Stealing the Promised Princess

by Millie Adams

  She was still living in the palace. It was just that it was so big it was easy to not see Javier at all. And he had allowed that to be the case. He hadn’t come to her.

  She wouldn’t go to him. But she was there.

  Because part of her was convinced, absolutely, that she needed to stay. That he needed to know she was choosing not to run. That he needed to know that she was choosing this life. That it was not a kidnapping, not anymore. It was just a marriage.

  And she wasn’t the one not participating in it. That was him. He was the one who was going to have to figure out exactly what he wanted and exactly how to proceed. She couldn’t do it for him. And that, she supposed, was the most difficult lesson of all. That no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t force a transformation if he didn’t want it.

  He had to accept her love.

  And right now he didn’t seem to be able to do that.

  She looked around the small office space, up in the top of the small, cobbled building. Above the ice-cream shop. It was so very different from all that modern glass she had left behind in San Diego. But she wasn’t sure she even remembered that woman. The one who wanted things sleek and bright. The one who had been so confident and set in her achievements.

  She still felt accomplished. It wasn’t that she didn’t know that she had done impressive and difficult things. It was only that she had found something she cared about even more. She had been so focused for so long. And it hadn’t allowed for her to want much else. That had been a protection. She could see now. Because caring this much about something else, about someone else, was extremely painful. But it had also pushed her to find a strength inside of herself that she hadn’t known was there. And so for that she was somewhat grateful.

  Grateful, if heartbroken.

  Because no man would ever be Javier.

  She knew that she would never find another man she wanted in the same way. That she would never feel this way for another man. Because she hadn’t. Not for twenty-six years. She had had chance after chance to find another man, and she had never even been tempted. And she wouldn’t be. Not like this. Not again. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t thrive. It was just that she would never fall in love again.

  Tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t want to fall in love again anyway. She just wanted to love him. And she wanted him to love her back. Even facing the fact that it was impossible now didn’t make it seem real. Because she hoped... She just hoped.

  She wanted to believe in the fairy tale. But she was afraid that the real world loomed far too large. That the damage inflicted on him by his father would be the ultimate winner.

  And she didn’t want to believe in a world like that. But she had to face the fact that it might be all she got.

  She went downstairs, stopping in the ice-cream parlor and getting herself an ice-cream cone, trying not to cry when the flavor reminded her of Javier. The owners of the shop hadn’t asked her any questions about why they hadn’t seen Javier. Why it seemed that she was always alone, the Prince nowhere to be found after the two of them had been so inseparable at first.

  Plus, she had a feeling she just looked heartbroken. She was trying her best to get on with things, but it was not easy at all. She was strong. But strength didn’t mean not shedding tears. Strength didn’t mean you didn’t mourn lost love. Or in her case... Love that could have been if it weren’t for a maniacal dictator who had taken the love of a young boy and used it so badly. Made him think that he was the monster, rather than his father.

  When she went back out onto the street, she stopped. Because there, down one of the roads, she saw a silhouette that looked familiar. And she flashed back to that moment she had been standing in her office. But she had imagined then that he was dangerous. And now... Now the sight of him made her heart leap into her throat.

  “Livia told me I might find you here,” he said.

  “Livia is a turncoat,” Violet said.

  “She works for my brother. Her loyalty is always going to lie there.”

  “Well. Well.”

  “I need to speak to you.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to know... I looked for answers. I looked for answers that didn’t have an enchantment or a spell. I don’t know how to change.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No,” he said. His voice rough.

  Her heart went tight, and she looked at his sculpted, haunted face. “Javier, it was never about the right spell. In all the stories, in all the lands, in all the world. It was never magic that changed the beast. It was love.”

  He shuddered beneath her touch. “I know. But I looked and looked at that book. At this story.” He held the book up. “The beast isn’t the strong one. It’s the beauty. It’s her love. And still I’m not... I’m not fixed.”

  “Yes,” she said, moving toward him, her heart pounding hard. “But don’t you know what changes him? It’s not just her loving him. It’s him loving her back. Love is the magic, Javier. We might not have sorceresses and spells, but we have love. And that’s... That’s what makes people change.”

  Hope washed through her as she saw a change come over his face, his body. As he moved into action, swept her into his arms and pulled her up against his body. “Is that all I have to do? Just love you? Because I do. Because I have.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “What if I hurt you? I am afraid... I have caused so much pain, Violet. All the years since don’t make it go away.”

  “You have to forgive yourself. Because you’re right, some things can’t be undone. But people do change, Javier. You have. It doesn’t wipe the past clean. But neither does a life of torturing yourself.”

  “If I hurt you... I am so afraid I will hurt you. More than I fear any other thing, more than I fear losing you, I fear hurting you. And that is what I could not accept.”

  “You won’t,” she said.

