Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Excerpt from Tempting the Prince by Christi Barth
Chapter One
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles… Not According to Plan
The Royal Bodyguard
Perfect Distraction
The Kissing Contract
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Christi Barth. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Preview of Tempting the Prince © 2020 by Christi Barth
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
[email protected]
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Heather Howland
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Cover photography from Shutterstock
ISBN 978-1-68281-494-9
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition March 2020
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
For my beloved, my darling, my husband. (Yes, I’m writing this the day before our anniversary while you’re in Europe—hence the call-out to our special day!)
Chapter One
Princess Genevieve Eleanor Marie, second in line to the throne of Moncriano, had to use all of her twenty-seven years of training not to do a spit-take. But she did allow the shock to pop her eyes wide open. “Your date threw up on you?”
“Well, he wasn’t my official date,” her sister Kelsey corrected. Amazing how she waved that off with the hand holding the last bite of a dill roll. “Brian Masur was just dancing with me. Nobody took real dates to the eighth-grade dance. We all went in clumps with our friends.”
It sounded dreadful. Genevieve couldn’t come out and say that, though. She’d done far too much cutting down of Kelsey’s American hometown since her long-lost sister had arrived two months ago.
Borderline snide bitchiness, actually.
Okay, probably quite a bit over the line with the bitchiness. But they’d brokered a truce from their rocky beginning, and Genny now endeavored to be at least respectful when hearing these stories.
In a studiously neutral tone, she commented, “The customs of small-town Michigan schools are indeed…different than those in Europe.”
“I’d say everything, not just the customs, are different. Except, of course, for you and me.” Kelsey grinned. “Physically, at least.”
It was true. Although two years apart in age, they looked similar enough to pass for twins. Same blond hair, fine bone structure, and the striking violet eyes of their dead mother the Queen.
So far? That was where the resemblance ended. They were like comparing apples to zucchini. Cats to worms.
But if the whole opposites-attract thing worked for romance, surely it could bring two sisters together who very, very much wanted to find common ground.
“That’s why we started having these lunches.” Genevieve fluttered her hand back and forth. “To discover each other. Good and bad. Similarities and differences.”
Ugh. Was that too stilted and formal? Chances were, wondering that at all? It meant the answer was in the affirmative. Genevieve’s auto-setting for strangers was to be polite, warm, but reserved. And Kelsey still felt like a stranger much of the time.
Maybe they needed to let go and get drunk together…
Kelsey lifted her glass of water with lemon in a toast. “To catching up on everything we missed over twenty-four years.” Her laughter broke out on top of the last few words. “That sounds ridiculous.”
Mmm-hmm. Rather impossible, too. Because her sister had been kidnapped as a baby and only found by the royal family a few months ago. How did you recap and share an entire lifetime?
No matter how large the project, however, it always began with a single step. Genevieve’s tutors, whether in languages, politics, or riding, all had impressed that singular notion upon her.
And goodness knew that both she and Kelsey were more than stubborn enough to do whatever they put their minds to.
Lifting her own sparkling water, Genny said, “A ridiculously high goal? Perhaps. But a worthy one.”
“Yes.” Kelsey nodded emphatically. “I’m so grateful that you squeeze me in for these lunches twice a week. Truly.” Then she lunged across the table to take Genny’s hand, snagging the lace runner in the process. The Waterford vase of pale peach roses toppled over.
A footman clearing their plates managed to right it before any water puddled out. Genevieve shot him a look of thanks.
Her sister had a natural, ah, exuberance unlike anyone else in Alcarsa Palace. Or perhaps they’d all started with it until protocol drummed it out. Regardless, Kelsey kept the staff on their toes as she whirlwinded her way through the halls.
On the other hand, Genny appreciated how genuine her responses were to everything. No practiced platitudes, no polite-yet-meaningless nods and plastic smiles.
There were some days she envied her sister.
Not that she’d ever admit it.
“You’re family.” Genny beamed at her, relieved that she meant the grateful smile. It took Kelsey almost being killed by an assassin a few weeks ago for them to get past Genevieve’s initial…wariness. Okay, bitchiness. “I’d happily put off the prime minister to have lunch with you.”
“That’s because none of you like the snooty-ass prime minister.”
“No, that’d merely be the added bonus.” So true, though.
Sitting back down, Kelsey straightened the runner and gave an apologetic finger wave at the footman. “Sorry, Ivan.”
Amazing. She’d barely learned more than how to count to twenty—and how to swear—in Moncriano’s language, but Kelsey made a point of learning the names of every servant, driver, and bodyguard in the royal service.
That, that was the mark of a true princess of the House of Villani. That bone-deep caring for their subjects.
