by Jessica Hart
Max just looked pained.
After the initial presentation, Hope murmured an excuse, and Max and Flora were left to make laboured conversation with the Crown Prince and Princess. The advice they had been sent by the protocol department had instructed that they were not to ask direct questions, which made small talk tricky. Max seemed to be getting on okay with the Crown Prince, but Crown Princess Anna was harder work. Flora gulped her champagne and agreed that they had had an easy trip and that their room was very comfortable.
“Have you and Max known each other long?” Anna beckoned over a footman with a tray and indicated that Flora’s glass was empty.
“You could say that. I had a crush on him when I was fifteen,” said Flora as she exchanged her empty glass for a full one.
“Ah, you were childhood sweethearts?”
“Not exactly. I’m quite sure Max didn’t know I existed then,” Flora said, taking a fortifying slug of champagne.
“So you have met again recently?”
“Yes, just last year, in fact.” Anna had an expression of polite interest fixed on her face, but showed no inclination to talk about her own relationship, which left Flora to burble on. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together.” Which was true, after all. “And you know how you can know someone for ages, and then quite suddenly you look at them, and bam! That’s it. He’s the one, I said to myself.”
Her heart squeezed queerly and she found her eyes resting on Max’s profile as he nodded at something Prince Carlo was saying. He’s the one.
“You are lucky to have found each other.” Anna sounded almost wistful.
Flora jerked her gaze from Max’s mouth. “I know.”
“It seems love is in the air, what with Jonas and Hope’s engagement and now you and Max. Will you be getting married too?”
Well, why not? If she was going to pretend, she might as well do it properly, right? She nodded with what she hoped was a suitably besotted smile. “When you’ve found the right one, why wait?”
“Hope didn’t mention that her brother was engaged.”
Flora could see Anna trying to work out if there were any implications for protocol. “We haven’t made it official yet,” she said, before Anna could comment on the lack of a stonking diamond on her finger. “We don’t want to take attention from Hope and Jonas.”
“That is very thoughtful of you.” The Crown Princess smiled thinly. “Congratulations. I wish you every happiness.”
“Thank you.” Flora took another swig of champagne, thinking that she had brushed through the interrogation pretty well until the Crown Prince, who must have had ears like a bat, turned to them. “Did I hear congratulations are in order?”
“Max and Flora are engaged,” Anna told him. “They’re keeping the news quiet until after Jonas and Hope’s engagement is announced at the ball on Tuesday.”
Flora risked a glance at Max’s rigid face. Moving closer, she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled winsomely, or so she hoped. “Don’t be cross with me, darling,” she said to him. “I know we agreed to keep it a secret, but I couldn’t help it.” She opened her eyes wide, playing the ditzy blonde for all she was worth. “It’s just too hard to keep our happiness to myself.”
Max glanced at the Crown Prince and Princess who were watching with interest. A muscle was hammering in his jaw, and Flora could see the effort it cost him to unclench his teeth.
“We’d be glad if you wouldn’t pass on the news just yet,” he said, with a repressive look in Flora’s direction. “This is Hope’s time.”
“Oh, yes, of course we understand. But our felicitations.”
Max took Flora by the arm and practically dragged her away. “Since when have we been engaged?” he demanded furiously out of the corner of his mouth.
“Since we fell so madly in love,” said Flora, slightly giddy from a mixture of nerves and champagne. “Surely you remember?”
“Flora ...” he ground out, and she held up her hands, one still clutching her glass, in surrender.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was nervous, okay?”
“Nervous?” Max was propelling her through the crowded room, clearly determined to get her as far away from the Crown Prince and Princess as possible. “What have you got to be nervous about?”
About lying next to you in bed. About keeping my hands off you. About pretending that I love you while pretending that I don’t want you to kiss me again.
“I’m not used to meeting royalty,” she blustered instead. “I was trying to remember everything they said on that protocol document they sent out and it just kind of ... slipped out.”
