that. He’d talk to the future king. He’d do what was required.
The last three days she’d allowed herself to hope. No, she’d allowed herself to believe that there was truly a marriage, for that was what it had felt like.
I’ll talk to Sebastian.
The course of their marriage was in the hands of the Prince Regent, Sebastian. Naturally.
This had been truly time out of frame, she thought dully as the helicopter landed, as the doors were hauled open to readmit the world. Three days of memories to last her for the rest of her life.
How could it be enough?
Maybe it had to be enough. They were taken over the moment they landed. The moment the doors were open there were flashlights going everywhere, almost blinding her.
Andreas climbed out first and helped her after him. He held her hand and she clung.
She was wearing a tight-fitting, little green dress-a sundress. She should be corporate, she thought. To face this she needed power clothes. Shoulder pads. Business black.
‘How was the honeymoon?’ someone yelled, and there were chuckles and questions, fielded by Andreas like an expert. All she could do was cling like a limpet and hope it’d soon be over.
‘How does it feel to be a royal wife?’ someone called and Andreas was before her.
‘Holly’s not intended to be a royal wife,’ he said smoothly. ‘Yes, we’ve wed, but Holly’s life is in Australia. She runs one of the most beautiful cattle stations in her country. I’ll never ask her to give that up to take on royal duties.’
There was a moment’s shocked hush. Then a torrent of follow-up interrogation, all of which could be summed up in the one phrase.
‘You mean it’s not a real marriage?
‘I didn’t say that,’ Andreas said smoothly. ‘We were married before God and we intend to keep our vows. But marriage means different things for different people. Christina and I had a royal m
arriage where both of us were expected to play a role in public life. But Holly’s not a royal wife. To ask that of her would be unfair.’
‘So you’re going back to Australia?’ someone demanded of her. ‘When?’
‘There are many things to be sorted,’ Andreas interceded smoothly. ‘We’ll let you know.’
‘But you’ll attend royal functions until then?’ someone called.
‘She will,’ Andreas said.
What was happening here? Holly thought, stunned. Limpet? Wet rag more like it. Docile bride standing meekly by her husband’s side as he answered her questions. The husband as the woman’s spokesperson.
‘And how do I like my porridge?’ she blurted out, before she could help herself.
‘Pardon?’ Andreas stared down at her. Everyone was staring at her.
‘Tell the press how I like my porridge,’ she said dangerously, and she knew no good could come of this. She could feel a wave of anger so strong it threatened to overwhelm her. But she was on the wave now and there was no way she could get off until it was ridden to its end.
‘We don’t understand,’ a reporter complained.
‘I mean if I’m asked a question-about me-then maybe I’m the one capable of answering it. I’ll be going back to Australia when I feel like it,’ she snapped. ‘When I decide. I’m not intended for a royal wife? That sounds like I’ve been produced on some breeding programme. I’m sorry, my love,’ she said, and she managed a saccharine smile as Andreas stared at her, astounded. ‘I know. A royal wife shuts up and lets her husband speak for her. But I’m not a royal wife. You’ve just said so. I’m just a wife. I’m just me. Let’s take that as read and move on.’
He was furious. Not just angry but almost impotent with rage. They sat in the back of the limousine on the way to the palace and he stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.
Two could play at that game. She stared right back, furiously defiant.
‘A royal wife stays in the background,’ he snapped.
‘Does she? I wouldn’t know. I’m not a royal wife.’
‘Holly, you don’t understand. It’s imperative that our behaviour is above reproach.’
‘I thought my behaviour was above reproach,’ she said, dangerously quiet. If her father could hear her now maybe he’d warn Andreas. My daughter has a temper. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
But Andreas had no such warning. The political consequences of their actions were first and foremost in his mind and he wasn’t seeing past them.
‘You had a child out of wedlock,’ he said tightly. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Enough?’
‘For the country to judge you. You need to be demure and quiet and respectful.’
‘Respectful of you.’
‘Of course. I’m your husband.’
‘I thought you were more than that. I thought you were my lover.’
‘On our island, yes. Not here. Here you follow the rules set by my family. You have to be silent, Holly.’
‘I don’t believe,’ she said softly, ‘that silence was in the marriage vows.’
‘You know it’s why I married you.’
‘Sorry?’ She was past angry now, but she wasn’t shouting. Maybe she even sounded reasonable. Softly enquiring of her husband what he meant.
‘If the Calista royals had found you before we did…’
‘Before…we?’
‘My brother and I.’
‘What would the royals of Calista have done?’
‘They would have brought us down. Hell, Holly, I don’t have to tell you this. I’ve never made a secret of it.’
‘No,’ she said, breaking eye contact to give her head a bit of space. She turned and stared out the car window. They were approaching the palace. Huge tree-lined avenues heralded the approach. They’d swept in the main gates but there was still half a mile to travel before they reached the main residence.
The gates had closed behind them. If she got out now…
‘Look, Holly, I don’t know how long Sebastian intends to keep you here…’
She gasped at that, swivelling back to stare at him again. ‘Sebastian. Sebastian! So it’s not up to us, how long our marriage lasts. It’s not even up to you. It’s up to Sebastian!’
‘He’s your future king.’
