Untamed Billionaire's Innocent Bride

by Caitlin Crews

  He heard the click of very high heels on the marble behind him, and felt his mouth curve.

  Moments later his beautiful wife appeared. She’d taken some or other call in the room set aside in the villa for office purposes, and she was already tugging her hair out of the sleek ponytail she always wore when she had her professional hat on. She smiled back at him as the faint breeze from the water caught her hair, still gleaming gold and bright.

  “You look very pleased with yourself,” she said. “I can only hope that means you’ve somehow encouraged the children to sleep. For a thousand hours, give or take.”

  “That will be my next trick.” He shifted so he could pull her into his arms, and both of them let out a small sigh. Because they still fit. Because their puzzle pieces connected even better as time passed. “I was thinking about the banquet last night. And how it was clearly my confident use of the correct spoon midway through that won the assembled patrons of the arts over to my side.”

  Lauren laughed at that and shook her head at him. “I think what you meant to say was thank you. And you’re very welcome. No one knows how difficult it was to civilize you.”

  He kissed her then, because every kiss was another pretty end with the happy-ever-after that went with it. And better yet, another beginning, stretching new, sweeter stories out before them.

  And he wanted nothing more than to lift her into his arms and carry her off to the bed they shared here—another four-poster affair that he deeply enjoyed indulging himself in—but he couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

  Because it wasn’t only the two of them anymore. And he knew his daughters liked it best when their mama read them stories before bed.

  He held her hand in his as they walked through the halls of this ancient place, amazed to realize that he felt as if he belonged here. And he imagined what it might have been like to be raised like this. With two parents who loved him and cared for him and set aside whatever it was they might have been doing to do something like read him a bedtime story.

  He couldn’t imagine himself in that kind of family. But he’d imagined it for his own kids, and then created it, and he had to think that was better. It was the future.

  It was his belief made real, every time his children smiled.

  “I love you,” Lauren said softly when they reached the girls’ room as if she could read every bittersweet line in his heart.

  And he knew she could. She always had.

  “I love you, too, little red,” he told her.

  More than he had back then, he thought. More all the time.

  And then he stood in the doorway as she swept into the room where her daughters waited. He watched, aware by now that his heart wouldn’t actually burst—it would only feel like it might—as his two perfect little girls settled themselves on either side of their gorgeous mother. One with her thumb stuck deep in her mouth. The other with her mother’s beautiful smile.

  And when his son came up beside him, a disdainful look on his face because he was ten years old and considered himself quite a man of the world, Dominik tossed an arm over the boy’s narrow shoulders.

  “I’m going to read you a fairy tale,” Lauren told the girls.

  “Fairy tales aren’t real,” their son replied. He shrugged when his sisters protested. “Well, they’re not.”

  Lauren lifted her gaze to meet Dominik’s, her caramel-colored eyes dancing.

  And every time Dominik thought he’d hit his limit, that he couldn’t possibly love her more—that it was a physical and emotional impossibility—she raised the bar.

  He felt certain that she would keep right on doing it until the day they both died.

  And he thought that was what happy-ever-after was all about, in the end.

  Not a single kiss, but all the kisses. Down through the years. One after the next, linking this glorious little life of theirs together. Knitting them into one, over and over and over again.

  Hope. Happiness. And the inevitable splashes of darkness in between, because life was life, that made him appreciate the light all the more.

  And no light shined brighter than his beautiful wife. His own little red.

  The love of his life.

  “Of course fairy tales are real,” he told his son. And his two wide-eyed little girls. Because he was living proof, wasn’t he? “Haven’t I told you the story of how your mother and I met?”

  He ruffled his son’s hair. And he kept his eyes on the best thing that had ever wandered into the deep, dark woods, and then straight into his heart.

  “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, a beautiful blonde in a bright red cloak walked into a forest,” he said.

  “And it turned out,” Lauren chimed in, “that the big bad wolf she’d been expecting wasn’t so bad, after all.”

  And that was how they told their favorite story, trading one line for the next and laughing as they went, for the rest of their lives.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed Untamed Billionaire’s Innocent Bride by Caitlin Crews, look out for the other stories in her The Combe Family Scandals trilogy: The Italian’s Twin Consequences, available now, and Pia’s story, coming soon!

  And why not explore these other Conveniently Wed! stories!

  The Sicilian’s Bought Cinderella

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  by Maya Blake

  Chosen as the Sheikh’s Royal Bride

  by Jennie Lucas

  Penniless Virgin to Sicilian’s Bride

  by Melanie Milburne

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from Claiming His Replacement Queen by Amanda Cinelli.