  “You are so sure?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Because I saw the Prince beneath the beast the moment we first met. Even when I didn’t know you, I trusted your word. You know the cost of selfishness, and you will never ask others to pay it. If you were your father, we would all know it by now. You simply have to believe it.”

  “What if I don’t change?” he asked, the question sharp and rough. “What if love is not enough to change me?”

  “I love you already. You’re the only one who thinks you’re a beast, Javier.” She took a step back, putting her palm on his face. “You need to see the change. Not me.”

  “I love you,” he said. “And I... You’re right. I was afraid of what that might mean. Because I did love my father. Very much. But he was a monster. And I couldn’t understand how I had been so blind to that. How I had seen only what I wanted to see. Because of how much I loved him. And I never wanted to be that way again. I never wanted to be vulnerable to making such mistakes. But I think... I think it is time for me to accept that I am a man, and no matter what, I will be vulnerable to mistakes. But with you by my side... You have a compassionate heart, Violet. And perhaps the secret is loving other people. Valuing their opinions. Not shutting yourself up in an echo chamber of your own desires so that nobody ever reaches you. So that no one can hold you accountable for what you do. Our love will make me better. Loving you... Matteo said something to me today. He reminded me that our father never loved anyone. That it wasn’t love that made our father behave the way he did. It was the love of himself. The love of power above people. I trust that we will find right. Good. That you will help me.”

  The plea was so raw. So real. Straight from his heart.

  “Of course,” she said, resting her head on his chest. “Of course I will do whatever you want. I will be whatever you need.”

  “But what do you get from this? What do you get from me? I need you. I need you to be a moral compass. I need you to love me. I
need you to change me. What I do, I do for you.”

  “You showed me my strength. You gave me the fairy tale I didn’t even know I was looking for. And I became the heroine of my story in a way that I didn’t know I could be. You are my prince. And you always were. Even when you were a beast.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she kissed him. Deep and long. And when they parted she looked into his eyes. “And if am being honest. I quite like you as a beast. With cuffs and chains and the lack of civility. Because you’ve always held me afterward. Because you’ve always treated me with care. Because you know when to be both. A man and a beast. And I think that’s better than just having one. It makes you perfect.”

  “I thought... I thought that my father had doomed me.”

  “No. The sins of our fathers might have brought us together. But they don’t define us. It’s about us. And it’s about what we choose. It always has been.

  “That’s the real magic. That no matter where you end up in life... You can always choose love.”

  “I choose love,” he said. “I choose you.”

  “So do I.” She bracketed his face with her hands. “But I must warn you. I have a debt to collect, Prince Javier.”

  “A debt?”

  “Yes. You owe me for the rest of my life.”

  “What is it that I owe you?”

  “Only all of you. And I intend to collect some every day forever.”

  “Then you’re in luck. Because I intend to give myself, all that I am, even the broken parts, forever.”

  “Excellent. I might still take you prisoner, though.”

  “I would happily be your prisoner.”

  “I shall have to figure out which of the dungeons is my favorite.”

  “Whichever one has a bed.”

  “Well. That I most definitely agree with. Did we break the curse?” she asked.

  “I believe that we did.”

  “Magic,” she whispered.

  “Or just love.”

  EPILOGUE

  “PRINCESS VIOLET,” came a rich, deep voice from behind her. “I believe I have a debt to collect.”

  A smile touched her lips, and she looked down into the crib at her sleeping baby, a girl they had named Jacinta, then back at her husband, who was prowling toward her, a wicked smile on his face. Man and beast become one.

  That was how he loved her. And it was how she liked it.

  Fierce and tender. Dangerous but utterly trustworthy.

  “Do you?” she asked. “Because last I checked I was still the richest woman in the world, and a princess on top of it. I doubt I owe anyone a debt.” She had continued to run her company successfully from Monte Blanco, and with the country having become the most photographed tourist destination in the world, a phenomenon and a craze in the last five years, her brand—now primarily manufactured there—had only become more in demand.

  “This is not a debt that can be paid with money. Only with your body.” A shiver ran down her spine. “And with your heart.”

  Javier was the best husband. The best father. He loved her even more now that they’d been married half a decade than he had in the beginning, and she never doubted it.

  “I wanted a kiss earlier,” he said, gruffly, nuzzling her ear. “You were too busy with Jacinta and Carlos.”

  “Carlos was eating paper,” she said, in a voice of mock despair over their three-year-old son’s taste.

  “And I find I am still in need of my kiss.”

  So she kissed him.

  “I find that is not enough,” he said, and from behind his back he produced the jeweled cuffs. Anticipation fired in her blood.

  “This is one debt I’m eager to pay,” she said.

  When she had paid—enthusiastically, and repeatedly—she lay sated against his body.

  “You are right,” he said finally. “You are magic. You have transformed me multiple times, you know.”

  “Have I?”

