Royal Holiday Bride

by Brenda Harlen

  Her stomach churned at the thought. If she was wrong, she would find herself looking at pictures of Dante and another woman, maybe touching that other woman, kissing her and even making love with her.

  She’d rather know than speculate.

  She opened the flap and tipped out the photos.

  And her heart started beating again.

  Dante didn’t want to see the shock and hurt and betrayal on her face when she looked at the pictures, but he couldn’t seem to look away.

  He heard the sharp intake of her breath as the photos spilled out of the envelope. Yep, there was the shock. She sifted through the images, scrutinizing each one closely enough that her study made him uneasy.

  He waited for her to rage, to cry, to throw something at him. But after she’d looked at all of the photos, she put them back in the envelope and said, “I know who she is.”

  “Whoever she is, you have to believe that I didn’t go to the ball looking to hook up with someone,” he said, desperate for her to trust him. “In fact, I only went because I thought you would be there.”

  “Instead you met Juno.”

  He should have realized that she would recognize the peacock feathers in the mask as one of the goddess’s trademarks because of her association with the Juno’s Touch project at PACH.

  “The mythos theme for the ball was my idea,” she told him now. “The costumes were my idea. And I was Juno.”

  He stared at her, stunned. He wanted to believe what she said was true, but it seemed too incredible.

  “She had red hair and green eyes—” he shook his head, startled by what was so patently obvious to him now “—easy enough to fake with a wig and colored contacts.”

  She nodded.

  “You knew,” he said, startled anew by this realization. “You knew that I was Jupiter, that I was the man you made love with that night, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I only figured it out a few days ago,” she told him, clearly on the defensive now. “Before I left for Tesoro del Mar, when I went into your office to write a note, I knocked your agenda off of the desk and found a peacock feather in it.”

  He didn’t know how he was supposed to respond or even how he was supposed to feel. Was it appropriate to feel relief that he hadn’t been with someone else? To feel shock that the woman he had been with was the woman he loved? But he had to set aside the shock, and he knew that any sense of relief was premature because discovering the real identity of Juno wasn’t going to make the scandal of the photos go away.

  “What are we going to do now?” Marissa asked, apparently having tracked the direction of his thoughts. “How are we supposed to respond to something like this?”

  “I’m sure my advisers are already meeting with the palace’s media liaison to figure out all the potential angles,” he told her. “Right now, I see a couple of possibilities. We can ignore the photos and trust that something bigger and juicier will take over the headlines by the end of the week. Or I can make an official statement acknowledging that those are photos of me taken the night of the masquerade ball and asserting that there has been no one else in my life since I met you.”

  “Or we could call a press conference where I show up in Juno’s costume to put an end to the speculation once and for all.”

  “No way.” His response was as definite as it was immediate.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know how much you hate being the center of any kind of media attention and this will be the worst possible kind.” In fact, knowing how strongly she felt about avoiding publicity, he was shocked that she would ever come up with such a plan.

  “I wouldn’t have chosen to go public with the information,” she admitted. “But you can’t honestly expect me to remain in the shadows now that those photos are everywhere.”

  “Those photos were taken because Naomi was targeting me. There’s no reason to drag you into the middle of this.”

  “No reason except that I’m already in the middle of it.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t completely isolate you from the fallout, but I can—and will—ensure you’re protected as much as possible. And there is absolutely no way I’m involving you in a sex scandal.”

  “They’re sexy pictures,” she said. “But not sex pictures.”

  “The distinction isn’t going to mean much to the reporters shouting questions at you and photographers blinding you with flashbulbs.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me, Dante. I need you to let me stand by your side, to show the world that we are united.”

  “But why would you want to? I know this whole scenario is a nightmare for you.”

  “Because I love you,” she said simply.

  The words rocked him to the core. Stunned him. Humbled him.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I don’t deserve you,” he said. “But I am so incredibly grateful for you.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tight. “And I will stand by your side, for now and forever,” she vowed. “But I won’t be tucked away and then taken out when it suits your purposes. I need to be your partner. I need you to know that I will always be there for you.”

  “I want you by my side,” he said. “But you can’t blame me for wanting to protect you.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she assured him. “I’m just telling you that I won’t accept it.”

  “I guess that means we’re going to do a press conference—together.”

  Less than twenty-four hours after Matteo knocked on the door of Dante’s suite, Dante and Marissa stood together outside the front gates of the palace to issue their joint statement to the media.

  Marissa knew the ripple effects would continue for a while, but they’d done what they could and from this point on, they just had to ride out the waves. Dante took her hand, guiding her away from the crowd. The festively decorated gates closed behind them, shutting out the reporters and photographers. But cameras continued to flash, capturing every step as they made their way, hand in hand, back to the palace.

  “Well, that’s done,” Dante said, careful to keep his voice low.

