by Holly Hart
“This isn’t working,” she says, concern in her eyes. “We’ve driven the poor girl to the edge. I’m terribly sorry, Amanda, we approached this all wrong.”
“Ya think?” I snap.
I blink at her for a few moments, trying to gather as many of my chaotic thoughts as I can.
“Please believe me,” she says. “There is a method to this madness. If you ‘ll hear me out, I think I can make sense of everything for you. Or at least as much sense as the situation possibly can make, anyway.”
I shrug and nod; Dante looks away from me towards the window.
“It starts with your friend Peter,” she says. “The reason he was in such a state after studying the Trentini sword is because he discovered something. He accidentally turned the pommel and discovered the handle is actually hollow.”
I raise my eyebrows. That better not be it.
“That’s obviously not the key to the story,” she says. “Inside the handle was a rolled copy of a decree written by Napoleon himself. Essentially, it says the monarch of Morova must be married by his 30th birthday, or the entire legal framework of the principality can be rendered null and void.”
My brows knit as I process that for a moment. Principalities exist at the sufferance of their neighboring powers. Agreements like the one they’re talking about are basically what keep them from being invaded. For example, as long as Monaco keeps to itself and doesn’t make waves, France allows it to exist.
Morova is similar, but different in that it’s also a bank with a web of connections throughout Europe and beyond. Its wealth is immense, and it’s one of the world’s top tax havens. But that could change if Italy or Switzerland ever decided to alter the deal. It’s not likely, but it’s definitely possible.
“Do you really think anyone would take the decree seriously today?” I ask.
Maria sighs. “There’s a web of political intrigue attached to all of this. First off, Morovans are mired in their traditions, as you know. They revere their history. And Dante is on thin ice with the two councils as it is. If Dante were to violate the decree, Chancellor Huber could easily use it as an excuse to call for a referendum, which could result in the end of the monarchy.”
My head is spinning. How did I end up at the center of a political shit storm? I’m a cowgirl from Montana, for God’s sake! I’m nobody!
“All right,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “I get it. Not totally, but enough to understand why you need to do this. But you haven’t answered the biggest question: why me? There has to be someone far better suited to the role. Even on such short notice.”
Dante takes a deep breath, lets it out. I don’t understand where all this is coming from. Has he – has he actually fallen in love with me? Could that even be possible?
Would marrying Dante really be so crazy? I’m already infatuated with him – could that somehow turn to true love, given enough time?
“You have something special,” Maria says softly.
I still can’t figure out why she’s here. Who gets someone to join them when they propose?
“What?” I ask, truly baffled. “My red hair? Is that part of the deal, too?”
Dante fidgets while his eyes dart around the room. Did he tell Maria about our encounter?
Suddenly I want to scream the way Dante did right before we met.
“Will you get to the fucking point?!” I holler. Whoa. That felt good.
To her credit, Maria doesn’t seem fazed by taking a double-lung scream directly to the face.
“Dante has to marry a virgin,” she says matter-of-factly. “And, to be brutally frank, you’re the only one I know who isn’t underage.”
Her words hit me with an impact that’s almost physical. Any thoughts I might have had of a royal romance suddenly dry up like water in the desert.
I turn to Dante. He still won’t meet my eyes.
“You need a virgin,” I say. My calmness surprises me.
“I know how insane this all sounds,” says Maria. “And I honestly can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now –”
“Is this why you seduced me in the gardens?” I ask Dante, ignoring her. “Because you needed a wife in two weeks? Maria told you I was a virgin and you figured ‘hey, how hard could it be to win over some country bumpkin girl?’”
Dante finally looks me in the eye. His are wide with shock.
“No!” he protests. “It didn’t happen like that at all!”
Maria looks at the both of us.
“Seduced in the gardens? What are you talking about?”
“Never mind,” I say. Now that I know what this is all about, I’m filled with cold fury. How can I trust either of these two again?
“Obviously we’re not asking you to do this out of the goodness of your heart,” says Maria. You’ll be compensated. Handsomely.”
Compensated? A moment ago I was wondering if things could get any crazier. Well, there’s my answer.
“You’re going to pay me to marry him?” I ask.
“It would be a contract. Marry the prince, sleep with him once to fulfill the decree. Legally, marriages in Morova must last a full year to be considered binding, but you could easily lead separate lives; many royals do. After that, you’re released from your obligations and will receive your compensation.”
“And what would my compensation be?” I ask. I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about doing this.
“Anything within my power,” Dante says. “Money, a title, status in society. Whatever you want would be yours.”
Anything? How about love? You didn’t mention that.
“I have to think about this,” I say, shaking my head as if that could somehow get rid of the thoughts inside it.
“Of course,” he says, reaching out to take my hand. I pull it away before he can touch me.
Maria gives me a sheepish look. “I’m very sorry to have put all this on you, Amanda. And I’m even more sorry to tell you this: we need to know your answer by this time tomorrow. If you don’t agree to the arrangement, we’ll have to start pursuing other options immediately.”
