Lexie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see Mr. Butler anywhere.”
“Neither do I,” the Duke said.
Lexie registered the subtle change in Julian’s tone. “Oh.”
“Your brother’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer.” A pregnant pause. “I heard about Wainwright in the news.”
She glanced at Julian’s concerned face. He had been there the night when the shit hit the ceiling, or was it the fan? Sometimes she wondered if Julian knew more than he was letting on. Lexie was afraid to ask. It would surely get back to Stefan. And what was the point?
“I’m fine, Julian,” she said. “Thank you.” Apart from engaging in a mad, wild escapade last night trying to overcome the past, she was doing fine and dandy.
“Lexie, about the betrothal−“
But Julian never finished his sentence. Several popping flashbulbs heralded some latecomer celebrity arrival. She glanced at the doorway of the ballroom, and vibrant blue eyes pinned her from several feet away. The reckoning had come sooner than she expected.
* * *
Nic saw her immediately when he entered the ballroom. She was standing beside Walkden’s tall, imposing form. He noted how good they looked together, both elegant, titled, and privileged. Their eyes locked but she immediately turned away, placing a hand on the Duke’s arm. Nic’s mouth tightened. His timing had been off. The Butlers arrived the same time as he did, and now he was forced to fall in step beside them as they made their way to the royals.
“You look fabulous, Your Highness,” Tansy Butler gushed as they stopped to chat with the pair, but her gaze was riveted to the man beside Lexie. “Your Grace,” Tansy greeted, a bit breathless. Julian greeted the couple with equanimity. He nodded at Nic equally.
“Thank you, Mrs. Butler. You are looking especially lovely this evening.”
In a bondage hooker kind of way, Nic thought ungraciously, and he had to give credit to the Duke for the way he delivered the flattery with a straight face.
“But not as lovely as the Princess,” Tansy simpered, still in awe of royalty. She was gazing at Lexie’s gown with a covetous gleam. “The beadwork is fabulous.”
“It was made by a designer from Seirenada.” Nic heard the pride in her voice.
“Her Highness has been voted best-dressed several times, my dear,” Rupert Butler interjected, making his presence known.
Nic vaguely recalled complimenting Melissa once on a dress she had worn on one of their dates. Melissa had said the embroidery was inspired by the dress the Princess Alexandria had worn during her brother’s coronation. Strange that he could remember that particular detail.
“The Princess has impeccable taste,” Nic added blandly, because, well, he felt like it. Lexie stiffened imperceptibly. She wasn’t as immune as she seemed then, he thought with satisfaction. Rupert glared at him, warning him not steal the spotlight.
“Lexie will look lovely no matter what she is wearing,” Walkden added gallantly.
This time it was Nic’s turn to stiffen at Walkden’s use of her pet name. “I think red,” he emphasized, “will suit Her Highness’ coloring very well.”
“Red for a redhead?” Tansy sounded horrified at the fashion faux pas.
“I will look like a strawberry!” Lexie’s amused tone sounded forced. She was still refusing to look at him.
“No. You will look like strawberries and cream.” Nic meant to rile her up, but he couldn’t stop his voice from growing husky at the recollection of her bare skin.
She blushed. He caught the tiny furrow that appeared between Walkden’s brows, sensing some undercurrents.
“You’re lookin’ quite flushed, Your Highness. It’s quite a crush and a bit warm,” Tansy trilled.” Maybe you could take off your jacket and we can see the beadwork on the bodice?”
“No!” Lexie started. Tansy appeared taken aback by the vehemence in her protest. “I meant I am fine. Perfectly comfortable.” Rattled, her accent became more pronounced. Her eyes darted furtively to his. He deliberately kept his expression blank.
Just then, a circulating photographer stopped by to take a group shot. He directed Nic and the Duke to flank Lexie while Tansy was made to stand between Walkden and Butler.
He inhaled her familiar lavender scent while she stood ramrod-straight, looked at the camera, and held her artificial smile.
