The Prince's Wedding

by Justine Davis

  As insurance, he enlisted the help of his sister Julia, who had taken quite a shine to Jessie, to go with her and make sure she didn't run the moment she got inside the exclusive boutique. To his surprise Jessie had agreed easily. She wasn't a shopper, she told him, but then there weren't shops like these in Shady Rock.

  Julia had arrived via her husband's helicopter just before noon, proving yet again that Rashid was true to his word; his wife could visit home any time she wished. She hadn't told him that this was a shopping expedition, Julia said with a laugh, or perhaps he wouldn't have been quite so accommodating.

  Of course, Lucas knew perfectly well Jessie would gasp at the prices, so he also called ahead to warn the shop's owner, who took great pride in her service to the royal family, to make sure Jessie never saw the cost. Between the eager Ms. Francois and Julia, he was sure the trip would be a success.

  When they came back hours later, laden with bags, he was pleased, until he got a look at Jessie. Julia was laughing, but Jessie was looking rather wan, and almost shell-shocked. Julia spotted him and sent Jessie upstairs with instructions to put on the "purple thing" and come back down.

  Once Jessie was gone, Julia turned to him. "I tell you, that is the most independent, stubborn woman I've ever met, and given my family that's saying something."

  Lucas frowned. "Problem?"

  "She was more worried about whether everything could be returned if she changed her mind than anything else."

  Lucas smiled. That was his Jessie, all right.

  Julia grinned. "I really like her."

  "So do I," Lucas said softly.

  "Then, big brother, you'd better tell her."

  He blinked. "What?"

  "She knows 'Joe' loved her. She has no idea about you."

  "That's ridiculous. Of course she knows."

  Julia sighed. "You know, I thought for a while it was simply Rashid who was so obtuse. Now I know it's men in general."

  "You still married him," Lucas pointed out.

  "Because he learned," she told him. "And if you don't, you're going to regret it."

  "Learned what?"

  "To take nothing for granted," Julia retorted, clearly impatient with his ignorance. "Jessie is coming to Tamir for the day tomorrow. With Luke. And you're not invited."

  Lucas blinked. "Oh?"

  "Yes. It's a girl's day. Rashid is flying to Cyprus for a meeting."

  "Oh. Then why is Luke going?"

  She gave him a look that, had she not had the same parents, would have called his species into question. He gave up. "All right, all right. Never let it be said I intruded on a sacred female ritual."

  "Maybe you're trainable after all," Julia said with exaggerated reluctance.

  Lucas grinned at her. When he'd first come home, everyone, including his family, had treated him with such care that it had almost driven him crazy. He'd been delighted the first time his irrepressible sisters began to tease him again, knowing it was the first step back to normalcy.

  "Now, when Jessie comes down, be suitably impressed, if you know what's good for you."

  "If I'm not, will she skewer me, or you?"

  "She'll skewer. I'll hold her purse. Now watch for her, like a proper suitor."

  Lucas laughed, but he turned to face the stairway. He did love this sister of his. She'd grown even more confident since she'd married Rashid, proof enough to him that it was a good match. He hoped he would see the same kind of assurance in Jessie, once she was sure of herself and her place in his family. She would come to know that—

  His thoughts stopped midstream. All thought stopped, because there was no room for anything but stunned response to the woman at the top of the stairs. She wore some floaty thing that looked for all the world like veils that could part at any moment and reveal the luscious body beneath. The color could be, as Julia had said, purple, although to him it looked like an opal he'd seen once, many colors at once that shifted with the light. Her long, blond hair was down, flowing with the same silken rhythm as the dress, then falling still as she paused above the first step. She had on a pair of strappy sandals that made her feet and ankles look impossibly delicate. He'd never seen her look like this. He'd never seen any woman look like this.

  Lucas became abruptly aware his mouth was literally hanging open and he shut it with a snap. "Damn," he muttered under his breath.

  "Well, now, I'd say that's suitably impressed," Julia said with a barely suppressed giggle. "I guess I'll put away the skewer now."