Pursuing options. Just what every girl wants to hear when talking about her wedding.
“Fine,” I say, rising from my chair and heading for the door of Maria’s office. “If I say no, will I still have my job?”
“Of course,” says Maria. “When I said we need you, I meant it. Obviously, that’s even truer now. But before you go, I want you to consider something.”
“What’s that?” I ask wearily.
“If you agree, you would be planning your own royal wedding. How many women can say that?”
I walk out without answering.
I don’t know the answer to her question. How many women have ever been contracted to marry a prince simply because they’d never slept with a man?
If I ever run into one, I’ll have to ask her.
Chapter One Hundred Fifty-Nine
15. AMANDA
If it weren’t for all the huge windows in the palace, I wouldn’t even know that the sun had gone down. Time stopped right around the moment I left Maria’s office this afternoon. I’ve wandered in a fog through probably two-thirds of the place over the last however many hours, thinking harder than I ever have in my life.
There are places to hide everywhere in the palace. Suits of armor to squeeze behind, giant cabinets and wardrobes to disappear into. Alcoves under stairs and behind doors. Every one of them seemed to call out to me, telling me to come and hide away until the world starts making sense again.
If only I could.
A familiar painting greets me as I turn off the main concourse into a side hall, and I recognize it immediately. I was just here with Isabella yesterday; it leads to Carlo’s office. Did fate bring me here? I never thought of it until now, but Carlo might be exactly the person I need to talk to. He’s been around the block and then some. He actually reminds me a bit of my dad.
He and the ranch took up a large portion of my th
oughts during my wanderings. What would Dad think of me marrying Dante? He’d be tickled pink at the lie, but the truth would make him furious if he ever found out. I’d honestly worry for Dante’s safety. I’m sure Marco is tough, but Dad is a big guy. And he has shotguns. Lots of them.
Unfortunately, shotguns don’t pay the bills.
Dante told me that whatever I wanted would be mine. So what do I want if I agree to this crazy scheme? Besides real love, of course?
I want my dad to never have to worry about debt ever again. I want him to have more money than he could ever spend. Of course, knowing him, that’s not a lot. He’s so used to pinching pennies that he could probably live the rest of his life on less than the palace’s annual budget for antique maintenance.
As far as I know, he’s never taken a vacation in his life. I don’t know if he’s even been out of the western U.S. It would be amazing to take him around the world, show him all the things about Europe that fascinate me so much. So he can see where all of Mom’s life insurance money went.
I hear voices as I reach the door to Carlo’s office. It’s slightly ajar, and the granite and marble act as amplifiers for the conversation inside.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if she says no.”
It’s Dante! I should really go. Dad always taught me it’s wrong to eavesdrop.
Of course, he probably would have taught me it’s wrong to fuck with a woman’s life just because she might help you keep your fortune, if he knew that was even a thing. I didn’t even know it was a thing until this afternoon.
So I hunker down and stay right where I am.
“I assume that you’ve abandoned Prince Emilio’s suggestion?” I hear Carlo say.
“Of course I have,” Dante sighs. “He meant well, but marrying a nun would have been a disaster.”
He was going to marry a nun? Just when I thought this couldn’t get any more fucked up. But it does make a crazy kind of sense – another one of Dad’s sayings is if you want to hunt ducks, you go where the ducks are. I guess it’s the same for virgins.
“Sir, perhaps if you told her about the children…”
Oriana and Vito? What about them? I lean closer to the door.
“Absolutely not,” Dante says crossly. “I will not use them as bargaining chips. They’ve been through that already. Luckily, they were still young enough that they won’t remember. I have no doubt she’d still like to get her hooks into them.”
She?
“Is Amanda aware of what could potentially happen to them, at least?”
“I told you, I’m not bringing them into the equation.”
“But perhaps if she understood that they might end up separated from you, that Vito might be placed on the throne…”
My heart skips a beat. Whatever faults Dante may have, he clearly adores those twins, and they love him. I once read an article in an archived issue of Time about Dante’s life after his parents were killed. He was only a boy, but he was suddenly thrust into the role of monarch. In the photo that ran with it, he seemed so… withdrawn, I guess.
My heart broke for the boy in that photo. I just think kids should be smiling and carefree, not crushed under the burden of authority.
“We’ll deal with whatever comes,” says Dante. “We have to. There’s no other choice.”
Yes, there is. And I’m the one who has to make it.
I slip from behind the door and tiptoe back down the hallway to the main concourse, and from there I head straight for my chambers.
“Twice in one week?” Dad says. “What’d I do to deserve this?”
He’s got Skype down now, looking at me head-on in the tablet’s screen. It’s early afternoon in Montana and there’s a sheen of midday sweat on his face.
“Well, it is a special occasion,” I say, trying to keep my voice upbeat. My heart is still stretched in a hundred directions, but I don’t want him to know that.
His face drops suddenly. “Aw, shit,” he says. “It’s not my birthday again, is it?”