Genny was so proud of her.
Leaning back to allow Ivan to serve the lime sorbet, Genny asked, “So the story of your first dance does not end well. Did things improve at the next one?”
; Kelsey snorted. “No fair. It’s your turn. We’ll save my disastrous prom episode for another lunch. Who was your first real dance with?”
“Besides my dancing instructor?” It took a long stare out the arched window at the marble peacock fountain in the courtyard before the memory solidified. “I was twelve. It was the Harvest Ball, and I wanted the first dance to be with Papa.”
“Aww, there’s nothing cuter than a father-daughter dance.”
“Cute” wasn’t exactly the aim of the presentational dance of the royal family. “Tradition, however, meant that Papa had to lead off the dancing with the Duchess of our biggest farming duchy. Christian was stuck with their fully grown daughter, who’d just had her fiancé break their engagement so he could run after a princess of Luxembourg.”
Oh, the memory was flooding back now. Genevieve set down her spoon so she could prop her chin on her hands to properly dish the dirt. “Christian’s partner regaled my fourteen-year-old brother with a bitter diatribe about how all men were evil, cheating bastards.”
The woman hadn’t been invited back to the palace for five years.
Wincing, Kelsey said, “I get that she was bitter, but…what a rotten thing to unload on a teenager. Is it okay to decide right now not to like her? Or does she foster guide dogs now?”
Ah, such bone-deep loyalty to the brother she barely knew. Yet more proof that Kelsey’s inner princess had all the right instincts.
Allowing a tiny, barely there smirk to form, Genevieve said, “Lucia’s fortune-hunting down a third husband in Monaco.”
“Sounds like Karma took care of her.” Kelsey rolled her hand in a circle. “Get back to your story.”
“I had the distinct non-pleasure of waltzing with the Minister of the Treasury.”
“Really? No dashing foreign prince? No dreamy school friend?”
She’d asked to send an invite to a boy she’d been crushing on—but received the standard lecture about Duty over Pleasure. “No other children were at the ball. The Minister was chosen because he was so unfortunately short. In other words, the perfect height to pair with me.”
“Ouch. That must’ve been a letdown.”
Indeed. Genny spooned up sorbet to help palate-cleanse the memory. “He smelled of black licorice. He quizzed me on economics for the entire dance.”
Violet eyes wide with sympathy, Kelsey said, “Oh God. I think that might be worse than my puke-covered pumps.”
“But I got to wear a yellow Givenchy couture gown and pearls that the Grand Duchess let me choose from the Crown jewels. A little boring conversation was balanced out by the spectacular outfit. Something you’ll come to appreciate as a princess, I guarantee.”
A brisk knock on the door barely preceded the rushed entrance by her private secretary, Sir Stefano.
That didn’t bode well. He was a stickler for protocol, just like Genevieve. Unflappable, too, just like Genevieve. And yet a strand of salt and pepper hair drooped over his forehead.
“Is something wrong?”
“Your Highness.” He bobbed his head at each of them while he hustled across the parquet floor. Polished loafers slid to a squeaky stop at the edge of the table. “Pardon the interruption, but this couldn’t wait. It’s a missive from the Royal Auditors.”
There was a royal just-about-everything, from milliners to saddlers to cartographers. But…Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new one. Did somebody’s great-great-nephew need a job?”
“This isn’t a joke, Princess.” Stefano brandished the papers he’d clutched to his gray-striped vest. “This is, in fact, a quite serious threat.”
“A bean-counter?” Kelsey rolled her eyes. “They’re a pain in the ass but hardly serious. Unless you count the serious time-suck of doing your taxes once a year. Oh. You probably don’t do your own taxes, do you?”
A few months ago, Genevieve would’ve snarked back with something, yes, cutting and bitchy about how the royals don’t trim their own hedges, either. Now? She had more empathy for the enormity of the life shift Kelsey was trying to wrap her head around.
So she’d help explain, not just snap out a response. “No. The royal family doesn’t pay taxes. That is, we didn’t. We’re going to start next year, so that we follow the same rules as our people.”
“Geez. When you put it like that, I know I can’t complain about taxes anymore. Pay up and shut up.” Kelsey mimed locking her lips shut and tossing the key. “That’ll be my motto from now on.”
Stefano cleared his throat. Which was akin to anyone else screaming while pounding a fist on the table.
Genevieve gave him her full attention. “Tell us about the auditor.”
“The audit is part of the vetting process to prepare to join the European Union. If that’s how the country votes. The Royal Auditor assigned to you has sent over a threat. A down and out, vicious diatribe.”
Stefano was riled. Nothing riled him—his ever-present composure was what made him such a good private secretary. Worried now, Genevieve thrust out her hand for the papers. “Let me see.”