Perhaps it was a kindness after all what she did, running out on him that night and refusing to look back. Hell, if he had known who she was at the start, he would have run as fast as his legs would have carried him out of that dive bar. There was no future with women like her − spoiled, narcissistic, high-maintenance females who cared only about themselves. And because she dared to let him feel, just for one night, that there could be something between them, Nic decided to wipe off that mask of a smile with one word. He leaned down and placed his lips near her ear. “Rojita,” he whispered in mock tenderness, and she flinched. He waited for the photographers to finish and with a curt nod at the Duke, he walked away and dismissed her from his mind and his life.
* * *
The insistent ringing of the door chime penetrated the thick fog of a few hours of sleep. Bleary-eyed, Lexie pulled on her robe to get the door. It was eight o’clock in the morning and she had overslept. Not surprising since she was up ‘til three, her mind going round and round in circles. Her thoughts kept oscillating between attempting to talk to Nic and explaining her situation or just leaving things as they were. She was leaving tonight for California, and for all she knew, Nic had probably flown off already for another tournament.
She had been a glutton for punishment. Unable to sleep, she had scoured the Net for more information on Nic. She had learned that he had been born and raised in Argentina but that his mother was British and that his family had spent a lot of time in the United Kingdom when he was growing up, because his father was a favorite polo player of the Queen. His father had taught some of the royals how to play, until a riding accident had forced him to retire and devote his entire time to the family’s estancia and horse-breeding farm in Argentina.
Nic Fernandez was a ten-goal handicap player, the highest rating given to a polo player, and he was the reigning king of the sport. Lexie saw photos of him with different beautiful, sophisticated women, and one female in particular caught her attention. It was Melissa Osgoode-Rathborn, one of reality TV’s current darlings. Before getting married to a congressman, she and Nic had been in a long-term relationship. No reason had been given for the break-up, but speculation had been rife that Melissa’s father, who was a congressman too back then before being voted to senator in recent elections, had disapproved of the relationship.
Lexieopened the door without bothering to look in the peephole. It was Theia, concern etched on her face. Pushing past her, the PA entered the suite and closed the door firmly. There were none of her customary greetings. Lexie had a bad feeling about this.
“You might want to take a look at this,” she said without preamble. Her usually calm, melodic voice was terse. She thrust the papers in her hand.
It was a tabloid newspaper.
“The Princess and the Polo Player Caught in Passionate Hook-Up”, the headline screamed. A series of pictures of her and Nic kissing in the foyer of the Bellagio was splashed across the front page. They had been taken from a distance and were grainy, however, the last photo taken was of her alone as she approached the taxi stand. The paparazzi must have been hiding nearby because it was a clear frontal shot of her face, her hair in disarray, her face blotchy from sleep. In smaller print it read “Princess Flees The Morning After.”
Lexie staggered to the nearby couch, her knees barely holding her up. “Oh my God.” She raised stricken hazel eyes to her Press Secretary. “Has Stefan seen it?” She had switched to the Liguerian dialect unconsciously.
“I don’t know, but Leonardo has informed me His Highness would like to see you in his suite the minute you wake up.” Theia’s expression was neutral, but Lexie knew a judg
e probably looked the same before pronouncing the guilty verdict.
She was being summoned. Lexie raised trembling hands to her forehead in a gesture of shame. Trust her to fail in an epic manner what should have been an uncomplicated, anonymous one-night fling.
Stefan was standing by the glass window in the study of his suite, his hands clasped behind him. He turned immediately when he heard their footsteps. His grey eyes were carefully neutral, but there was palpable tension in his stance.
“Please leave us, Amaltheia.”
Theia closed the door with a soft click, leaving Lexie all alone with her brother. He didn’t speak for several seconds. He went behind his desk, sat ramrod straight, and gestured for Lexie to do the same. She felt like an errant schoolgirl facing the Headmaster.
“I assume you have seen the tabloid?” At her nod, he continued, his voice grim. “Would you care to explain to me what that was all about?”
