A Proposal from the Crown Prince

by Jessica Gilmore

  Not counting Nico and the two guards, of course.

  She was escorted through a maze of corridors, treading over highly polished marble floors, waxed wooden floors and plush carpets, some passages papered with intricate wallpaper, others painted and edged with intricate plasterwork. No two were the same and as they turned yet another corner Posy knew that she would never ever be able to find her way around here without a ball of thread to mark her way. She walked mutely, following Nico into another lift and along more corridors until he halted outside a white-painted door.

  ‘This wing is the private family wing,’ he said. ‘We all have rooms here. My uncle and aunt occupy the ground floor, my grandmother’s rooms are on the first floor and I am on the floor above you. So you have some privacy. I hope these will suit.’ He opened the door as he spoke and stood aside to let Posy precede him in, the guards taking up station on either side of the door as he did so.

  Eying the guards nervously—were they really planning on being there all the time and if so what exactly were they there for? To guard her or to keep an eye on her?—Posy stepped inside and stopped still, aware her mouth was hanging open in a most undignified way. ‘OMG,’ she muttered.

  She’d had no idea what to expect—had had no time to consider it—but if she had pictured the private rooms in the old palace she wouldn’t have come up with this. She stood in a long, light room, the opposite wall punctuated with four sets of French doors opening out onto a spacious terrace overlooking the sea, the outside space filled with huge flower-filled terracotta pots, a small table and chairs, two loungers and a swinging hammock. The room itself had simple white walls brightened with some huge landscapes and a couple of mirrors and was furnished with a comfortable-looking grey corner sofa and matching love seat, both heaped with red and purple cushions. The seating area was arranged around an open fireplace, a television discreet against the far corner. Tall, filled bookcases took up the far wall, another comfortable-looking love seat sat opposite the windows and a round dining table and four chairs upholstered in a bright flowered pattern were positioned in front of the bookcases. Every available shelf and occasional table held a vase filled with flowers.

  The room was bigger than her entire London flat and more luxurious than any hotel room she had ever stayed in. Posy swivelled, eyes wide.

  ‘Like it?’

  ‘It’s okay, a little cramped but I’ll try to manage.’ She did her best to sound nonchalant but knew her wide grin gave her away.

  ‘Your bedroom, dressing room and bath are through there.’ He nodded at a white panelled door by the bookcase. ‘Your study is through there.’ This time he indicated a door by the love seat. ‘If you want to change the configuration at all that’s fine, just talk to your secretary. You’re sharing my grandmother’s until we can appoint a permanent one for you.’

  ‘A secretary?’

  ‘To organise your schedule and administrative duties. My grandmother and aunt also have personal ladies-in-waiting but I’d suggest waiting until you know your way around before appointing your own. It can be a political minefield and you don’t want to be stuck with a wrong choice—the housekeeper will assign maids to help you until then. The two guards outside your door are part of your bodyguard detail. You’ll be accompanied by two at all times.’

  Her smile wavered and disappeared. Bodyguards? Ladies-in-waiting? ‘I don’t really need...’

  ‘Yes. You do. You’ll be glad of the help. Dinner is at eight. It’s formal dress. Do you want me to ask someone to help you bathe or dress?’

  To help her what? ‘No. I think I need some time alone.’

  His eyes softened. ‘I know how it seems. It was always a shock returning home from MIT to all this formality and pomp. You’ll get used to it, I promise.’

  Posy couldn’t imagine ever getting used to guards outside her door but she nodded mutely. Nico strode to the door and paused, gaze intent on hers. ‘It’s in both our interests to make this work, Posy. If you need anything just let me know.’ And then he was gone, leaving Posy alone in a room that she was rapidly realising was more like a luxurious prison cell than a home.

  She crossed the room and opened one of the French doors, stepping outside onto the stone terrace, relieved to feel the evening sun on her face, the soft sea breeze on her arms. The terrace stretched out in both directions. It must be accessible from each of her rooms, she realised. She was glad she was on this side of the palace, looking out to sea; it meant she couldn’t be overlooked.

