by Nina Milne
The past day they had been caught up in a whirl of arrangements—conference calls with Marcus Alriksson, packing, planning, plotting... Oddly, the most real event had been their time in the Physic Garden. Great—how messed up was her head when that role play felt real?
A glance at Stefan and her breath caught in her throat. Damn the man for the way he affected her hormones. Their kiss was still seared on her brain—just the thought of it was enough to tingle her lips, send a shimmer of desire over her skin. But it was a dead-end desire and she knew it—it was imperative that she focus on reality. Actual cold, hard facts.
This marriage was to be undertaken for legal reasons and the wedding itself was to be a publicity stunt—a means for the exiled Prince to stage a return.
A sudden sense of empathy surfaced in her. If this was surreal to her...
Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, she looked away from the window and towards him. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine.’
‘Hang on...’ Reaching out, she prodded his chest and a fizz jolted through her, demonstrating that their attraction was still alive and kick-boxing.
‘What are you doing?’
‘A check to see if you’re made of granite or some strange alien substance. Because, assuming you are flesh and blood, you must be feeling something other than “fine”. You haven’t been to Lycander in eight years...you’re about to be reunited with your brother...you—’
‘I’m fine. It’s just a place like any other.’
But his gaze couldn’t quite hold hers, and for a tell-tale second his eyes scooted to the window, as if to gauge their direction, estimate the time that remained until they got there.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you can be fine.’
‘You can believe what you want.’ He ran a hand over his face. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, but how about we change the subject? Go through the plan of action?’
‘Distraction therapy?’
‘Whatever.’ But his tone belied the word, held a hint of a smile. ‘Let’s just do it.’
‘OK.’ Holly ticked the points off on her fingers. ‘First up, a meet-and-greet and a joint press interview with general questions.’
Stefan nodded. ‘Marcus will be there, and his wife April. She’ll take us off to coach us for the television interview.’
‘What about Frederick?’
‘He and Sunita are on a trip to India—they have an educational charitable foundation out there. I told Marcus I’d rather postpone the touching reunion scene until I’ve had a chance to look around...see if I want to support him.’
Holly glanced at him, caught the note of bitterness. ‘You must be nervous about seeing him again?’
‘Nope. He’s just a person.’
‘It doesn’t work like that. Lycander isn’t “just a place”. It’s the place where you were born, part of your royal heritage, and so it’s part of you. Frederick is your brother. You grew up with him.’
Wistfulness touched her. If only she had had a brother her whole life would have been different. Her whole family’s life would have been different. Perhaps her parents’ marriage would have blossomed instead of withering; perhaps her mother would have loved her...bonded with her.
‘That has to mean something.’
‘Not necessarily anything good.’
His tone was flat, dismissive, and yet she sensed an underlying hurt. ‘I don’t buy the whole flesh-and-blood bond.’
‘It’s not about that. You spent time together—you shared a family life. That bonds you...gives you something to build on.’
Or it should. Sadness touched her that it hadn’t worked that way for her—that her mother had been unable to find it in her to love her. Had been able to walk away and leave her behind without a backward glance in the quest for a life of her own.
Perhaps Stefan would agree that her mother had done the right thing? One life. One chance. Every man or woman for themselves. But at least he had specified that the mantra only worked as long as no one got hurt. Holly had been hurt, with a searing pain that had banded her chest daily in the immediate aftermath, with the realisation that she would never win her mother’s love. Even now sometimes she would catch herself studying her reflection, wondering what it was about her that was so damn unlovable.
Stop, Holly. This wasn’t about her.
‘I just think that you should give Frederick a chance.’
‘That is exactly what I am doing,’ he said evenly. ‘Marcus has arranged various visits and meetings with government officials. I’ll be doing some of my own spot-visits as well. If Frederick is on the level I will uphold my end of the deal.’
In theory he was right. But she could sense his resistance to the idea that this could be more than a deal—sensed too that it was time to leave the subject.
‘Right. I’m going to go and change.’
‘You look fine to me.’
Holly glanced down at her outfit. ‘I’m in jeans and a T-shirt,’ she pointed out. ‘I don’t want Lycander’s first impression of me as their exiled Prince’s fiancée to be that I couldn’t be bothered to dress up a bit.’ She eyed him. ‘And neither do you.’
It was his turn to look down. ‘What’s wrong with it? I’m still channelling the lumberjack look.’ His smile was still drop-dead gorgeous, but his chin jutted with stubbornness. ‘I am not going to play the part of a prince. I am one—whether the people like it or not.’
‘So you’re going for the accept-me-as-you-see-me approach?’
‘Yes. I asked you to sell my brand—this is it. Jeans, T-shirt and shirt.’
Holly studied his expression, knew there was some undercurrent there that she didn’t understand. ‘Actually you asked me to create our brand.’
‘Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to.’ He waved a hand in dismissal.
Royal dismissal, no doubt, that brooked no argument. Well, tough.
‘You are asking me to help you win the support of the Lycandrian people. You must know that feelings are mixed about you in Lycander?’