“Perhaps I should just sum it up for you, Your Highness.”
What on earth was he trying to protect her from in there? “I can read fluently in five languages, Stefano. I think I can muddle my way through a letter about my own finances.”
With a half-bow to express his reluctance, he handed them over.
After only scanning the first few sentences, Genevieve’s head snapped back up. “Get him over here. Now.”
“The Royal Auditor?”
The Royal Pain-in-the-Ass was more like it. “Yes. Summon him to the palace immediately.”
“Right away, Your Highness.” Stefano bowed twice and hurried out of the room.
Kelsey ran her aquamarine pendant up and down its silver chain. “Uh, you actually pulled rank and just summoned someone? That’s so…”
“Regal? Imperious?”
“Ballsy.”
“I declare it necessary. This…” Genevieve flipped to the end to squint at the signature, the harsh, spiky scrawl that was redolent with a smug—and mistaken—sense of power. “…Lord Theo Holst has a lot to answer for.”
“Yikes. Is it wrong that I’m excited to watch an old-fashioned, royal dressing-down? I’ve only seen this happen in movies.”
Genevieve appreciated Kelsey trying to lighten the mood. But she wasn’t ready to let go of her anger yet.
Ire.
No, fury.
“He thinks he can order me around? Me, a blood princess of four undiluted centuries of the House of Villani? Trust me when I say I’ll disabuse him of that notion.”
“I’m dying of curiosity over here. What order did he give you?”
Genny folded her napkin. Which was a major victory given that she wanted to throw it across the room. Preferably with an ice-ball inside of it. And preferably at Lord Theo’s head.
Then she stood and allowed the tiniest portion of her vexation to set her cream and fawn spectator pumps clicking across the floor at a fast clip. “He demanded that I slash my budget. That I allow him to tell me how and when and what to spend for the next two months. That I make the myriad of cuts he’s outlined, without question or discussion.”
Kelsey pursed her lips. “Weeeeeell—I’ve seen your closet. You have an entire shelf of tiaras.”
Of course she did. This lifelong job she’d never asked for did have its perks. “I’m a princess. They come with the title. I didn’t buy them on a reckless shopping spree. I inherited them.”
“Did you ‘inherit’”—her sister put finger quotes around the word—“the custom-made red Italian pumps I drooled over last week?”
Those had been her reward for surviving a week-long, twenty-five stop official visit to Sweden and the Netherlands. In January. “I repeat, I’m a princess. I have my own income. As do you,” she reminded, r
eady to drag Kelsey into her self-righteous snit.
“Oh, no. I’ve never owned a pair of shoes that cost more than fifty dollars before moving here. And I didn’t buy any of that expensive stuff in my closet. It just keeps appearing.”
Kelsey’s mindset was still stuck where they’d found her—in the fourth-floor walkup in Manhattan that, in its entirety, was smaller than her bedroom here in the palace. And buying toilet paper in twenty-four packs, for some reason. She hadn’t accepted the birthright of her royal fortune yet.
Fine. Her sister didn’t have to be mad on her behalf. Genevieve had enough of a head of steam worked up. “My wealth doesn’t come from taxing our people. I should be able to spend it however I please.”
“Absolutely.”
She stabbed the tip of her French manicure against the paper. “He says I should cut out all my stationery. ‘Emails are free.’”
Spooning up the last of her sorbet, Kelsey clucked her tongue. “Impersonal, though.”
“Right? People don’t treasure emails for decades. They don’t print them out and tuck them in a drawer or the family Bible. Handwritten letters show you’ve made an effort, that the recipient is worthy of your time and respect.”
“Agreed. I hate writing thank-you notes, but I do it every birthday and Christmas. That’s just good manners.”
Genevieve’s heart fluttered with gratitude that of anyone the kidnapper could’ve left Kelsey with, he’d chosen such upright, principled people as the Wishners. They’d taken in an unknown baby, risked their safety, and raised her to have the caring and strong ethics befitting of a princess.
“Precisely. However, a proper regard for etiquette is something Lord Theo Holst is completely lacking.” It split Genny in half between a burning desire to scream and an equally strong desire to toss back three gin and tonics in a row. Neither of which could be indulged by a true princess. Not without sneaking off to her suite, anyway. “He doesn’t ask for a meeting to review, to discuss, to get explanations. No, he just took a blow torch to my budget.”
“That’s arbitrary.” Kelsey shook her head. “I mean, apparently, it’s what he was hired to do, but shouldn’t there be a give and take? Figuring out what works best for you and your far-from-normal lifestyle?”
Ruling the Princess Page 1