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  Claiming His Replacement Queen

  by Amanda Cinelli

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘I’D RATHER DIE than be your wife a moment longer.’

  Khal opened his eyes, clean cool air filling his lungs with painful force. His surroundings were a jolt to his system, the sleek interior of the royal jet’s main cabin so far apart from the angry red sands and fathomless black water of his dream. It had just been a dream. He sat back, looking up at the ceiling as his heartbeat found its rhythm once more.

  His subconscious had long ago stopped tormenting him with every detail of his last conversation with his wife before her death. Or so he had believed.

  He unbuckled his seat belt and stood, stretching out the painful tightn
ess in his shoulders. He could have chosen to sleep in any one of the three luxurious bedrooms on board, but sleep had not come easily of late. The dreams were back with a vengeance. The same dreams that had plagued him for an entire year after his wife’s death. Stress seemed to be a trigger and the past few weeks had most certainly not been a relaxing time.

  He pressed a button on the panel by his side and, as if by magic, two flight attendants emerged from the end of the cabin. A tray bearing hot towels and fresh ice water was placed on the nearest table without a word. His chair was returned to the upright position and a pot of hot coffee set down within reach.

  ‘That will be all, thank you,’ he said, his voice unintentionally gravelly from sleep. He glanced up just in time to see one of the women visibly flinch as he waved one hand in dismissal. He fought the urge to roll his eyes with irritation. Without another word, they hurried back behind the curtain and he was alone once more. Just as he preferred it.

  Most of his staff knew him well enough to disregard the rumours that had spread upon his wife’s untimely passing. Disgusting, slanderous rumours that he had worked hard to dispel even while in the first days of his grief. But still, whispers spread and somehow the idea that he was a man to be feared had stuck.

  People believed him to be a villain and it suited him to keep it that way. He was not forced to make idle conversation, to pretend to care. He did not throw social functions nor did he attend a great many.

  Or at least he hadn’t until recently.

  Khal opened his laptop and scanned an assortment of international news articles that his press team had collated from the past week. The Most Romantic Royal Love Story of the Decade, one headline proclaimed. It was any news reporter’s dream, Princess Olivia of the tiny European kingdom of Monteverre turning her back on her lofty title to marry a man her family deemed unsuitable. One picture showed Khal’s close friend Roman Lazarov as he walked hand in hand with the beautiful redhead. What a cruel twist of fate it was that the woman he had finally chosen as his second wife, the answer to all his economic woes, would be snatched up at the last moment. And by his best friend, no less.

  Remarrying had never been in his plans for his reign as Sheikh. He had been a young man on his first wedding day, filled with naïve hope for the future. That version of himself was long gone. He had no desire to find a woman to mend his broken heart, or any of the other schemes he had heard whispered by his mother and sister when they thought he could not hear. Thanks to his sister, he had two strong nephews that would carry on the Al Rhas bloodline and therefore he’d believed he had absolutely no need for a wife.

  But he could no longer deny that the rumours surrounding his wife’s demise were affecting Zayyar’s international image. His country had been peaceful for over two decades, his father and grandfather before him credited with having brought their small Middle Eastern kingdom back from the brink of complete ruin. Khal had no wish for fame or a place in the history books, but he refused to be remembered as the Sheikh who had ruined all of their hard work.

  Known for his careful planning, he had spent months drawing up an arrangement with Monteverre, one of the oldest and most financially troubled kingdoms in Europe. It was a deal that would solve all his problems in one fell swoop. He would provide the Monteverrian economy with a very healthy injection of capital and in return he would gain a loyal alliance in the form of the perfect bride with the perfect amount of political influence and public appeal.

  By now the whole world knew that the Princess had given up her formal title to be with her scandalous Russian lover. There was no mention of a failed engagement to the Sheikh of Zayyar in any newspaper, nor would there ever be, thanks to his team. His name rarely graced any of the world media sources, nor did paparazzi images. He paid handsomely for his privacy. And a good thing too, considering he was about to arrive unannounced into a foreign country to retrieve his replacement bride.

  He knew nothing of the youngest Sandoval Princess, only that she had been studying abroad in England for many years and had agreed to his offer of a royal marriage of convenience with very little hesitation. She had even agreed to sign a formal engagement contract without first meeting in person. He should feel relieved that his plans had not been completely derailed, and yet something seemed off.

  He had amended the terms of the agreement from its original form, limiting the deal to five years of marriage in name only, followed by an easy divorce settlement. With such a solid link to European royalty provided by his bride, five years would be more than enough time for him to repair the bridges that had been burned by his reputation. Divorce was a common occurrence across the globe; Zayyar was no different. Still, he knew he would not truly rest until he had spoken to his fiancée in person.