  Marissa could only breathe a slow and shaky sigh of relief. She didn’t want him to know how absolutely terrified she’d been, or that she was still shaking on the inside. But she’d faced down the reporters without batting an eyelash—and without throwing up. She figured if she could face that rabid pack of reporters with such a meaty story, anything else she would encounter would be a piece of cake.

  Of course, Dante had done all the talking, reading a joint statement that had been carefully prepared and meticulously proofed. They were advised not to take any questions, since they weren’t prepared to lie about the events of that night and the king’s advisers didn’t want either of them to admit they hadn’t even exchanged names before they’d gotten naked together.

  Dante squeezed her hand. “You survived your first trial by fire,” he said reassuringly.

  “Hopefully my first and last,” she said.

  Waiting at the top of the steps behind the balustrade draped with an evergreen garland, were all of Dante’s family. Benedicto stood tall, clasping Arianna’s hand in his own. They were flanked by their other four children, with Jovanni and Leticia on one side and Francesca and Matteo on the other. The decorated evergreen trees lined up in the background made it appear as if they were posing for a Christmas greeting card, reminding Marissa that—despite everything else that had happened over the past few days—the holidays were rapidly approaching.

  But it wasn’t the decor that had snagged her attention—it was the Romero family’s unexpected show of support. Marissa hadn’t realized they were there—truthfully, she wished they hadn’t had to witness any of what had been revealed in the past twenty-four hours. Seeing them now, her eyes filled with tears.

  Her own family was, by virtue of being in Tesoro del Mar, more removed from the situation. But for the citizens of Ardena, there was no distance or objectivity. Dante w
as their king—the head of their government, ambassador of their nation and supposed role model for future generations. And the effects of his behavior were real and immediate.

  Marissa feared that for Benedicto and Arianna and their children the situation was even more personal. To them, Dante wasn’t just the king of Ardena; he was their son and their brother. Despite the public show of support, she couldn’t help but fear that they were privately disappointed.

  It was Arianna who broke the silence when they reached the top of the steps, but only to say, “Come, Marissa. The dressmaker is here for final approval on your wedding gown design.”

  It was exactly the distraction she needed to push the press conference out of her mind, if only for a little while. She reviewed the sketches, suggested a few minor changes. Her measurements were double-checked, the designer clucking her disapproval about brides unnecessarily dropping pounds and dresses requiring last-minute adjustments.

  “I’m sorry,” Marissa said to Arianna when the designer had gone.

  Dante’s mother looked genuinely puzzled. “Whatever are you apologizing for?”

  “For my selfish and reckless behavior.”

  Arianna perched on the edge of the stool in front of Marissa and took both of her hands. “You are one of the most selfless and considerate people I’ve ever known,” she said sincerely. “But no one goes through life without making mistakes. Fortunately, most people don’t have to worry that those mistakes will be broadcast to the world and judged by those who have no right to judge. Unfortunately for you, as a princess and soon-to-be queen, you don’t fall into the category of ‘most people.’”

  “I thought you’d be angry.”

  “I’m furious,” the queen promised. “But not with you, and not even with Dante, although this admittedly isn’t his first…indiscretion.”

  Marissa managed a smile at that.

  “And I’m grateful that you were there with my son today.”

  “Where else would I have been?”

  “I imagine, if Dante had been given a choice, you would have been safely tucked inside the palace, away from the cameras and questions.”

  “Obviously you know your son well.”

  “He is a lot like his father, sometimes frustratingly so.” Arianna released her hands abruptly and stood up. “Your designer was asking about the jewelry you planned to wear with your dress.”

  “I haven’t given it much thought.”

  The queen moved to the dresser and picked up a burgundy velvet box. “Well, perhaps you’d like to think about these.”

  She opened the lid, revealing a pair of stunning chandelier-style diamond earrings.

  “My mother-in-law gave them to me on my wedding day,” Arianna told her. “For me, they were ‘something new.’ If you’d like to wear them, they could be your ‘something borrowed.’”

  Marissa’s eyes blurred. “I would very much like to wear them. Thank you.”

  When Marissa left the queen’s rooms, she was advised by one of Dante’s assistants that the king wished to see her in his private office. She hadn’t planned to seek him out, assuming that he’d be in strategy meetings for the rest of the day, but she was glad he’d asked for her. As difficult as it had been for Marissa to face the hoard of reporters, she knew it had been even harder for the king, who felt he had disappointed his people, and she wanted to make sure he was okay.

  She knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  He was at his desk, but he didn’t seem to be focused on the papers spread out in front of him. When she stepped through the door, his gaze zeroed in on her and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift a little.

  “I didn’t think it would take that long to measure you for one wedding dress,” he said, rising from his chair.

  “I spent a few minutes with your mother when the fitting was done.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Don’t I look relatively unscathed?”

  His smile was wry as he reached for her hands. “I didn’t mean after your chat with my mother but after the press conference.”