‘The people who hate me will hate me whatever I do or say.’
Why was he being so stubborn about this? He wasn’t an idiot. What was his problem with playing the part of a prince? After all he had chosen to make this return from exile.
‘What you wear is your choice. I can’t strip you down and dress you in—’
Oh, hell. Had she really just said that?
‘You could try,’ he offered, and his voice was like molten chocolate.
‘I’ll pass, thank you.’ Her attempt to keep her voice ice-cold was marred by a slight tremble she couldn’t mask. ‘The point is...’
What was the point? Oh, yes...
Narrowing her eyes, she erased the vision of a naked Stefan and snapped her fingers in an aha movement. ‘When you went for that estate agent interview all those years ago, what did you wear?’
‘A suit.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I needed to show respect. I needed to project the right image because I was the seeker, the supplicant.’
‘Well, like it or not, that’s what you are now. Not with the people who will hate you regardless, but the people who are willing to give you a chance. Show them that you care what they think—give them a good first impression. Once they get to know you then you can go lumberjack whenever you want. This isn’t about proving you’re a prince—it’s about showing them what sort of prince you are.’
His jaw clenched and she sensed her words had hit home, though she didn’t know why.
Then he shook his head. ‘Point taken. But I didn’t pack a suit.’
‘Lucky for you, I did. Or rather I got Marcus to sort one out. It’s in the back.’
There was a pause and she braced herself, then he huffed out a sigh. ‘You’re good. I’ll be back in five
.’
‘Me too.’ No point in Stefan looking the part if she didn’t too.
Holly grabbed her case and headed towards the bathroom. Half an hour later she surveyed herself with satisfaction. She loved the outfit she’d chosen for her debut appearance as the exiled Prince’s fiancée. Not too over the top, she’d blended designer with High Street. A pretty floral dress, with a matching cardigan over the top.
Right. Time to rock and roll.
As she re-entered the seating area her feet ground to a halt. The man was gorgeous in his uniform of checked shirt and jeans, but this...this was something else. The grey of the suit echoed his eyes, seeming to enhance their intensity, and the snowy shirt was unbuttoned to reveal the strong column of his throat. All she could think about was the encased power of his body, the shape of his hands, the unruly black curl on the curve of his neck...
Oh, God.
She swallowed the whimper that threatened to emerge. ‘I approve.’ Wholeheartedly.
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, announcing their imminent landing, and she hauled in a breath. For a moment their gazes held and she saw the sudden skitter of vulnerability in his.
No matter what he said, his nerves must be making their presence felt. Soon enough he’d set foot on Lycandrian soil for the first time in nigh on a decade. What had happened between him and Alphonse? Why hadn’t he returned for his father’s funeral or his brother’s wedding? How was he feeling?
No doubt if she asked he’d say ‘fine’. So there was no point.
Instead she stepped forward, placed her hands on the wall of his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart through the silky shirt material. She stood on tiptoe and gently brushed her lips against his. Stepped back and smiled.
He tipped her face up gently, the touch of his fingers against her chin soft and sensuous, and then he lowered his lips to hers, gently brushed them with his own. The sensation was so sweet, so tender, that she closed her eyes.
The plane jolted onto the runway, lurching enough to bring her to her senses even as his arms steadied her, ensuring she had her balance before he released her.
Then he held out his hand. ‘Let’s do this.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS THEY DESCENDED onto the tarmac the smell hit Stefan with an intensity he hadn’t expected. Lemons and citrus blossoms mingled with the tang of fuel, floating towards him on a breeze that had a lightness found nowhere else in the world. Familiarity hit him, and his head whirled with a miasma of repressed memories.
For an instant he froze—couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—his gut lurched and he set his defence barriers at maximum in an attempt to quell the tumble of emotions that swirled inside him.
Images of his younger self—the iniquities and bleakness of his formative years, the anger and the pain and the dull ache of grief. The determination that the moment he could escape his father’s control he would turn his back on being a prince.
And now he was back. Perhaps this had been a mistake.
A pressure on his hand tugged him back to reality. Holly’s warm clasp offered comfort and gave him the impetus to move forward. Hell—he’d be damned if he’d show weakness. The exiled Prince would return in style.
A glance down at Holly strengthened that resolve, caused the fake rictus on his lips to morph into a genuine smile. He was back for a reason—to regain his rights, and most of all to vindicate his mother, set the record straight. He’d walked away from Lycander with nothing—he sure as hell could walk back in now. Stand tall in his mother’s memory.
Scanning the crowd, he spotted Marcus at the back of a line of press, a vibrant redhead by his side, and then questions flooded the air.
‘Stefan, how does it feel to be back?’
‘When are you meeting Frederick?’
‘Holly, how did the two of you meet?’
‘When is the wedding? What about the will?’
‘Why have you come back?’
The barrage pumped his adrenaline as he worded his answers, strove for balance, aware that each answer needed to be closed against misinterpretation and twist.
