Surgeon Prince, Cinderella Bride

by Ann Mcintosh

  For a few moments the hum of the engines was the only sound in the cockpit, as Farhan fiddled with the controls.

  Finally, he said, “That much is true. The country’s finances were in a shambles, mostly because Nargis wouldn’t stop spending money. She was a compulsive collector. Not to mention what she spent trying to find out what had happened to Bhaskar. My grandfather had to rebuild the economy in the face of staunch opposition from those who’d benefited from Nargis’s rule. They didn’t like it that he was trying to create a more egalitarian society.”

  “Were you close to your grandfather?” From her calculations, Farhan would have been about ten when his grandfather had died.

  “Not really. He loved horses and playing polo, and I didn’t, so we didn’t have much in common. Ali was the one who was into those things.”

  Another male figure who’d shown Farhan little interest. No wonder he thought taking the throne would mean giving his children short shrift. She wasn’t going to point that out, though, but maybe she could give him something to think about. Plant a seed in the hope it would flower into something good after she was gone.

  Why did the thought of leaving make such a wave of sadness flood her?

  Pushing her own feelings aside, she said, “Well, your grandfather and father had the worst of it, I think. Barring disaster, you’re inheriting a far more stable country, in pretty good financial shape, thanks to them.”

  “That is true.” Farhan sounded distant, almost disinterested. “And sound economic management isn’t a trait many of the rulers before them had.”

  He seemed to want to turn the conversation away from the personal, and she followed his lead.

  “Oh, but the royal family has had some hard knocks too, haven’t they, over the years? Like the plane crash that killed five members. That must have been a horrible blow.”

  The look he gave her warmed her from head to toes, and all points in between, although she wasn’t sure why.

  “That’s right. That happened just after the start of World War II. You really dove into the history of Kalyana, didn’t you?”

  “I—I have almost perfect recall of things I read.” Why was she stuttering? God, she was so silly sometimes. “And it was interesting, trying to figure out how your family ended up inheriting the throne.”

  “Yes. The plane crash in 1940, then the war. The tradition of younger sons going into the army took its toll, with three Princes being killed between the two World Wars. Then there were a couple of Kings who didn’t or couldn’t procreate. By the time it got down to Nargis, the line of succession went to Bhaskar, and then to her sole surviving uncle. When Bhaskar disappeared, the uncle was already on his death bed, and the next in line, as crazy as it sounds, was my grandfather.”

  Sara sighed, thinking about what he’d said, that ache she’d carried in her heart all her life intensifying. “It must be nice to know your history that way, know exactly where you come from and how you ended up where you are.”

  The touch of his fingers on hers was a warm surprise and, unthinking, she turned her hand, linking them together.

  “It’s your history too, beautiful. You’ve found your place, your family’s past to add to your own.”

  Something opened inside her, pain cracked wide by his words. She looked over at him. Farhan was smiling at her, his eyes warm and understanding.

  Welcoming.

  What he’d said was real and true, something she’d never thought, even after the DNA test, finding out about her biological father, or reading the history of the Kalyanese royal family. Until he’d said those words she’d been the perpetual outsider looking in. But now...

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  His eyes darkened, his smile faded. Sara’s heart lurched, then raced, as his fingers tightened on hers, and dangerous sparks seemed to fill the air between them.

  Then he turned back to the controls, letting go of her hand.

  Trying to catch her breath, she looked down at her lap and her empty hand.

  “Was it difficult for you, growing up as an adopted child?”

  He asked it casually, as though giving her a chance to tell him to mind his own business. Funnily enough, she had no qualms about answering, even though it was a subject she usually avoided.

  “For the most part, no,” she replied. “You met my parents. They’re great people and even when Mom had Mariah and Cyndi, they never treated me as anything other than their child. Most of the rest of the family was the same.”

  “Most?”

  The sharpness of his tone made her look his way, but his expression was bland, and now she hesitated to answer. It was a subject she never spoke about, even with her family.

  Then she reminded herself it was a long time ago, ancient history, and she should be over it by now. Besides, for some unknown reason, she wanted to tell him.

  “When Nonni came back into our lives, it wasn’t easy. She said some pretty hurtful things about me, and they mostly kept me away from her after that. It was scary, at that age, to feel as though someone hated me that much.”

  “What kinds of things did she say?”

  There was no mistaking the dangerous tone in his voice, and somehow it lightened Sara’s heart, taking the sting out of the well-remembered words.

  “Oh, that my parents had no idea where I came from, and I could be the child of a murderer. And that no doubt I’d turn out to be a thief and, once I’d taken everything I could from them, would run off, leaving them destitute.”

  “Good God. And you were how old?” The horror in his voice was like a balm to her soul.

  “Eight, almost nine. I think that’s why, when you mentioned the age your father was when they moved here, surrounded by suspicion and tension, I could relate.”

  Farhan was silent for a moment, his face tight, and the look he sent her was filled with a mixture of anger and sympathy.