  Slowly, Jessie started down the steps. She kept one hand on the polished mahogany banister, and her eyes downcast almost shyly.

  As if any woman who looks like that could possibly be shy. That hair, that body, that dress....

  They were a walking declaration, Lucas thought. He just wasn't sure if it was a declaration of intent, of interest or of war.

  If it was war, he was already done for. Hit before the first rounds were fired. Casualty number one. And the idea of being a prisoner of war didn't bother him at all, now that he thought about it.

  He watched in silent awe until she reached the bottom of the stairs. Julia said softly, "I'll see you tomorrow, Jessie." Jessie flicked a glance at Julia and nodded rather quickly. Julia nodded back and left them there. Alone.

  "You look...incredible," Lucas said, barely able to get his voice above a stunned whisper.

  "I clean up all right," Jessie said with a shrug, her eyes still lowered, as if she were avoiding his gaze.

  "Much, much more than just all right."

  Take nothing for granted, Julia had said. He didn't. How could anyone take a woman like this for granted? He reached out and took her hand.

  "Let me take you to dinner. Right now, tonight. To the Glass Swan. It's the only place good enough for how you look tonight."

  Finally she looked up at him. Maybe it was the unusual color of the dress, but her eyes seemed to shimmer with the same luminescence as the fabric.

  "If you promise we won't talk about the future," she said, an odd quiver in her voice.

  Right then he would have agreed to anything. "I promise. I'll go change. I won't be long. Don't go anywhere. Please."

  She looked so nervous he was half afraid she'd bolt, so he rushed through a quick shower and shave, then dressed with slightly more care in the suit that always made the girls tease him mercilessly, saying he was their brother and not supposed to be so handsome. He chose a dark tie with a small fleur-de-lis pattern in a bluish shade that reminded him of the color of her dress. And realized as his fingers fumbled in knotting it that he was as nervous as she had looked.

  This was ridiculous, he lectured the image reflected in the mirror. He was Prince Lucas Sebastiani, not some bashful young swain who'd never taken a beautiful woman out to dinner before.

  But he'd never taken Jessie out to dinner before.

  He'd never taken Jessie anywhere, he realized with a sudden little shock. As Joe, he hadn't been able to afford it, and there was no real place to go in tiny Shady Rock anyway. And since he'd come back, the only thing he'd done was take her back to the ranch, and then here.

  Feeling more than a little remiss—this was the woman he was going to marry, after all, and he'd never even taken her on a date—he paused only to call for his car to be brought around, then rushed back downstairs. His heart sank when he found the foyer empty. He spun around, wondering if she'd just gone somewhere to sit and wait. He'd thought she'd relaxed, but—

  He spotted her then, through the open doors that led to the grand ballroom. She was at one of the tall windows, silhouetted by the last rays of the sun. He was seized with a sudden desperation to make certain she stayed here, in his home, and wished he hadn't promised not to speak of their future tonight. He hadn't pressured her at all for a decision, hadn't wanted to press his luck with her, but sooner or later they were going to have to discuss it.

  Just not tonight, he thought as he looked at the lovely picture she made standing there in that dress, her hair fired
pure gold by the sun. He wouldn't risk ruining this night for anything.

  Since this had been an impulse move, he hadn't had time to call ahead to the Glass Swan. But he would call on the way, and knew Louis Montague would rise to the occasion with his usual grace and skill.

  Jessie paused at the bottom of the outside steps when she saw the racy blue Italian coupe parked there.

  "Yours?" she asked, her voice so neutral he almost wished he had an SUV instead.

  "For now," he said, thinking that the best answer he could give. It didn't seem the time to explain to her that he received a new model every year simply so the famous maker could tout that his vehicles were driven by the crown prince of Montebello.