Lexie closed her eyes briefly, her guilt magnifying as Stefan gave her the opening to defend herself. His brother was not prone to volatile fits of anger. He rarely raised his voice even under extreme provocation. He became the opposite, icily in control.
She opened her eyes and looked at Stefan’s glacial ones. “I think the photos speak for themselves.”
“Don’t be facetious.” A small crack on the ice appeared.
“I wasn’t.”
Stefan’s fingers drummed on the mahogany desk rhythmically, his only movement as he regarded Lexie steadily. He paused. “That article is implying you had a− a−“ his brows drew together as he searched for a euphemism.
“One-night stand,” Lexie finished for him starkly.
Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Far be it for me to quibble with your sensibilities,” he enunciated in a tone that could cut glass. “You are confirming you had a one-night stand with Nicolas Fernandez?”
Should she put a qualifier on that question, Lexie thought wildly. Should she tell Stefan that technically it was actually more of a half-night stand because she and Nic really hadn’t gone all the way so to speak and that Nic had gotten the short end of the bargain? Better not.
“Well, yes,” Lexie answered slowly, “but at that time I didn’t know who he was.” She winced. Stefan’s lips thinned with displeasure. That came out all wrong. “We weren’t supposed to get to know each other until after−” That sounded worse. Stop blabbering, Lexie.
Dark straight eyebrows drew together. “Is that supposed to make it far less distasteful? Don’t answer that.” Stefan appeared to be weighing his next words carefully. “Lexie, I know Wainwright’s death has come as a shock. This impulsive, reckless behavior is just a reaction−“
“I don’t want to discuss him,” Lexie cut him off abruptly, his patronizing, rational tone grating.
“It’s been seven years−“
“I said I don’t want to discuss him.” It was better to let Stefan continue to believe in his assumptions. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. After all, Peter was dead.
A discreet knock on the door interrupted Stefan, who had been clearly about to say more on the subject.
Leonardo, stern-faced and without betraying a flicker of emotion, intoned, “Your Highness, Mr. Nicolas Fernandez has arrived.”
Lexie shot out of her chair. “What is he doing here?” she asked Stefan frantically, any shred of composure shot.
“I asked him to come,” Stefan replied calmly. “Please show him in.” He rose from his chair and went around his desk, anticipating the other man’s arrival.
Stefan asked him to come? “Why?”
He shot her a quelling look then addressed his secretary. “And please ask Miss Alano to come in, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
One tension-fraught minute later, the object of her obsessive thoughts entered the room followed by a circumspect Theia. Electric blue eyes made a sweeping survey of the room until they landed on her. If he was surprised to see her there, he didn’t betray it. He didn’t acknowledge her. It was expected but it hurt nonetheless.
“Good morning, Mr. Fernandez.” Stefan held out his hand and Nic shook it warily. Stefan gestured for him to take a seat on a spindly-legged ornate couch.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this morning’s meeting, Your Highness?” Nic’s words were polite, but his tone indicated there was no pleasure to be had in the event. He took the couch opposite to Stefan, who had crossed his leg over the other, gentleman-like. The contrast couldn’t be more extreme. One was a study of aristocratic elegance in a dark suit, the other of rugged masculinity in a button-down blue shirt and denims.
Lexie decided to remain standing. Theia took the chair by the mahogany desk, holding her electronic tablet. Was she going to take notes of the proceedings? Lexie thought with some bewilderment.
“I will be direct to the point, Mr. Fernandez, so as not to waste your time. I know you are leaving today for Los Angeles.”
Nic didn’t deny nor confirm it. “By all means, please do,” he replied glibly.
That earned a frown from Stefan, which didn’t look to have fazed Nic one bit. She had seen grown men cower from her brother’s intimidating presence alone.
“I assume you have seen the write-up in the tabloid?”
“What tabloid?”
Theia stood up and came around Nic’s chair, handing him a copy of the paper to enlighten him. He glanced at it for several seconds then cursed violently. Lexie flinched. Stefan remained stoic.