  “That explains a lot,” he said, rather cryptically. Then, before she could ask what he meant, he added, “We’ll be landing soon.”

  Usually, talking about her family would make her stomach ache, but somehow it hadn’t happened. In fact, it hadn’t happened much since she’d got to Kalyana, despite the stress she’d been under. But she was glad he didn’t pursue the conversation about her family further.

  But then he said, “Sara, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that story. I think...” He hesitated, just for a moment, then said, “We’ve become friends, haven’t we, over these weeks?”

  Her eyes got misty, and she turned her face toward the side window so he wouldn’t see. “Yes. I think we have too.”

  And acknowledging that fact once more made her consider taking him as her lover, and she kept her face turned away from him to hide the blush that rushed to her cheeks.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE ANGER IN his chest burned like lit coals.

  How could someone be that unkind to a child? Their own granddaughter, albeit an adopted one? Bless her mother for not standing for it, for protecting Sara as best she could.

  Yet Farhan could see, clearly, what those words had done to Sara. They explained her almost compulsive need to be of service to her family and, by extension, everyone else. Perhaps without that horrible experience she might not be the person she was today, but he wished with all his heart she hadn’t had to go through it anyway.

  What she’d said about his father was something he’d have to think about later. It felt strange to be forced to see his father in a different light, think of him as a young, frightened boy who had probably lost his father to the throne and needs of Kalyana. But, again, if what she said was true, it too would explain much.

  Right now, though, Farhan was solely focused on Sara, and the surprise he’d planned for her. Watching her these last couple of weeks, he’d seen her exhaustion. She’d been thrown into a life unlike any she’
d known and it had taken its toll. Little bags had formed under those wide, expressive eyes, and while she’d treated everyone with her usual calm demeanor, Farhan had been aware of her knotted fingers and forced smiles.

  And he doubted that being under constant scrutiny, especially now that she’d realized everyone was waiting for her to get pregnant, was helping her stress levels. So he’d arranged for them to have a couple of days away from it all at the royal villa on Agung before they started on their official tour. Set in fifty acres of woodland, right on the water, it was Farhan’s favorite royal residence.

  He wasn’t sure why he’d kept it secret, and hopefully she wouldn’t take it the wrong way. All he wanted was to give her a chance to relax, to be herself, in one of the most beautiful places he knew. There was no ulterior motive on his part, and he hoped she’d realize that.

  As Agung came into view in the distance, he said, “There it is.”

  And he turned to watch her expression as she saw the island for the first time, wasn’t disappointed when her eyes widened and her lips formed an “O” of surprise.

  She gasped, leaning forward to see the island better, an emerald set in a sea shaded from cobalt through to aquamarine. “How gorgeous.”

  Her reaction warmed him.

  “It’s a beautiful island. Originally, it was a marine trading outpost for goods moving back and forth between Africa and Asia, and it’s one of the most culturally diverse of the Kalyanese islands. When the marine trade dried up, the population declined, but now it’s a popular tourist destination, and it’s thriving again.”

  They were close enough to see the main town, and he banked the plane to give her a good view. It was built on a natural harbor, the colorful buildings flowing down off the surrounding hills toward the sea. Around a headland was a three-mile-long beach, dotted with low hotels and guest houses, mature trees keeping the landscape lush and green and contrasting with the huge granite boulders pushing up from the sea.

  Sara turned to look out the side window as he passed over the town and tourist areas, continuing north.

  “Wasn’t that the airport back there?”

  “Yes, but we’re not landing there. The locals have planned an official welcome for us in a couple of days at Government House.”

  He could feel her gaze on him, even though he didn’t take his eyes off the controls.

  “So where are we going?”

  The muscles in the back of his neck tightened. “There is a royal compound on the northwest side of the island. I thought you might enjoy a couple of days with absolutely nothing to do but laze around and relax, and there’s nowhere better to do that than there.”

  She was silent for a moment and then, just when curiosity was about to make him turn to look at her, she exhaled.

  “Thank goodness. I think that’s exactly what I need.”

  And he quietly exhaled too, feeling as relieved as she sounded.

  As the villa came into sight, he banked the plane and did a fly over, to let Okello know they were there. Sara was leaning toward the window, craning her neck to see everything at once.

  “Is that it? It’s beautiful. What are those plants all along the hillside around the house?”

  “Frangipani, and they give the villa its name.”

  “Gorgeous!”

  Farhan found himself looking at the villa, which was a place he’d known his entire life, with new eyes. Through her enthusiasm, he felt his love for the land expand, grow along with his pride.

  Villa Frangipani nestled among large flame trees on a promontory jutting out into the sea. The long slope of lawn from mansion to water was beautifully landscaped with swirls of the eponymous shrubs, now covered in waxy flowers. From above the house glowed like a pearl in the sun, and although it and the pool were clearly visible Farhan knew that once inside, veiled by the trees, there was an air of peaceful seclusion.

  On the other side of the headland from their approach lay a smooth strip of pearl-pink sandy beach, sheltered from the rougher ocean waves by a reef and a dock. As he circled to come in for a landing on the smooth water, he saw Okello heading to the dock on the golf cart.