  A buzz from her pocket startled her. Of course, her phone. She must have a mobile signal here. She pulled it out and sighed. Her phone had picked up the palace wi-fi and it looked as if her inbox was as full as her voicemail. She’d deal with that tomorrow. She couldn’t actually face any of it now but she couldn’t keep her family waiting any longer. But where to start? What could she say? She took a deep breath and pressed play on her voicemail.

  As expected, worried messages from her sisters and her parents, several offers of interviews and representation, which she promptly deleted, and, to her surprise, supportive messages from her flatmates and from a couple of other friends. Posy listened, blinking away tears. She wasn’t as alone as she had thought; there were people who cared. She quickly texted Portia, Miranda, Imogen and her parents.

  I’m fine. Don’t worry. Sorry for everything. Will let you know everything soon. P x

  That would hardly put their minds at ease but she simply couldn’t talk to them right now. Not until she knew how she felt, could convince them that she was okay. Was less numb. Of course, she hadn’t actually seen the pictures yet. She took a deep breath and pulled up her browser and typed in her name.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ She sank onto the nearest lounger, putting a hand down for support. ‘How could they?’

  It was all there. Nico wading naked into the water. Posy dancing, holding a perfect arabesque in the surf. The moment she pulled her dress off. The first kiss. The two of them lying on the sand, naked limbs wrapped around each other. Each picture seared itself onto her retina. How could this be legal? It was so wrong to intrude on something so private and send it out into the world.

  There was only one person who could help her right now. Posy closed the browser, wishing she could unsee the images as easily, and pressed Portia’s name, relief flooding through her as the call connected.

  There was an odd sense of kinship between herself and her oldest sister despite the three-year age gap. Partly it was because Immi and Andie were twins and had always had each other, leaving Posy and Portia together on family days out. Partly it was because Portia, like Posy, had little interest in aeroplanes, the all-consuming family business and passion. She had built a life away from Marlowe Aviation as a successful journalist in LA—and she’d just married a bona fide A-list film star, which in this day and age almost trumped bagging a prince.

  ‘Posy? Are you okay? Listen to me. Talk to nobody, do you understand? We will be with you tomorrow. Javier’s PR person is going to handle everything.’

  ‘Hi, Portia.’ To her horror Posy could feel her throat thickening, her chin wobble. Keep it together, Marlowe, she told herself sternly. ‘I’m so, so sorry. Are Mum and Dad furious?’

  ‘You haven’t spoken to them?’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to anyone. You know what the phone reception is like at the villa.’

  ‘All too well.’ Her sister’s voice sharpened. ‘So where are you? Has anyone seen you?’

  ‘I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m...’ She paused, aware that once the words were said they couldn’t be unsaid, that she would be definitely set on this path. ‘I’m with Nico. At the palace.’

  ‘With who? Hang on.’ Portia’s voice became indistinct as she must have moved the phone away, but Posy could hear the deep rumble of Javier’s famously sexy Italian voice replying. ‘I’m back. Javier is going to talk to Nico
. They’re old friends. So what’s the plan?’

  ‘Nico wants us to fall in love. I mean, he wants us to look as if we’re in love.’

  ‘Interesting. Are you in love with him?’

  ‘No! I mean, I barely know him...’

  ‘Barely seems to be the operative word here. I’ve seen the pictures.’ Portia’s voice was dry. ‘Why a fake relationship? It all seems a little drastic. My advice is say nothing, keep your head down and return to work. If you’re at the palace pretending to be in love then the Internet is going to explode. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘He needs to get married, now he’s the Crown Prince, and he was planning an arranged marriage anyway so...’

  ‘Rosalind Anne Marlowe. Are you engaged to a prince?’ Her sister’s voice had risen in pitch to a decibel only bats could comfortably tolerate. ‘That’s it, I am on my way. You have obviously taken complete leave of your senses.’