  “I’m okay.” She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “How about you?”

  “I’m much better now,” he said and touched his lips gently to hers.

  “Is that why I’m here—because you felt the need to check up on me?”

  “No, you’re here because, after bleeding out the most personal details of my life to the public, I wanted some time alone with you,” he told her.

  “To talk?” she asked lightly.

  He smiled as he turned the handle of the door that separated his office from his bedroom. “I know there are still things to be said, and I want you to know that I’m sorry for all of this and grateful that you were there with me today, but no. Right now, I don’t want to talk. I just want to hold you.”

  She turned willingly into his embrace.

  Dante held on tight, breathing in her scent, relishing the warm softness of her body pressed against him.

  But eventually the need to both take and offer comfort turned into something stronger, deeper and more demanding. Desire stirred in his belly, pulsed in his veins. With Marissa’s body tucked so closely against his, she couldn’t fail to notice that he was aroused. Which she proved when she asked, “Are you sure you just want to hold me?”

  He chuckled softly. “Maybe I want more than that.”

  “I want you to make love with me, Dante.” She tipped her head back to look at him, those beautiful gold eyes swirling with emotion. “I want to be with you more than anything else in the world. And after everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, I think we should cherish every minute we have together.”

  He cupped her face gently in his palms, stroked his thumbs gently over her cheeks. “I’m not going to argue with that.”

  “But I’m scared,” she admitted. “The first night we made love, I was scared because I didn’t know what to expect. The next day, I was scared because I was certain that I would never see you again, and I knew that no one else could ever make me feel the way I felt when I was in your arms. Now I’m scared because what I feel for you is so much more than I ever expected.”

  “We’re on equal ground there,” he promised her. “I’ve been with other women, but I’ve never felt about anyone else the way I feel about you.”

  “I’ve only ever been with you,” she reminded him softly.

  With everything else that had been going on, his brain had somehow failed to make that connection.

  “I was your first lover,” he said and felt a surge of what could only be described as primal satisfaction. She was his, had always been his and would always be his.

  “My only lover.”

  He touched his lips to hers. “The only one you’re ever going to know.”

  “The only one I want,” she promised him.

  “For the past several weeks, I’ve been thinking about our first time together, wanting to make sure it was perfect for you, without realizing we’ve already had our first time together.”

  “And it was perfect,” she assured him.

  “I can do better.”

  She smiled at the eagerness of his claim. “Do you think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Then take me to bed, Dante, and show me.”

  “Is that a personal request or a royal command?”

  She smiled again and he knew she was remembering the day she’d asked that same question of him—albeit in a different context—and his response.

  “Whatever gets you naked with me,” she told him.

  He scooped her into his arms.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dante lowered Marissa gently onto the mattress, then he slowly and methodically began to remove her clothes.

  He started with the plum-colored jacket. He held her gaze as he undid the first and then the second gold button, then tossed it aside. There were a lot more buttons down the front of her ivory-colored blouse. Tiny pearl button
s that he slipped out of the little loops of satin that held them secure, one by one. He spread the two sides apart to reveal a bronze-colored lace fantasy that barely covered the soft swell of her breasts. With a groan of pure male appreciation, he lowered his head to press his lips to her collarbone, to the hollow between her breasts, to the pale, tender skin just above her belly button.

  He reached beneath her for the zipper at the back of her skirt, slowly slid it downward, then tugged the skirt over her hips, down the length of her legs. He’d expected that her underwear would match the bra—he hadn’t expected a coordinating garter belt, too. He tossed the skirt aside with her jacket, his attention riveted by the contrast of bronze lace and ivory skin and barely there silk stockings. His fingertips traced the scalloped band at the top of her stockings, carefully following the contours, and she quivered. He reached around to the back of her thighs to release the clips there, then returned to the front and undid those, as well. Then he rolled her stockings, one by one, down her legs and discarded them with the suit.

  “You are…” For a moment, words actually failed him. And though he didn’t think the description did her justice, he finally settled on “spectacular.”

  She smiled, pleased by his compliment, but he could see the lingering hint of nerves in her eyes.

  He discarded his jacket, pants, shirt and socks, but decided it wasn’t just smart but necessary to keep his briefs on for the moment. She watched as he stripped away his clothes, her gaze roaming avidly over his body. When he joined her on the bed again, she reached for him, her hands stroking over his chest, his shoulders, his back.

  “I’ve dreamed of touching you like this,” she told him. “Of feeling the warmth of your skin beneath my palms. Of your body pressed against mine. Moving inside me.”

  Her words lit a fire in his veins. He captured her mouth, kissing her deeply, hungrily. She moaned in pleasure and arched against him so that her breasts brushed against his chest, her pelvis against his groin. He gritted his teeth, trying to control his body’s instinctive reaction to her sensual movements. Two more minutes of her body rubbing against his and he would go off like a novice inside his briefs.