  Touching down on the water and employing the flaps to slow the plane, he heard Sara give a little sigh of relief.

  “Were you nervous?” he asked, smiling and sliding her a glance.

  “Of course I was. I’ve never been on a seaplane; didn’t even know you were a pilot.”

  “Good thing I knew what I was doing, then, huh?”

  Her laughter filled the cockpit and, for some weird reason, his heart did as well.

  More than ever before, he was looking forward to the next two days, telling himself it was strictly because they’d both have a chance to relax.

  After all, why else would he be anticipating being practically alone with Sara?

  * * *

  Sara had never known her soul could sing, or that a place could make her feel so incredibly happy. The entire island of Agung had appeared lovely from the air but Villa Frangipani and its surroundings were perhaps the most glorious sight she’d ever seen, even in pictures. As Farhan helped her out of the plane onto the dock, the mingled scents of sea and flowers went to her head, and she had to fight the urge to laugh out loud in joy.

  “Are you okay?”

  Farhan was still holding her hand from when she’d taken his to step from the rocking plane, and she squeezed his fingers.

  “More than okay,” she replied, grinning up at him.

  The quiet chug of an approaching vehicle attracted her attention and she turned to look, a little sorry when Farhan had to release her hand to close the plane door. A golf cart came down the gravel path from the house, then stopped at the end of the dock. A large, muscular man unfolded himself from it, rising to an impressive height before striding toward them.

  Dressed in a brightly colored shirt and white cotton pants, his grin made his teeth appear dazzling white against his mahogany skin. He had strong features and kind, twinkling eyes.

  “Your Highnesses.”

  He bowed over his hands, his voice surprisingly soft for such a huge man. Farhan stepped forward to shake the other man’s hand, and then pulled him in for one of those male, back-slapping hugs.

  “Okello. It’s so good to see you.”

  “Farhan, yes, it’s been too long, yeah? I thought you were avoiding me. Back a year and only just making it to Villa Frangipani.”

  Farhan gave a snort of laughter.

  “You know how it is, my friend. Father keeps me on my toes.”

  “No doubt. No doubt.”

  Okello’s gaze shifted to Sara, and she found herself being given a comprehensive once-over. Not that it made her feel uncomfortable. She thought she saw more curiosity than anything else in his dark, intelligent eyes.

  “My wife, Sara. Sara, this is one of my oldest, dearest friends, Okello. He lives here and looks after the villa, while he’s writing his novels.”

  “Nice to meet you, Okello.” She held out her hand, and found it totally enveloped by his. “And, please, call me Sara.”

  His smile widened. “Thank you, Sara. I’ve been hearing about you on the news, and it’s a pleasure to meet the woman who’s willing to put up with Farhan.”

  She chuckled, not bothering to reply. She couldn’t think of a single woman who’d toss Farhan out for eating crackers in bed, so she knew he was poking fun.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Farhan didn’t sound particularly amused, even though he was still smiling. “Let’s get the Princess up to the house.”

  While the men took the bags out of the plane and loaded them into the golf cart, Sara looked around, entranced by the scenery, deeply inhaling the fragrant air. This, more so than anything she’d experienced to that point, felt dreamlike, her heart seeming to beat in sync with the rush of the waves, every birdsong a sympho
ny.

  Was this what love at first sight felt like?

  When Farhan put his hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the cart, it felt right in tune with her emotions. Looking up at him to smile, her heart skipped a beat when he smiled back, dipping his head as though about to kiss her, and her disappointment when he didn’t was the only thing to mar her crazy happiness.

  The ride up to the house passed quickly, Sara still taking in everything around her, captivated by the sight of the carefully pruned frangipani, with their blooms of cream or pink with yellow centers. The flowers looked like waxed satin, set against the deep green of the leaves. Filling in between the frangipani plants were lower bushes with small, light purple blooms, the entire effect one of tropical splendor.

  The path led around the side of one wing of the two-story villa to the front door.

  Farhan commented to her, “Normally when we’re here we use the garden door to go in and out, especially when heading for the beach. Since this is your first time here, it’ll be nice for you to see the house from the front and give you the official welcome.”

  It was only as they rounded the final corner that she realized the house was U-shaped, the two wings creating a central courtyard in front of the villa. A circular driveway looped around a fountain bearing the Kalyanese coat of arms with two dolphins leaping above. The entire effect was astoundingly beautiful.

  Yet, although the outside of the villa was stately, the inside, while grand, was surprisingly soothing and comfortable. Instead of the gilded and elaborate ornamentation she’d grown used to at the palace, the Villa Frangipani was decorated in beige, white, and aqua, with pops of hot tropical colors as accents.

  “My mother redecorated the house years ago, when we used to travel around as a family. Since my grandfather died it’s hardly ever used for entertaining. Before then, he’d host polo parties here. Now if there’s an official function, we use the Governor’s residence. The villa is strictly for relaxing.”