  ‘No. Don’t come, not yet and, no, I’m not engaged. Yet. I promised to consider giving him three months. To see if we could live together, be married. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s all? Posy, I don’t understand. Four months ago you were almost too busy to come to your own sister’s wedding and now you’re not dancing, you’re living on the island even though I know you should be back in training and you are seriously contemplating marrying a man you don’t know. A man you slept with despite not knowing him, which is not like you. What’s going on?’

  They were all too valid questions. Posy closed her eyes and swallowed. When she said the words out loud then they would be out there. Not just her private shame any more. ‘I’m not good enough.’ Her voice cracked.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course you are, you’re incredible. What makes you say that?’

  The tears were freefalling now. ‘I wasn’t moving on. I should have had solos by now, you know that, but I just wasn’t getting picked. I decided to ask for advice and I overheard them say. They said...’ She gulped, the sobs tearing out despite her best attempts to swallow them back down.

  ‘Said what, Posy? Darling, try and calm down. You’re scaring me.’

  Posy took a moment, dashing the tears away with an impatient hand. ‘That I had no fire. No life. That I would always have a place in the Corps but I’d never be anything more. I didn’t know what to do but I couldn’t stay there, Portia. My dream was always to be a soloist, you know that. So I came here to think and when I met Nico I just... I just wanted to prove them wrong. Show myself that I could live. That I had fire.’

  ‘And you got burned. Posy, I have to say when you decide to do something you do it all too thoroughly. Do you really not want me to come right now? I can be with you tomorrow, honey.’

  Posy shook her head, forgetting her sister couldn’t see her. ‘Not yet. Let me figure this out. I appreciate the offer though.’

  ‘If you change your mind...’

  ‘I know. You’ll be the first person I call. Thank you, Portia.’

  ‘Do you want me to call Mum and Dad and the twins? They’re all pretty worried.’

  ‘Would you? Tell them I’m fine and I’ll speak to them as soon as I can. Portia?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t want anyone to know. None of it. About why I left London or about the relationship not being real.’

  ‘That’s your choice, Posy. But what about Mum and Dad? They’d understand.’

  Posy pictured her parents at Andie’s wedding, remembering how relaxed her father had looked, ten years younger than when she had last seen him. They’d all been so worried about him after the terrible accident that had killed Rachel, Cleve’s pregnant wife, who had been flying one of Marlowe Aviation’s new prototypes when she died. The inquest had cleared Marlowe Aviation completely and now Cleve was happily married to Posy’s sister, Miranda, their first baby on the way, but the whole incident had left her father badly shaken. How could Posy be responsible for stressing her father when he needed nothing but relaxation and peace?

  ‘I don’t want to worry Mum and Dad, and you know how protective Cleve is about Andie now she’s pregnant. I can’t tell Immi if I’m not telling Andie. They hate keeping secrets from one another. So it’s just you. Is that okay?’

  ‘I’m an entertainment journalist, Posy. I know far more secrets than I ever exposed. If you want me to stay quiet then of course I will. They’d all understand but I do see why you want to keep this one quiet for now.’

  ‘Thank you. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too, Rosy-Posy.’

  Posy finished the call and collapsed onto the lounger, the sun sore on her swollen eyes. But despite the tears still wet on her cheeks and the ache in her throat she felt better, unburdened. Maybe she should have spoken to someone earlier about her crisis of confidence. If she had then she might not have ended here, lying on a lounger that looked as if it belonged in a high-end fashion shoot and about to change for dinner with a real life King and his family. But it was a little too late to worry about that.

  She swiped her eyes again. She had less than two hours before said dinner and she must look an absolute state; she’d never been able to cry prettily. Time to explore the rest of these lavish apartments and get herself ready for tonight. If there was one thing she understood it was the importance of costume and tonight she was going to need every piece of skill she possessed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DINNER WAS STILL half an hour away but Nico was ready early. He was pretty sure Posy would need a fortifying drink before the ordeal awaiting them—and he was definitely sure that he did. He pulled at his tie, already hearing his uncle’s sarcastic tones. He didn’t need reminding that Alessandro would never have messed up in this way. He knew it all too well.