‘Overwhelming...in a good way... As soon as possible, but I’d like our first meeting to be in private...’
Holly’s turn, and she didn’t even flinch.
‘I moved to London for a couple of years and curiosity overcame me—I wanted to know more about the exiled Prince, and once I got to know him better I wanted to bring him home.’
Holly again.
‘I’m sure you’ve all heard rumours about Count Roberto’s will and its connection with us—we will explain it, but in an official interview.’
Marcus stepped forward. ‘Time to break it up now, guys. I promise you’ll have a chance to ask more questions in the next few days. Contact my office for the official schedule, if you haven’t already.’
‘Hold on,’ Stefan interrupted. ‘I think there was one more question. Someone asked why I’ve come back, and I’d like to answer that. I’ve come back because Lycander is part of my heritage. It’s the place where I was born and where I grew up—it is the place that helped make me who I am today.’
With that, and with Holly’s hand still firmly clasped in his, he followed Marcus and April towards a dark chauffeured car.
Once inside the spacious interior, Marcus leant forward. ‘Did you mean that last answer?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘No. I was just curious.’ The Chief Advisor sat back. Turning, he looked at his wife and smiled, his whole face transformed with warmth. ‘April will take you to your hotel now.’
‘Yup. Ostensibly I’m doing an interview for my old magazine,’ April explained. ‘But I’ll also be coaching you, checking you can pull this off.’
Stefan glanced at Holly, relieved that she had gone through their story in such detail. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
Within minutes the car pulled up and Marcus nodded. ‘This is my stop. I’ll see you both tomorrow, for the first round of official visits.’
Soon the car pulled up again, outside a charming hotel-front, and Stefan inwardly applauded Marcus’s choice—expensive without being in-your-face luxurious, just the right backdrop for a younger brother who didn’t wish to upstage Lycander’s ruler. The hotel had an olde-worlde charm—it was a converted chateau, complete with ancient stone walls, a paved courtyard and iron balconies.
They all climbed out, and there loomed the might of the palace in the middle distance. More memories crowded in—flash images of times he would rather forget. The enforced physical regime, the pain as he forced his trembling muscles into yet another push-up, another hoist of weights. Knowing if he missed his target by even a single rep there would be no food. And, worse, that it would be even longer until he saw his mother again.
His father’s voice.
‘You’ll thank me for this one day, Stefan. You’ll be a tougher man than me, a better prince. Tough enough so you won’t fall prey to the stupidity of love. It never lasts. It never lives up to what you expect it to be. And it makes you weak. Look at your mother. Her life is miserable because she won’t give you up. I would have given her wealth, prestige, but she wouldn’t take it. Look at you—you show your weakness by your refusal to give her up. Your love for each other gives me the power, gives me the control.’
His father’s words seemed to float towards him on the breeze, echoing in his ears, and he realised that April was staring at him. But before the red-haired woman could say anything Holly had launched into a series of questions about the forthcoming interviews and photographs, about whether April would be covering the wedding.
They were questions that politeness forced April to respond to, giving him time to recover. This had to stop; he would not let his father control him from the grave.
‘OK. Follow me,’ April said. ‘Franco will bring in your luggage. I’
ve booked a room where we can chat in private and set it up to look like your television interview will.’
Minutes later they were ensconced in a meeting room. April sat herself on a comfortable leather chair and gestured for them to sit on a small sofa.
Stefan glanced at the seat—it didn’t look as if there was any choice but for them to sit up close and personal. Trying for nonchalance, he lowered himself onto the red velvet fabric and waited whilst Holly manoeuvred herself next to him. Under April’s expectant gaze Holly shifted closer to him, the warmth of her thigh pressed against his, and he willed his body not to tense.
‘Right,’ April said briskly. ‘I know the truth, but I’d like you both to act as though I don’t. As if you are on camera.’ Green eyes studied them critically. ‘You need to look more relaxed at being so close.’
Easier said than done.
‘Show you’re comfortable together and that you get reassurance from each other. Like you did when you arrived.’
Stefan blinked as an alarm bell rang in his head; he hadn’t been acting when he’d descended from that plane into Lycander’s heat-laden breeze. No biggie. He’d have clutched anyone’s hand for reassurance when he’d been so stupidly stricken by memories.
‘Let’s get started,’ he suggested.
April ran them through their first meeting and nodded her approval at the end. ‘Good. Now, the next complicated question you’ll need to field is: what happens in a year? Is this wedding just a legal necessity?’
Holly leant forward. ‘We wouldn’t have got married now if it weren’t for the will, because it’s so early in our relationship.’
‘But you went to London a year ago—many would say that is a long time.’
Stefan shook his head. ‘Marriage is way too important to rush into until you’re sure. My father had four wives and he married each of them within weeks of meeting them. I’d like to think I’ve learnt from his mistakes.’
‘Fair enough.’ April nodded. ‘But that still hasn’t answered the question. What happens in a year?’
Holly intervened. ‘Neither of us can predict the future; all we can do is wait and see and assess our relationship then. But...’
