How to Love a Princess

by Claire Robyns

  The front page was devoted to the mines, the dangers and the safety precautions that had been put in place. Once she was satisfied her people had been thoroughly informed, Catherine flicked to the second page.

  Nicolas’s image smiled at her, so devastating and charming, she had to smile back for a good moment before moving on to the small writing underneath. No official statement had yet been released, but she was not surprised to read of her mother’s imminent recovery and the man behind it. These things had a way of getting out, no matter what.

  Catherine hit the button on her phone to summon Erling. When he came through the inter-leading door, she waved the newspaper at him, “We’ll have to arrange a press conference for today.”

  “Already done,” he said, confirming he’d seen the article.

  The next three days passed too quickly for Catherine. Her mother was improving, although she was nowhere near full health yet. Nicolas spent most of his time between the queen and the mines, but reserved the evenings for Catherine.

  After supper, they sat by the fire until the wee morning hours, talking, playing chess and simply gazing into each other’s eyes over a mug of hot chocolate or glass of whiskey.

  Every night, he walked her up the stairs, took her in his arms and kissed her, thoroughly and urgently.

  And every night she somehow managed to slip free and close her bedroom door between them.

  She was his weakness and his strength. She balanced him. Catherine was beginning to hope, to believe, but still she was afraid, still she held back.

  Her father’s weakness had been the authority he wielded.

  Her grandfather’s weakness had been his pride.

  Nicolas commanded immense authority and he had a nation’s worth of pride, but if she were by chance his only weakness. Doubt, hope, sweet anticipation and black dread. The clash of emotions kept her awake at night until sheer exhaustion closed her eyes.

  She was almost relieved when the day of the meeting Nicolas had insisted on came. It signalled an end she was ready to accept either way.

  The end of hope?

  The end of doubt and fear, she told herself firmly as she gathered her notes and made her way to the pre-meeting session with her two senior ministers, Servuis and Changelle. They alone, in the team of six advisors to be present at the meeting, knew the full secrets of the mines and the importance of the unique energy source never being revealed. If the people of Ophella knew they lived each day on the brink of war, that they were possibly all that stood between the world and it’s inevitable energy crisis in the next couple of decades, pandemonium would reign.

  Before Catherine had a chance to catch her breath, she was facing Nicolas and his three experts across the boardroom table.

  “The mineral poison could mutate into an airborne contamination,” argued one, going on to back his statement up with medical fact.

  “…seep into Ophella’s water supply,” concluded another after a lengthy explanation.

  “We can’t rule out cross pollination with Ophella’s crops,” said yet another with a stretch of the imagination Catherine could no longer ignore.

  “Ophella doesn’t produce any local crops,” she interrupted.

  “No back garden vegetable patches?” she was immediately challenged. “Grass, fruit trees and flowers. You cannot prevent people from coming in contact with nature.”

  “I see your point,” she conceded, then swept her gaze from one end of the table to the other, commanding the attention of each person at the table, expert and advisor. “Let’s not forget, none of this has happened yet and the mines have been operational for almost twenty years.”

  As if on cue, her statement opened a heated debate that clearly indicated her advisors had been won over to the side of Nicolas and his experts. All, that is, except Servuis and Changelle.

  Nicolas rose to his feet and looked Catherine directly in the eye. “The picture we’ve painted here might be pessimistically gloomy, but if even one of these possibilities become reality, you’ve got a crisis on your hands that could be avoided.”

  “I understand.” Catherine paused, waiting for him to take his seat. So long as he stood, she felt as if she were fighting him and him alone. When he didn’t, she had no option but to continue. “The reality I’m trying to avoid, however, is not if but when the repercussions of shutting down the mines hit Ophella.”

  Still hoping to avoid this one-on-one clash, she deliberately disconnected from his dark gaze to look about the table. “The matter of closing down our mines will be revisited at the conclusion of the extensive investigation we intend to launch. I appreciate every concern raised and will certainly not ignore the possible consequences outlined.”