“Well, please don’t let anything else slip out,” said Max.
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” said Flora. “It’s not as if they’re going to tell anyone. For a start, they’re not going to be interested in us, and anyway, Anna doesn’t seem the gossipy type.”
“I hope to God you’re right,” he said morosely.
“Honestly, Max, anyone would think you didn’t want to marry me.”
Another footman in breeches and a gorgeously frogged coat paused by them and offered a tray of food.
“Ooh, look at those canapés!” Flora studied them with professional interest. “Aren’t they pretty?” She took one with a smile of thanks and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm, delicious! Try one of those, Max.”
He cast her a resigned look, but obeyed.
“What do you think?” she asked as he chewed. “Are you getting a touch of fennel in the pastry?”
“No idea,” he said unhelpfully.
“I should go and talk to the palace chef while I’m here. I mustn’t forget that I’ve got a wedding to cater!”
“You seem to have forgotten everything else we specifically agreed,” Max groused.
“We agreed we would pretend to be having a relationship,” Flora pointed out. “I’ve just embellished a little bit.”
“A bit? It’s a hell of a leap from girlfriend to fiancée!”
“Look, there’s no need to panic. I don’t really see what difference it makes, and besides, nobody needs to know about it.”
“What’s this I hear about you two being secretly engaged?” Hope popped up behind them. “I said to Ally, I thought there was something going on between the two of you!”
“Nothing’s going on,” said Max curtly. “Flora’s just had too much champagne.”
The second glass of champagne was indeed having its effect and Flora was back in a buoyant mood. She was in a fair way to forgetting how nervous she had been feeling about sharing a bed with Max. She was even forgetting how much her feet hurt.
“I might have suggested something to Anna by mistake,” Flora conceded with a wave of her glass, “but it isn’t a big deal. We’ll split up after we go home.”
“And then get engaged again for the wedding?” Max asked, exasperated.
“That’s the kind of on-off relationship we have.” Flora was beginning to feel a bit tipsy. “I’m going to dump you, by the way, Max,” she told him.
“On what grounds?”
“I’ll say you can’t satisfy me in bed.”
Max turned to his sister. “I have to put up with this all the time now,” he informed her.
Hope looked from one to the other. “You seem to be getting on okay.”
“A few weeks ago, I had a nice quiet life,” he grumbled. “Now my sister is going to be a princess and I’m apparently engaged!”
“Ignore him, Hope,” said Flora. “Underneath that grumpy exterior, he’s thrilled really.” Encouraged by Hope’s smile and the way the tense look around her eyes had eased, she went on. “Our wedding is going to be much grander than yours, by the way. No simplicity for us! I’m going to go the full meringue on the dress front, and after the ceremony, Max is going to lift me up before him onto a white horse so we can ride back to Hasebury Hall. It’s going to be so romantic, isn’t it, darling?” she added with a mischievous look at Max, who shook his head a
t her.
“If anyone asks, we’re eloping,” he said firmly.
“That sounds like a great idea,” said Hope, and the bleakness in her voice made Max frown.
“You okay, Hopey?”
Hope sighed. “Oh, it’s just ...” But before she could go on, she caught sight of a slim, dark-haired woman hovering, clearly waiting to speak to them. Her expression wiped clean. “I’m fine.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “Let me introduce Celina Harris. Celina is social secretary to Jonas’s grandmother, the Dowager Princess Margaret.”
“You’re American,” said Flora in surprise when Hope had made the introductions and they had all shaken hands.
“That’s right,” said Celina with a pleasant smile. She was very attractive and well groomed, discreetly dressed in subtle colours that made Flora feel clown-like in her red dress. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but the Dowager Princess would very much like to meet you both. May I present you to her?”
“Good luck!” said Hope, abandoning them.
“Do we need luck?” Flora asked Celina nervously as she led them over to where an elderly but imperious-looking lady was sitting on a spindly, gilt-legged sofa.