  He opened the passenger door for her, and she stepped past him without further comment. The lustrous fabric of the dress slipped upward as she sat in the low-slung seat, revealing a tantalizing length of leg. He remembered those legs so well; remembered tracing their silken length, marveling at the taut strength there; remembered them in tight jeans as she worked around the ranch, the worn denim hugging her curves as he longed to do with his hands; remembered the feel of them holding him tight and close as she rode him to a completion he'd never known before.

  He bit his lip in his effort to tamp down the fire that wanted to roar to life. He sedately shut her door and took his time walking around to the driver's side, since walking wasn't the most comfortable thing to do just now.

  Jessie's eyes widened as they walked into the Glass Swan, although Lucas couldn't be sure if it was the rich, luxurious decor or the phalanx of people who greeted them at the door with everything short of a red carpet. As usual, the fuss drew eyes from around the restaurant, but they were quickly through the main dining room and into a smaller, more private area. They walked past a fireplace in one corner, there only for ambience not heat in this Mediterranean climate.

  Louis outdid himself. Had he been choreographing the perfect evening, Lucas couldn't have planned it any better. They had a private, candlelit booth overlooking the yacht harbor. And when Louis, stroking his dark goatee, begged Lucas to turn the menu over to him, Lucas did so without a qualm, promising Jessie that the man was unparalleled in providing a meal that was nothing short of heavenly.

  This time was no exception. From an appetizer of shrimp in a lemon garlic sauce through the luscious fresh red snapper cooked in paper to the decadent pear and caramel dessert, it was all perfect. And Louis's wife, Mariella, a petite, exotic brunette beauty, waited on them herself, as if they were guests in her home.

  The close attention from the proprietors kept him from breaking his promise to Jessie and talking about their future, kept him from trying to make her see how good it could be, how they could make it all work if she just gave it a chance. The fact that he still had no answer for her main concern, that of Luke's future, he tried not to think about.

  Somewhere between the appetizer and the main course, Jessie seemed to change. She became more animated, even laughed as the old Jessie used to, as if she'd decided to put their differences aside and enjoy this night. With that example before him, he gave up any thought of forcing the issue, and set himself to the same task, to simply enjoy this evening with her.

  And enjoy they did. For now they were just Jessie and Joe, in a fairy-tale setting, savoring this time stolen out of a complicated and painful situation.

  When dinner was finally done, and the last drop of wine drunk, they went for a walk along the water, in the light of a three-quarter moon. Jessie's mood held, and when she looked up at him and smiled, his heart seemed to take a little tumble in his chest. He took the chance of slipping his arm around her shoulders, and she didn't pull away.

  "It's beautiful," she said softly as they paused at an overlook above the yacht harbor. "I can see why people just want to get on a boat and sail away."

  "I've thought of it, more than once," he said wryly. Then, hesitantly. "Do you want to see the family boat?"

  "Let me guess," she said. "It's that one?"

  She pointed to the largest yacht in sight, anchored out in the turning basin.

  "Actually, no. That one belongs to one of the businessmen who came here for our annual meetings." She gave him an odd look that he couldn't interpret, but when she said nothing, he pointed out the lovely but smaller boat at the end of the dock they were looking down on. "That's the Sophia. My grandfather had her built, and named her after his queen. Come, I'll show her to you."

  He kept his hand on her elbow as they went down the gangway, which was a fairly steep angle at the moment. She managed it easily, however, as he expected she would.

  The uniformed watchman aboard the Sophia hailed them, then stood aside with great ceremony when he recognized Lucas. He nodded politely to Jessie, and answered Lucas's quiet query with a "Everything is shipshape, Your Highness."

  He hadn't been aboard in some time, since seeing his parents off on their anniversary cruise three years ago, in fact. But everything was warmly familiar, and his mother's gracious touch showed in the vessel's furnishings and the rich color scheme. They were of the highest quality, but chosen for practicality and function. It was comfortable and welcoming, indeed a home afloat. He knew that among royal yachts, it was much less ornate—he preferred to think of it as less ostentatious—than most, and he liked it that way.

  "It's lovely," Jessie said as he gave her the tour. "Much.. .simpler than I expected."