  “But you are ignoring them.”

  She turned a cool gaze back on Nicolas.

  “As long as those mines remain operational,” Nicolas continued, “you’re ignoring warnings from people much more informed than you’ll ever be, and dismissing endangering lives as an inevitable by-product of whatever the hell you’re mining there.”

  “You were right to call this meeting,” Catherine said, attempting to soothe him, but also aware of the importance of the information shared today. “We’ve learnt a great deal more on what we might be facing.”

  Nicolas shook his head on a grimace. “Listen to your advisors. Admit that maybe you were wrong. Is it so—”

  Catherine stopped him by pushing to her feet. “Could I have a word with you in private? Excuse us for a moment,” she added to the rest of the table.

  Once in the passage, she placed a hand on Nicolas’s arm and pleaded, “Please, don’t continue to fight me.”

  “I’m not fighting you,” he said roughly. “I’m fighting for the people of Ophella.”

  “So am I.”

  “How?” he demanded, then brushed her hand from his arm. “Never mind. Obviously I was wrong to assume a few more facts would change your mind. You gave me warning enough.”

  “So, you’ll stop now?”

  “Of course not.” As he looked at her, his glare softened and the deep scowl faded. His sigh was weary and irritable. “I’ll take this fight into an arena I’m more at home with.”

  With that, Nicolas marched back into the meeting room, leaving Catherine to follow and thank everyone for their time, at the same time leaving no one in doubt that she stood firm by her original decision.

  A little further down the passage, Jonnal stepped from the shadowed corner where she’d been dusting a marble bust. She stared at the closed door for a few moments, then hurried along, eager to reach the kitchens where some of the staff were taking their morning tea.

  I’m fighting for the people of Ophella.

  Gracious, warm shivers hit her spine at the remembered rumble in his voice.

  Catherine buried herself in work for the rest of the day. Still, Nicolas’s words came back to her, again and again, regurgitating the doubts and fear that should have been left behind after the meeting. What exactly had he meant by an arena he was more at home with?

  He’s going home, she concluded.

  He’ll assemble another team of experts and fight her using his London connections, she revised in the next moment. Which meant he’d be back.

  Both possibilities churned her stomach.

  She was more than a little surprised when Nicolas came into her office later that afternoon and took a seat close to her. “I’ve got Berkley and Sommerfield on board,” he stated, mentioning two of the experts at the meeting. A grin slipped past his grim mood. “They’ve agreed to join my team.”

  “Your team?” she queried.

  “Unless you’re going back on your word about mine 3?”

  “Of course not.” She leant forward, shaking her head slowly, frowning. “I just thought— I didn’t realise you’d be staying to head the team yourself.”

  He leant forward as well, his dark gaze penetrating with soft, warm rays. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. You haven’t won yet, Cathe
rine. If I find anything incriminating down that shaft—”

  “Bring me proof,” she cut in, “and I’ll be the first to listen.”

  Nicolas tipped her chin up with his knuckles. “Till then, stalemate?”

  The beginnings of a smile trickled into her heart. “Truce.”

  His thumb drifted along the line of her jaw, a slow caress that confused her body into believing all would be fine with them. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  She stared into his eyes, mesmerised by his husky invitation, feeling the flutter from her tummy to her toes. “We have dinner together every night.”

  She sounded breathless and flirty. The smile inside her heart pushed to her lips. She felt breathless and flirty.

  “My room.” His meaning was laid bare, in his voice, his gaze, his touch. “Eight pm sharp.”

  He was asking her out on a date. Heat flushed to her cheeks as his caress lingered there. After all they’d been through and here she was, feeling like a giddy teenager asked out on her first date. So much so, she trampled her escalating doubts and tried on five outfits before choosing the silvery blue silk.