Celina laughed. “Don’t worry! The Dowager Princess can seem intimidating at first, but underneath, I promise you, there’s a heart of gold – although she would be mad at me for saying so, I know!”
She stopped in front of the sofa. “Your Highness, may I present Sir Max Kennard, Hope’s brother, and Flora Deare, his ...” She looked enquiringly at Max who sighed, clearly resigning himself to the inevitable.
“My fiancée,” he supplied.
Chapter Twelve
“Indeed!” The Dowager Princess’s brows shot up. “Hope didn’t mention it.”
“Our engagement is very recent,” he said in a dry voice.
“Well, I’ll talk to you later,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. To Flora’s surprise, the Dowager spoke in a cut-glass English accent. San Michele seemed to be a real melting pot of nationalities. “For now I want to talk to this Flora.”
Discreetly, Celina led Max away. Flora cast a longing glance after them. The Dowager Princess seemed very fierce, and after three glasses of champagne – or was it four? – she wasn’t sure she was up to an interrogation.
“Tall girl, aren’t you?” said the Dowager with a critical look. She nodded at the space on the sofa beside her. “Sit down. I don’t want to crane my neck to talk to you.”
Flora looked doubtfully at the sofa. She hoped it would hold her weight. Very carefully she lowered herself to perch on the edge, still clutching her glass. It wasn’t the kind of sofa you could loll on, and she found herself imitating the Dowager’s ramrod-straight back.
“It’s quite a relief to sit down,” she confided. “I don’t usually wear heels, and my feet are killing me.”
The Dowager was unsympathetic. “Better to have sore feet than to wear the wrong shoes.”
Well, that was her put in her place, Flora thought.
“I’d rather be unfashionable,” she said frankly. “I spend all day on my feet in the kitchen, and I have to have comfortable shoes. I’m a chef,” she explained when the Dowager lifted autocratic brows.
“Indeed? And how does a chef get to be engaged to a baronet?”
Very good question. But not for the reason the Dowager thought. Flora put up her chin. “By falling in love,” she said.
“Hmpphh. He’s divorced, I hear? People divorce too easily nowadays,” the Dowager declared. “When I was young, we said our marriage vows and meant them. Why would you want to marry a man who’s already given up on a marriage?”
“Max didn’t give up on his marriage,” Flora fired back instantly. “That’s not fair. He’s had to deal with a huge amount. I’m sure you know all about his father’s scandal, but Max was the one who’s had to keep the family going and sort out all the debts. He’s managed to hold on to his inheritance and build a business. His children are happy. If his marriage collapsed under the pressure, that’s not all going to be his fault, and isn’t it better to have the courage to admit that you’ve made a mistake than for both parties to be miserable? I say Max deserves to be happy, and if I can make him happy, then you know what? I deserve to be happy too.”
She drained her glass as she finished, defiant but obscurely depressed, too, at the knowledge that she would never be the one to make Max happy.
She half expected to be slapped down for speaking back to a princess, but the Dowager just favoured her with a hard stare before abruptly changing tack.
“What’s all this nonsense about a village wedding for my grandson?”
She proceeded to cross-examine Flora on Combe St Philip and its suitability or otherwise to host a wedding for the royal house of San Michele, while Flora did her best to counter the volley of questions.
It was a huge relief when Celina materialized with another victim guest for the Dowager to grill. Flora leapt to her feet to relinquish her seat on the sofa, not even minding being on her heels again.
“Phew!” she said, casting Celina a speaking glance of gratitude. “She’s absolutely terrifying! How on earth do you work for her?”
“She’s a sweetie when you get to know her,” said Celina.
A sweetie? About as sweet as Sweetie himself, Flora reckoned, which was to say, not at all.
Celina laughed at Flora’s flabbergasted expression. “She liked you – I could tell.”
“Really? I’d hate to be someone she disliked in that case. I feel like a dragon has chewed me up and spat me out!”