  The two guards at Posy’s door stood at attention, Nico’s own bodyguards waiting at the end of the corridor. If he hadn’t dismissed them last night, hadn’t snuck out on his own... Was it really only last night? So much had happened in the twenty-four hours since then.

  Pushing the dark thoughts from his mind, Nico rapped on the door. None of this was Posy’s fault. At first he’d wondered if this was all some kind of elaborate set-up, some kind of trap, the chances of them both skinny dipping on the same deserted shore, the chances of her turning back and propositioning him, the chances of the photographer being there—but her shock had been all too real. She was a victim here, more so than him. And he knew all too well if it weren’t Posy here this evening making her formal introduction to his family it would be some other woman a few weeks hence. Better the devil he was getting to know.

  ‘Come in.’

  He turned the handle and opened the door, stepping in with a carefully prepared sentence ready, the offer of a drink and a polite compliment, only to stumble to a halt as she turned, illuminated by the last of the summer evening’s light pouring in through the windows.

  No longer the bare-legged urchin of the day, or the sea-drenched naiad of the night before, Posy personified elegance in a full-length blue cap-sleeved dress, the silky material hugging her shoulders, moulding itself to her small, perfect breasts before gathering just underneath her bust and falling in graceful folds to the floor. She’d left her cloud of silky dark hair loose, simply twisted at the front and fastened back with two silver clips, and her feet were slipped into high-heeled silver sandals. He’d not seen her wear make-up before; it was artfully understated except for the deep red lipstick, accenting every curve of her full mouth.

  Posy smiled shyly and gestured at her dress. ‘Hi. Will I do? You said formal and this was in the wardrobe but seriously this feels more ball gown than dinner gown to me.’

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said softly.

  ‘Not too much?’

  ‘My aunt wears a tiara to lunch.’

  She stared at that. ‘Too little? Should I bling it u
p? Not that I have any bling...’

  ‘No, you look perfect.’

  ‘I had some help, thanks to whichever elves stocked that wardrobe. It’s a little creepy to find several outfits, all in my size, waiting for me but as I don’t think your uncle and aunt would have appreciated me turning up in yoga pants and a crop top I’m ignoring creepy and going for thankful.’ She smiled straight at him then, gesturing to his dinner jacket. ‘You scrub up nicely as well.’

  ‘It’s a family requirement. We’re a little early but I thought you might appreciate a drink before meeting my family.’ He held out an arm, feeling more like a character playing a part than he’d ever felt before. ‘Shall we?’

  Nico devoted the next half-hour to putting Posy at her ease, noting with some relief the colour returning to her cheeks and the sparkle to her eyes. His family wouldn’t go easy on her just because she was unprepared and ill at ease; in fact they seemed to scent fear like a pack of wolves and were more than happy to go in for the kill. His father had thrived on the cut-throat atmosphere but his mother had always hated it; no wonder she’d cut and run, moving to France a mere month after being widowed. She’d have been a lot happier if his father had agreed to move there a long time ago, but like a true Del Castro he had refused to leave L’Isola dei Fiori permanently. Just one of the many ways in which they had failed to find a compromise. If his uncle’s marriage was a perpetual uneasy truce, his parents’ had either been a battlefield or a honeymoon—and Nico had never known which to expect: flying crockery and bitterness or finding them half undressed on the sofa. Either way he had been completely superfluous to their requirements, a spectator to the melodrama of their marriage.

  ‘Your Highness, Miss Marlowe.’ A footman was at the door of the small salon to which he had escorted Posy. ‘Dinner will be served in five minutes.’

  ‘Thank you,.’ He smiled reassuringly at Posy, who had risen to her feet at the words. ‘Ready?’