  What am I doing? she asked herself as she stood outside his bedroom door at eight o’ clock, her curled fingers poised to knock. Nothing would ever be fine between them again. How could it be after that disastrous meeting? Now, surely, Nicolas knew what any possible relationship of theirs was up against. The relentless question had plagued her on and off the entire afternoon with two recurring answers for why she standing outside his door.

  I’m giving in to the power of hope.

  I’m letting him down easy.

  When the door opened on her second knock, both possible answers jammed in her throat.

  He looked so deeply, darkly handsome in the navy suit that added formality to the dinner he’d planned; so charmingly roguish with his top button still undone and that matching tie hanging loose down his chest, hair swept back as if he’d just run his fingers through it in frustration.

  “I’m running late,” Nicolas said, standing back with an apologetic grin.

  Catherine swallowed hard. He’d stepped aside for her to enter, but her legs seemed to have other ideas. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, other than torturing both of them one last time.

  “It’s only dinner,” he said to her hesitancy.

  Her gaze went past him, to the flickering light inside the room. Candles. An intimate table had been set up beside the French doors that led to a balcony. Two chairs. Two crystal glasses sparkling in the candlelight. A bottle of wine cooling on a stand beside the table.

  She brought her gaze back to Nicolas and saw the determination in his eyes.

  I want you back, those eyes said.

  I want you back, too.

  “We need to talk.” Catherine walked past him, suddenly confident of one thing only. This time, it would be a mutual decision. The famous de’Ariggo temper had been unleashed on Nicolas and he’d dealt with her and her guards with outstanding ease without losing an inch of authority or pride. She’d asserted royal precedence at the most condemning level before his peers this morning, and yet here he was.

  Whatever happened, whatever future was decided between them, would be done together. She owed Nicolas that. And maybe she owed herself that as well.

  “You take my breath away, cucciola.”

  She spun about sharply to find he hadn’t moved from the door.

  “I never told you that I fell in love with you the moment I saw you,” he said softly, a grin slashing devastating lines across the strong angles of his jaw. “When your shoulder bumped mine, it was a jolt of lightning that burnt its mark on my heart and never faded.”

  “Nicolas.” Her face crinkled with emotion as he put words to everything she’d felt, still felt.

  He waved a hand in dismissal with a low chuckle as he tapped the door closed and strolled slowly toward her. “I just wanted you to know that.”

  Before we talk. The vulnerability in his eyes spoke for him. She’d pushed him away over and over again and each time he came back, confident and stubborn, as if he refused to accept any way other than his, as if his arrogance would not allow him to believe he couldn’t have her. The soft brown depths on his eyes, however, told another story. It was not arrogance that kept him coming back.

  When his hand moved to his throat, fingers stumbling over the top button, Catherine stopped him. “Don’t do your top button. Leave your tie.”

  She wanted him just the way he was. Formidably formal and endearingly dishevelled. Arrogantly confident and touchingly vulnerable.

  His fingers faltered, then his hand fell at his side. “Wine?”

  “Please.”

  He veered from his direct path to the table. Catherine followed, going around the opposite end of the table to gaze out the glass door. The curtains were open and the stars hung as crystal shards in the frigid winter night sky. She felt him at her back before she felt his arm come around, before he pushed the wine glass into her hand.

  Catherine accepted the glass and turned into his arms, looking into his eyes, leaving the winter outside and allowing her heart to thaw.

  “What are we doing?” she whispered.

  His grin grew lazy, languid with the weight of love. “I’m asking you to marry me, dolce cuore.”

  And I think I’m accepting, she thought dreamily.

  But the doubts held her tongue a moment longer. It couldn’t be this easy. Nothing had been resolved. Nicolas might have proved himself resilient in the face of her blackest fears, but they were not married. She was not his wife. In reality, nothing had been proved after all.

  He lifted her chin with his thumb and covered her struggling answer with a sensual kiss. She yielded to the touch of his firm lips slanting over hers, to the hand that caressed a trail of heat up her arm, along the curve of her shoulder and to the sensitive spot at the base of her skull. When he pulled away, his lips lingering a long moment on hers, reluctant to release, she had to steady herself against him.