“Have another glass of champagne,” said Celina soothingly, beckoning over a footman. “That’ll make you feel better.”
Twenty or so people sat down for dinner around a mahogany table polished to a mirror-like shine and laden with silver and glasses that sparkled in the light of the massive chandeliers. Flora was used to elaborate place settings in the restaurant, of course, but even she was daunted by the array of cutlery, precisely set around each mat. She imagined a butler overseeing footmen with a ruler, measuring out the distance between forks to the millimetre.
Flora had been afraid she might have to endure another interrogation from the Dowager so was relieved to find herself on the other side of the table. Max, it seemed, had drawn the short straw, and was placed next to the old lady. In spite of her earlier disparaging comments, the Dowager seemed to be enjoying his company, judging by the occasional crack of laughter. And Max was obviously finding her equally entertaining. Perhaps the Dowager Princess only snacked on young female chefs to whet her appetite for dinner?
And how come the Dowager wasn’t messing up the Crown Princess’s seating plans? Flora wondered owlishly, having lost count of how many glasses of champagne she had had by the time they sat down to dinner. She hadn’t been required to bring a partner to dinner to even up the numbers.
Flora herself was sitting a little further down and across the table from the Dowager and Max, and between Jonas’s brother, Prince Nico, and a Count whose name she didn’t catch but who was apparently some distant cousin, and who ogled her cleavage openly as he unfolded his napkin.
Nico, as he insisted she call him, waving aside his princely title, was clearly a practised charmer. It was a little overwhelming to find herself sitting next to someone who’s jet-setting exploits were regularly chronicled in Celebrity and Glitz, and who was even more handsome close up than he was when shot through the lens of a paparazzo zoom.
Nico was obviously skilled at drawing out dazzled guests, though, and when he saw how carefully she tasted and analysed each dish, he forgot his flirtatious manner and Flora forgot to be overwhelmed, and they had a stimulating discussion about food and wine. Nico was flatteringly interested in Flora’s plans for her own restaurant, and she soon relaxed and quite forgot that he was a prince at all.
It would have been a very enjoyable evening if she hadn’t been so uncomfortably aware of Max on the other side of the table. Flora
kept missing the thread of what Nico was saying as Max bent his head towards the Dowager and his stern face would be illuminated by that rare smile of his. Every time he smiled, it snagged at the edge of her vision, which was ridiculous. It was only a smile, after all.
It was just that he never smiled at her like that, Flora thought crossly. And she was his fiancée!
Well, not really his fiancée, of course, but still.
She’d seen him smile at Celina too, and Hope, and Ally and everyone except her, now Flora came to think of it.
Except he had said that she was gorgeous earlier. He had even sounded as if he meant it. But even if he had meant it, he had probably changed his mind after she had claimed to be engaged to him, and –
And what was wrong with her? Flora wanted to slap herself. Here she was, sitting next to a real-life prince, a handsome, charming prince who was actually flirting with her, and all she could do was notice Max smiling. It was infuriating.
If only he would stop sitting there, and looking like that, and smiling like that, she could relax and talk to Nico. Turning determinedly back to the prince, Flora offered him a dazzling smile. She was not going to think about Max any more. She was going to enjoy Nico’s company and if Max realized what a good time she was having without him, so much the better.
The Dowager Princess had clearly cornered the market in indomitable old ladies and had everyone running scared of her, although personally Max liked the unmistakable glint in her eye. He enjoyed her astringent manner, which was not so different from his own, in fact, and would have been perfectly happy talking to her all night if his meal hadn’t been ruined by his perfect view of Flora on the other side of the table.
He tried not to watch her. He really did. But really, it was almost pornographic the way she ate, putting a forkful in her mouth, tasting carefully, the blissful expression when she approved, or a slightly squinty-eyed assessing look as she tried to work out the combination of flavours. No wonder Prince Nico, who was sitting next to her, had a dazed look, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth.