  He spent the remainder of the flight in quiet contemplation, barely noticing that they had landed until his pilot announced the incredibly low temperature in the city of London. It was the middle of May and yet he felt the need to pull up the collar of his impeccably tailored wool coat as he made the short trip from jet to limousine, grateful that he had chosen to change into Western-style clothing mid-flight. His usual flowing white robes were perfect for the desert heat, but not designed for the chilly, wet weather so common in this part of the world.

  His Chief of Security sat waiting in the car, his expression stressed—Sayyid never looked stressed. Immediately Khal’s instincts stood to attention.

  ‘There has been a small problem,’ Sayyid said solemnly.

  Khal kept his features expressionless as his trusted servant outlined the events of the past twenty-four hours’ surveillance operation. Finally, he closed his eyes, fighting the urge not to slam his fist into the door panel. ‘You believe she is a flight risk?’

  ‘She shows all of the signs of it, Sire.’ After a prolonged silence, Sayyid cleared his throat quietly. ‘If you give me the order, I will have the Princess collected immediately and delivered to the jet.’

  ‘Your men are currently in pursuit?’ Khal spoke with quiet control, hardly believing history was repeating itself so blatantly.

  ‘She is safely surrounded and unaware of their presence.’

  Khal nodded, running a hand across the light stubble on his jaw. He had already taken King Fabian’s word once and been burned, but this time it was different. He had sent his personal secretary to London with official documents and ensured that Her Highness signed them herself in person. He had done everything within his power to ensure her complete consent before entering into a legally binding engagement to protect his investment. If she walked away from their engagement now, the repercussions for her kingdom were grave.

  Surely she realised that?

  But of course he had to be prepared for the fact that maybe she did not care. Nonetheless, at this moment in time she was his fiancée. And in Zayyar that was as good as already being his wife. He had a duty to ensure her safety. Princess Cressida might be having second thoughts about their marriage, but he’d be damned if he would send anyone in to talk her round this time, other than himself.

  ‘I’ll handle this myself.’ He spoke with a calm he did not feel. ‘Take me to her.’

  * * *

  The exclusive club was a secret to most Londoners, hidden away behind the rather nondescript black door of a Georgian townhouse in Mayfair. The chilly breeze brushed across her skin as Cressida Sandoval stepped out onto the pavement and looked up at the building’s dimly lit facade. The urge to abandon her plans and retreat to the warm interior of the limousine was strong. Frank, her loyal chauffeur of five years, was not happy with her insistence that he remain behind and he’d made his disapproval known by slamming the door audibly behind her.

  ‘Your Highness, are you sure you don’t want me to escort you inside?’ He spoke quietly, worrying his black tie with one hand.

  Cressida stiffened at the honorific. The title that set her so far apart from every other twenty-fo
ur-year-old woman seeking a night of freedom. She inhaled softly, reminding herself that her freedom relied entirely on the driver’s discretion. ‘I have never asked for a favour before now.’

  He shook his head, leaning back against the car bonnet. ‘Five years of driving you from home to Oxford, Oxford to home, like blimmin’ clockwork. Last night on the job and you’ve decided to give me heart failure.’

  ‘Two hours alone, Frank. That’s all I want.’ She understood his worry; his job would be on the line if anything happened to her on his watch. If she’d had any street sense she would probably have taken a cab, but princesses did not take cabs, nor did they sneak out unaccompanied to secret clubs in the dead of night. She’d had to dodge her two bodyguards and beg Frank, just to get him to agree to drive her and wait outside. Once the time was up, she would return to reality. Or at least the suffocating reality of what her life had recently become.

  Her father’s voice rang in her ears.

  ‘Politically advantageous...royal duty...for the good of the kingdom.’

  Tomorrow she would become Princess Cressida Sandoval once more, returning to her kingdom after five years of self-imposed exile. Her father, the King of Monteverre, had barely listened to her weak argument about the European languages doctorate she had signed up for or the assistant teaching position she had been offered. ‘Princesses do not teach, Cressida,’ he had boomed in his usual way. ‘I’m sure the Sheikh will have plenty of dusty old books for you to bury your nose in, or whatever it is that you’ve been wasting your time with for the past five years.’

  The Sheikh. Her future husband.

  She should not feel so nervous about something that was essentially just a business arrangement. Five years of service, her father had said. How utterly romantic. Not that romance had ever played a part in her life so far, but still... She had been comfortable here in London, away from the watching eyes of the public. Was she truly ready to become a queen?