  “Yes. From beast to man. Heartless to a man with more love than he can contain. You made me a husband. You made me a father. You made me love. You made me whole.”

  “Oh, Javier,” she breathed. “This is the very best magic.”

  “Yes, My Princess,” he agreed. “It is.”

  * * *

  Wrapped up in the drama of Millie Adams’s Stealing the Promised Princess?

  You’re sure to enjoy the first installment in her The Kings of California miniseries:

  The Scandal Behind the Italian’s Wedding

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from Housekeeper in the Headlines by Chantelle Shaw.

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  Housekeeper in the Headlines

  by Chantelle Shaw

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘IS IT TRUE?’

  ‘Of course it’s not true.’ Carlos Segarra scowled at the newspaper in his hands and swore. He looked at his father and recognised the expression of disappointment on Roderigo’s face. Dios, he had given his father plenty of reasons to be disappointed with him over the years, Carlos acknowledged grimly. But this was something else, and he was innocent of the claim that had been made against him.

  ‘I do not have a secret love child,’ he said grittily. ‘The story in the tabloids is a complete fabrication.’

  Roderigo’s breath wheezed in his chest. He had been lucky to survive a stroke a year ago, and a bout of pneumonia had put him back in hospital for the past month. ‘So, you don’t know this woman, Betsy Miller, who is alleged to be the mother of your son?’

  Carlos’s gut clenched as memories he should have forgotten after all this time surfaced. Pansy-brown eyes and hair a shade somewhere between caramel and golden honey that fell in silky curls around a pretty, passion-flushed face.

  He remembered the moist softness of Betsy’s lips and her husky moans of pleasure when he’d made love to her. She had tested his self-control for weeks, and that night two years ago—the night after he had achieved his dream of winning the men’s singles title at the world-renown British International Tennis Championships—his control had shattered spectacularly.

  ‘I knew her briefly in London,’ he said stiffly. ‘But I am not the father of her child.’

  Roderigo gave him a close look. ‘You are one hundred percent certain?’

  ‘Si.’ Carlos stared at the photo of Betsy on the front page of the newspaper. Even though she was wearing a shapeless raincoat and her hair was hidden beneath an unflattering woollen hat, he felt a sizzle of heat in his blood. The strength of his reaction was perplexing. He had never had a hang-up about any woman, ever. And he did not have one about an unsophisticated, English housekeeper, he assured himself.

  ‘There is virtually zero possibility that the child is mine,’ he insisted. The photo showed Betsy holding a child who looked to be a similar age to Carlos’s nephew. The toddler’s features were obscured by the hood of his coat.

  If Betsy had fallen pregnant by him, why would she have waited until now to make it public? Carlos brooded. Why wouldn’t she have told him first? Surely, a more likely explanation was that she had lied to the newspapers and been paid for her story.

  Carlos recalled that circumstances had meant he had left the house where he had been staying in south-west London without seeing Betsy again after they had spent the night together. But he’d been unable to forget her, and a few weeks after he had returned to Spain, he’d sent her a gift of a bracelet, as well as his phone number, and suggested that she could call him if she wanted to meet him again. She ha
d not replied, and he hadn’t tried to contact her again. Carlos did not chase women, and usually he did not have to. But if Betsy had conceived his baby, he would have expected her to get in touch with him and at the very least ask for financial support for the child.

  ‘This is simply another form of a kiss-and-tell story that the tabloids love to print,’ he told his father as he threw the newspaper down on the bed. ‘There are women who deliberately sleep with a well-known figure and then sell the story to the press.’

  ‘If you had not earned a reputation as a playboy, perhaps this woman would not have targeted you.’

  The disapproval in Roderigo’s voice irritated Carlos. He thought of the annexe that he’d had built onto his house in Toledo to provide his father with private living accommodation. Carlos paid for Roderigo to receive round the clock care from a team of nurses instead of having to move into a nursing home. He had hoped that by offering his father a home, they might be able to re-establish their relationship which had once been close. He did not expect forgiveness. How could he, when he would never forgive himself for the part he had played in his mother’s death? But he had sensed a softening in Roderigo’s attitude towards him in recent months. Carlos had hoped for a rapprochement between them, but the story in the newspaper was damning, and his father’s lack of faith in him felt like a knife in his ribs.

  He rose from the chair next to his father’s bed and paced restlessly around the hospital room. ‘What will you do?’ Roderigo asked.

  ‘My jet is being prepared to take me to England immediately after I leave here.’ It was sheer coincidence that Carlos had planned a business trip to the UK. Ironically, he had considered getting back in touch with Betsy, reasoning that if they had an affair, his fascination with her would undoubtedly fade. Now he was determined to track her down, and his first priority was to contact a DNA clinic to arrange a paternity test.

  He wanted answers, and when he had proof that Betsy Miller was a liar, he would make her regret that she’d made a fool of him, Carlos vowed in silent fury.