  “I’m leaving for London in the morning,” he said, his hand still cupping behind her head.

  “You’re leaving?” she repeated in dismay.

  “Only for a few days. Give me your answer when I return.”

  Catherine nodded, wanting to shout a resounding ‘Yes, Yes, Yes’ to the world, at the same time relieved at the temporary respite because she knew the wrong answer would damage Nicolas more than it would hurt her.

  A discrete knock drew Nicolas from her side. As he went to the door, Catherine pulled back the closest chair and sank into it. Serge wheeled in a heated tray of silver covered platters.

  “We’ll serve ourselves,” Nicolas told him.

  With a small bow to Catherine, and then to Nicolas, he departed.

  “I wanted to cook up something special for us, but that chef of yours is rather possessive about his kitchen,” Nicolas said, a sparkle in his eyes as he came to stand beside the tray.

  Catherine laughed softly. “Claustaud answers to no one.”

  He lifted the lids to reveal baked salmon and steamed greens, the first meal he’d ever made for her in his Chelsea home.

  Catherine closed her eyes on the wave of memories that flooded her and spilled from her heart. We have a choice, she reminded herself. We can still choose ‘us’. She opened her eyes as she sensed his closeness and found him serving a portion of salmon onto her plate. “We need to talk about what happened in the meeting this morning, Nicolas.”

  “You overruled my expertise with your authority.” A statement, with no bitterness or anger. He continued dishing food onto both their plates. “Maybe I’ll never understand it, but whatever your convictions, I hope they’re good enough to stand up to any evidence I deliver.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then we’ll have another fight on our hands.” He looked up, holding her gaze.

  Catherine rubbed her temple. “Is this to be it, then? One continuous fight if we’re to be together?
”

  “That’s not fair, Catherine.” He replaced the silver spoon on the platter and took his seat. The look he gave her was direct, but not cold. “We’re not fighting now, are we?”

  “We’re not married,” she countered. “This morning, you didn’t lose to your wife. You wouldn’t overlook what happened as easily if your wife had disregarded your insight, your recommendations, and especially not in front of your peers.”

  He sipped on his wine, looking at her, frowning. “I didn’t overlook anything and I especially didn’t lose. I accept we have a difference of opinion and could not reach an agreement.”

  “But my opinion ruled and that must have cost you a certain amount of respect before your panel of experts.”

  “No more than it cost them. You disregarded all of us.”

  Catherine released a sigh of pure frustration. They were doing the circle thing again, going nowhere without proof, arguing the situation as it was, not as it would be were they husband and wife. The problem was, once she was in a position to get that irrefutable proof, it would be too late. She would be his wife and the damage would be done.

  “In this morning’s meeting,” she pressed, “you were on the same platform as your experts. If we were married, you’d be elevated above them as my husband, as the man I love and respect, and rightly so. You’d expect preferential regard from me and those peers would expect it too.”

  Nicolas had his own sigh, but he kept it in his chest. He knew Catherine’s fears, but they weren’t his. Nothing could come between them, least of all that which she feared most.

  “Just because you disagree with me doesn’t change what I believe to be right. Neither does it alter your convictions, Catherine. I don’t consider myself a lesser man in any way for not being able to force your hand.”

  He set his glass down and reached across the table, his palms upward, reaching for her trust. “If your answer is yes, we will soon be husband and wife. When I bring my team back, I’ll be working with the same colleagues that were in that meeting this morning. I won’t suddenly feel belittled or worthless, I won’t suddenly feel rejected and ready to fall from some elevated platform because you are now my wife, because you had the audacity to defy your husband-to-be in the face of overwhelming evidence and reasons not to. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have selected them to be on my team, to witness my so called shattered pride, now would I? At the very least, I would have assembled a brand new team that knew nothing of my so called shame.”