‘Your future king,’ she snapped.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You can walk away.’
‘When Sebastian says I can.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with you?’
‘Holly, this was never a real marriage. You know that. I have royal obligations and you…you can’t even bear to shut up for one press call.’
‘I can’t, can I?’
‘Holly…’ He hesitated, then held out his hand to her in a gesture of entreaty. She stared down at it-a tanned, finely boned hand, complete with a wedding ring.
He was coaxing her to do the right thing. He’d done the right thing-by the nation. For the royal family. He’d married her in all honour. And then he’d bedded her in spectacular fashion-for why waste a perfectly good wife?
Only now the deed was done, normal life must resume. Stay in the background, shut up and wear beige. No, that was the rule she’d heard for the mother of the groom at weddings. Never for the bride.
But she wasn’t a bride; at least not a royal one. Her husband was holding his hand out to her, commanding her to join with him, commanding her to keep up this pretence.
Fine. She would. But pretence it was. She ignored the hand, and grabbed Deefer who’d been sleeping on the seat beside her. She hugged him to her, holding him like a shield.
‘I need to know how long,’ she muttered.
‘How long what?’
‘Before I can go home,’ she answered angrily.
‘Holly, please…’
‘Look, Andreas, let’s agree. The whole situation is irrational. I hadn’t figured it out until now, but finally I have. All right, Andreas, I’ll stand back, shut up and wear beige. But you and Sebastian had better figure out a time frame to let me go, because wearing beige will make me crazy.’
It got worse. The servants were lined up to welcome them ‘home’. It seemed Andreas had his own apartments in one wing of the vast Castle of Aristo. There were no less than fifteen uniformed servants lined up to receive them. Andreas walked down the line shaking hands, receiving congratulations. Holly followed, but the first time she tentatively went to shake a hand herself Andreas stopped her with a sharp little gesture of rebuke. The servant-a middle-aged woman-took a fast step back.
‘This is Mme Pirentas, our housekeeper,’ Andreas said, formally, and then proceeded to introduce each in turn. Valet, butler, footmen, housemaids, gardeners. Each made a formal bow to her, but she’d learned her lesson now and kept her hands to herself. And her tongue.
They’d just reached the end of the line when there was a stir inside the entrance. Two more liveried servants emerged, ushering out a woman between them. Queen Tia, Andreas’s mother. The elderly queen walked down the steps, grasped Andreas’s hands and kissed him on either cheek.
‘My son,’ she said softly, sounding worried. ‘Welcome home. You are naughty to take your bride away when we needed you.’
‘Three days, Mama,’ Andreas said. ‘Hardly an extended honeymoon.’
‘No, but at such a time, with Alex still away…Sebastian has barely been able to contain himself.’ Tia shook her head, her formal smile of welcome fading as she turned to Holly. ‘Welcome home, my dear. I’ll have someone show you to your apartments. Andreas, Sebastian is expecting you in your father’s study. Now.’
‘I should show Holly-’
‘I’ll organize Holly,’ Tia said in a tone that reminded Holly forcibly of her son. Aristocratic. Determined. And sure that the Red Sea would part for her. ‘You go. You’re needed. Holly will understand, I’m sure.’
And that was that. Andreas disappeared. Holly was left with a dozen servants and the queen.
‘So I’ll see my husband again…at dinner?’ she asked and the queen flashed her an uncertain glance.
‘I’m not sure. I believe Sebastian wishes him to travel to Greece.’
‘Greece,’ she said blankly. ‘Um…with me?’
‘You need to make yourself at home here.’
‘Do I?’
‘My dear…’
‘Oh, you needn’t worry,’ Holly said, seeing dismay wash over the aristocratic features. ‘I’m not about to make a scene. I’ve been told my role here is beige and that’s what you’ll get. So I’ll stay here while my husband goes to Greece. When can I have an audience with Sebastian?’
‘Pardon?
‘It’s Sebastian who pulls the strings round here, right? Then it’s Sebastian who’ll tell me when it’s convenient for my marriage to end.’
‘You mean His Majesty, Prince Sebastian,’ Tia said severely. ‘And I believe my son thinks it might be a good thing if it doesn’t end.’
Holly’s eyebrows did a hike skyward. ‘Really?’
‘It was a lovely performance in church.’
A performance. A performance!
‘That’s nice,’ she said between clenched teeth. She bent down and picked up Deefer. She’d set him down to greet the servants but she had need of his small, plump presence. Her comfort dog.
‘Give the dog to one of the men,’ Tia said, looking uncertain. ‘Is he yours?’
‘Yes,’ she said and her hold instinctively tightened.
‘He can be looked after in the stables.’
‘He’ll stay with me.’
‘My husband’s rule is that we don’t have animals in the palace.’
Her husband? Wasn’t Aegeus dead?
Did the rules made by dead kings last for ever? And did the rules made by dead kings apply to her?
‘That might create a problem,’ Holly said cautiously. ‘You’re saying I have to sleep in the stables?’
Tia glanced nervously at the servants. They were out of hearing. Just. Her tone softened, becoming sympathetic. ‘As a young bride I learned fast that I needed to obey the rules.’
The Prince’s Captive Wife Page 13