He’s not joking: my dad has forgotten his own birthday every year for as long as I can remember.
“Not for another three months,” I say. “No, this is sort of a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.”
Sure it is. For a year, anyway.
“Well, now you got my ears pricked up, girlie. What’s the big secret?”
God, if you only knew.
“First, I want you to sit down,” I say. “You’re getting fat and your ticker isn’t what it used to be.”
“Hey! Get yer own jokes!”
“I’m serious, Dad. You really should sit down.”
His Clint Eastwood eyes narrow, but he does as I say.
“All right, I’m sittin’ down and I’m calm. But that’ll change real quick if you don’t hurry up and tell me what’s got you actin’ so mysterious.”
How do I tell him? No matter how I do it, he’s going to freak. Might as well just pull off the Band-aid and hope he doesn’t have a coronary.
“Dad,” I say, mustering my courage. “Prince Dante has asked me to marry him.”
His shaggy eyebrows go up and he fixes me with a look. For a full five seconds, neither of us says a word.
Then a grin creeps out from under his mustache.
“You almost had your old man goin’ there for a second, pumpkin!” he hoots. “Oop, sorry – I mean Princess Pumpkin.”
“It’s not a joke, Dad. He proposed this afternoon.”
Sort of. Not exactly get-down-on-one-knee. More like I’ll-have-my-lawyer-call-your-lawyer.
Dad frowns. He and I joke around all the time, but he knows when I’m being serious.
“Sweetie, he’s a prince. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re the greatest catch in the world, but don’t these royal types go for their own kind?”
Yes, they do. But I guess the supply of noble virgins is low at this time of year.
“What can I say?” I shrug. “We hit it off right away and one thing led to another… next thing I know, he’s asking me to marry him.”
“What about all that stuff about him in the supermarket papers?”
“You know you can’t believe the tabloids, Dad. If you could, Elvis would have a show in Vegas right now.”
“But you haven’t had a boyfriend since high school, least not one that you’ve talked to me about. Suddenly you’re gettin’ engaged? To a man on the other side of the world that I’ve never met?”
I can see my smile in the little window in the bottom right corner of the screen. It’s so strained, I look like I’m in labor.
“I’ve never done anything the normal way, have I?”
He runs his catcher’s mitt of a hand down his ruddy face. Dad is a simple man – smart as a whip, but simple – and this is way too much for him to process.
Finally he looks me in the eye the way only a father can.
“Do you love him?” he asks.
That question is more complex than any of the ones I faced defending my thesis.
“Yes. But I know this is all pretty crazy. I won’t marry him if you don’t give me your blessing.”
He smiles, and for the second time in as many days, I see tears in his eyes.
“Well, then,” he says. “I guess I better give it to you.”
And there goes the last excuse I had not to do this. It breaks my heart to trick him like this, but what choice do I have? I can’t let him lose the ranch. And I can’t let Dante lose the twins. And hey, all I have to lose is my virginity and a year of my life to make that happen.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I say. There are tears in my own eyes now, for a thousand different reasons.
“So when do I get to meet this prince?” he asks. “Do I get to come to the wedding and give you away?”
My labored smile tightens even more.
“Your passport’s up to date, right?”
“Yup. I need it when I bring calves over the border from Canada.”
“Okay, good. And can you get one of the Ross
boys up the road to keep an eye on the cattle for awhile?”
“Sure. They’re just out on pasture now. Won’t be sellin’ any till fall.”
“Perfect.”
He gives me a sidelong glance. “You make it sound like the wedding’s right around the corner.”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a deep breath. “About that…”
Here we go. There’s no turning back now.
Chapter One Hundred Sixty
16. DANTE
“Your Highness, if you would be so kind?”
“Hm?”
Carlo’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, his knobby finger pointing at my hand. I look at it and realize my fingers are drumming noisily on the glass tabletop. My coffee cup vibrates in time with my tapping.
“Sorry,” I sigh.
“Quite all right, sir. I feel the same way myself.”
Maria messaged thirty minutes ago that she was bringing Amanda – and her answer – to my private chambers. They’re still not here. The coffee is my fourth one this morning. I didn’t even go to bed last night, let alone fall asleep.
“What if she says no?” I blurt. Not very princely of me.
“Then we deal with the situation some other way, as we always have. Morova shall endure.”
Morova shall endure. How many times have I heard that in the twenty years since Carlo broke the news to me that my parents had been killed? I sometimes wonder if he thinks I am Morova.
I hear a knock at the door and have to restrain myself from leaping out of my chair.
“Come in,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
Maria ushers Amanda into the room and my breath catches in my throat: she’s wearing an impeccable Donna Karan suit, white jacket with a high-waisted belt and a form-fitting black skirt that ends at her knee. It accentuates her curves and highlights those ice-blue eyes.
She’s breathtaking. Sexy, yet understated. Most important, she looks regal. Like a proper princess. My heart soars.
“You look stunning,” I breathe. “Does this mean…?”