Stefan adjusted the cuff of his sleeves then spoke. “The House of Ligueria cannot afford a scandal at this point in time. Several socialists in Seirenada are trying to stir up trouble and are questioning the relevance of the monarchy. Much as it pains me to admit, my immediate predecessor, my father, undid years of economic progress my grandfather instituted with his negligence and disinterest in his role as Prince. We are now poised for economic takeoff, and I am not giving the socialists any weapon to destabilize the constitutional monarchy.”
“I don’t see what that has got to do with why I’m here.” Nic’s face was stony.
“The Liguerians are very conservative, very traditional. They look up to the royals as having moral ascendancy over their subjects. They will not take kindly to reading about a royal embroiled in an indiscretion and having it splashed all over the media.” He halted and glanced at Theia.
Prompted, Theia began speaking, but she had averted her gaze from Lexie. “Your Highness and I have discussed measures we can take to minimize the damage to Her Highness’ reputation.”
“Damage? To her reputation?” Nic repeated slowly as if misunderstanding. And then he gave an ugly laugh. Something in Lexie shriveled at the sound. She had only ever heard him being tender and indulgent that night. “That’s rich. I don’t see how an indiscretion with me could be more damaging to her reputation than her previous affair with a married man.”
No one made a sound. The words hung in the air for several agonizing seconds.
So he knew. He had probably researched her, too. And pretty soon the press was going to rehash that old story in light of her newfound notoriety. They had a very, very long memory, Lexie thought bitterly. She had hoped that by now they would have moved on and had forgotten her “affair” with Peter Wainwright, the tragedy with her grandmother and the way it made a circus of what was supposed to be a solemn and historic occasion at the time − Stefan’s coronation. It seemed she would have to be made to confront her foolishness along with the rest of the world time and again.
It was Stefan who spoke first. His voice was even. “We all make mistakes, Mr. Fernandez. In our case, those mistakes headline as fodder for entertainment. I can live with that and so can Alexandria, but not if it will in any way undermine our standing in the eyes of our people. Seirenada is on the brink of economic reform, which has taken me years to get the Council to take seriously. We can’t afford to be seen as royals whose existence is purely for entertainment value.”
“Again, I don’t
see what this has anything to do with me,” Nic said grudgingly.
Theia glanced furtively at Lexie, who was staring out the window, her hands folded across her chest. “As I have said, His Royal Highness and I think that to mitigate the circumstances surrounding the ’situation‘, it would be best if you and Princess Lexie pretend to have a relationship until the interest of the media dies down.”
“What?” Nic and Lexie cried simultaneously.
“Rather than a one-night− one-night−” Theia floundered as she sought for a diplomatic term, her color heightened.
“One-night stand,” Lexie issued baldly again. Nic wished he hadn’t seen the bleakness in her hazel eyes.
“Princess Alexandria is due to fly off to Seirenada tonight, but we can rearrange her schedule so that she can be seen with you. It is fortuitous timing that Mr. Fernandez also has business to attend to in Los Angeles.” Nic frowned, not taking kindly to having his itinerary investigated. “We have arranged for you to be seen together in several places to establish that you are in a romantic relationship. After several weeks, we can run a story that you have amicably agreed to break off the relationship and go your separate ways.”
Nic shot out of his chair, his nostrils flaring. “Is that how you are spinning it? The whole thing is crazy. I don’t give a fuck what people think. I have better things to do than go along with some hare-brained scheme to ’sanitize‘ Her Royal Highness’ reputation. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
He had already taken a few steps towards the door when Stefan’s voice stopped him. “It will not be a complete waste of your time, Mr. Fernandez.”
Just stay the hell away from my daughter, the congressman’s stentorian voice echoed in Nic’s head. I did not raise her so she could marry a polo player from some farm in South America. It was in another study, similar to the one they were in, but in another time. He had ripped up the check in defiance, love fueling him with bravado. Bitterly, he wished now he had just kept the check.
He turned around and unflinchingly met the Prince’s gaze. “There is nothing you can say that will tempt me to engage in your unpalatable proposal.”
The Princess Finds Her Match Page 8