  "My mother says she has a palace aground, she doesn't need one afloat."

  Jessie laughed. "Your mother is a very wise woman."

  "Yes, she is."

  When they left, the man in uniform stood at attention until they were down the steps and back on the dock. Again Lucas took Jessie's arm as they walked along the boat slip to the main dock. And then she stopped in her tracks. And he knew she'd seen.

  She was staring at the sailboat in the next slip. Staring at the stern, at the name newly painted on the transom above the three oblong portholes.

  " Colorado Dreaming?' she read aloud. And then she looked at him.

  "I renamed her the week I got back."

  He didn't mention that the prior name had been a rather racy double entendre he'd chosen when his father had given him the boat when he'd graduated college.

  "Why?"

  "It fit my.. .state of mind, I guess." He hesitated, then decided to risk it. "Would you like to go aboard?"

  She hesitated in turn. She looked at the stern, read the name again. "Yes," she said at last. "I would."

  In a brief moment of panic he wondered what shape he'd last left the boat in. But he decided that with Jessie it didn't matter. She already knew most of his bad habits; as Joe, that was one of the few things he'd brought with him, it seemed.

  He led her up the dock steps—several fewer than it took to board the Sophia—and once they were on deck pulled out his keys and unlocked the door to the cabin.

  "The steps are steep," he said, "so let me go first." The heels on her sandals weren't particularly high, but he guessed she was more used to boots and he didn't want to take any chances.

  He watched as Jessie looked around, wondering what she thought. Next to his parents' yacht, this boat was almost utilitarian, devoted much more to function than luxury. The blue and dark green upholstery was rich and inviting, but the teak and stainless steel of the rest, along with the bank of instruments at the navigation station, made it clear this was a boat made for serious sailing.

  "My mother picked the colors, since she says I'm hopeless, but the rest is mine," he said.

  She didn't speak, merely nodded as she walked slowly around the main cabin. She looked at the large table with the thickly cushioned horseshoe-shaped banquette. She seemed to admire the compact organization of the galley with the small fridge and microwave, and she smiled when she saw the stove could pivot.

  "To stay level at sea?" she guessed, and he nodded.

  "Gimbaled, they call it."

  She leaned forward to peer out an oblong porthol
e window. She touched here, ran a finger down a sleek surface there, and as Lucas watched her focus on the tactile, he became aware of a gradual tightening of his body.

  Touch me like that, he wanted to say. He didn't.

  She paused at the nav-station, looking curiously at all the instruments. "The radio I recognize, but what is all this?"

  "Satellite navigation, autopilot, radar, a few other toys."

  "And this?" she asked, gesturing toward the velvet-lined box that sat on the first shelf above the chart table.

  "A sextant," he said. "The original navigation device. Comes in handy if you have an electronics problem or failure."

  "This one looks old," she said.

  "It is. It was my.. .let me see, my great-great-greatgrandfather's. The kings of Montebello have always been seagoers, but he was truly a sailor. He thought nothing of sailing to Britain, on a boat much smaller than this one."

  Jessie shook her head. "I'd need at least this much boat to brave that," she said frankly. "It's very different than the other, isn't it?"

  "It's more a working boat than a home afloat, yes."

  Again she shook her head. "I meant it feels different. The shape, and so much is below the deck."

  He should have known she hadn't been commenting on the lack of luxury. "Yes, a sailboat is an entirely different feel than a powerboat. Since you have to compensate for the push of the wind above, most of her weight and hull are below."

  "That makes sense." She peeked into the small forward cabin, where there was a crew bunk and lockers for storage. She turned and came back then, to the narrow hallway that led to the stern of the boat. She looked at him questioningly, and he nodded.

  "No point in my giving a tour, she's not that big."

  The truth was, he was thinking he'd be better off if he kept his itchy hands anchored firmly on the table he was leaning against.

  She looked into the first cabin on the left, the one he'd converted into a workshop of sorts, with a workbench, spare parts and tools. And then at the closet that held the small washer and dryer.