Falling for the Princess

by Sandra Hyatt

Twelve

  Half an hour later Rebecca stood smiling on the small dock as she looked at the pretty white-and-red rowboat Logan had hired for them. She glanced down at her dress and shoes, a well-coordinated ensemble in cream and beige, the shoes with the cutest heels, perfect for the polo, not so perfect for a rowboat.

  “You’ll be fine,” Logan said, breaking into her thoughts as he came to stand beside her. “All you have to do is sit.” He passed her one of the matching straw hats and then handed her into the wooden boat, and once she was seated, climbed in and sat facing her on the front seat. He nodded at the man renting them the boat, who then disappeared into the small brightly painted shed on the dock and returned a few seconds later carrying…a guitar? He handed the instrument in its soft case to Logan, who set it behind him in the boat. Logan was going to play for her. Her heart soared foolishly. The boat owner gave them a firm push off from the dock.

  Logan began rowing. Here, the river, overhung with willows, moved slowly. He rowed with long, smooth strokes, taking them upstream. Sunlight sparkled on the water. The only sound was the quiet rhythmic knock of the oars in the rowlocks.

  “This seemed like the best way of getting you away from the people who want to talk to us,” he said as he rowed, “but we’re in public, it’ll still count toward the occasions we’ve been seen together.”

  In the distance visitors strolled through the rose gardens. “And very romantic-looking, too,” she said, trying to sound as though she was thinking purely analytically, while not sounding cynical. “It’ll definitely look good.”

  “Exactly.”

  For the sake of the balance of the boat she sat directly opposite him, her feet in their impractical heels firmly together but placed between his widely spaced feet.

  She leaned over the side and trailed her fingers in the cool water, mainly to avoid looking directly at Logan. Though she couldn’t help the occasional glance. For all that this ought to be relaxing, he didn’t look relaxed. Didn’t look to be enjoying himself any more than she was. “Can I row?” she asked.

  His gaze narrowed doubtfully.

  “Princesses aren’t helpless, you know.”

  “I never thought they were. Actually, I’ve never given any thought to it, but I’ve never assumed anything of the sort about you. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  “Swing around to sit beside me, then I’ll shift to your seat.”

  They completed the maneuver. Logan took the guitar with him and Rebecca began rowing, glad to have something to do, something other than Logan to focus on. Her unpracticed efforts were clumsy at first, but Logan placed his hands beside hers on the oars, helped her get a feel for the rhythm of rowing and the placement of the oars.

  He unzipped the guitar.

  “You don’t have to.” It was enough that he’d thought to bring the guitar. A gesture she appreciated.

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to. You are the only person on the list of people I would play for. It’s private. But this is so you know that you mean something. That what you heard me say to Jack couldn’t have been further from the truth.” The intensity in his gaze and the sentiment behind his words almost made her want to weep, so desperately did she want to mean something to this man.

  Looking away, he settled the instrument on his thigh and began playing, his fingers moving assuredly over strings and frets. He glanced up. “Just don’t expect me to sing.” His smile flashed.

  Rebecca rowed slowly, overhanging willows occasionally brushing the boat, and listened. His soft strumming was the perfect accompaniment to their afternoon.

  Too soon he stopped and slid the guitar back into its case. “It wouldn’t be right to let you do all the rowing.”

  “I was enjoying it. Your playing. And the rowing.”

  “But still. Besides, there’s something we need to talk about.” His voice was suddenly serious.

  Rebecca concentrated on keeping the oars even, dipping them into the water simultaneously, pulling back evenly. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Sat in a boat while a woman rowed?”

  “Not that.” Logan slid a hand into the pocket of his trousers, pulled out a small jeweler’s box and leaned toward her. “I think we should get engaged.”

  Her left oar skittered across the surface of the water, the boat swerved, she overcorrected and the boat spun the other way. Finally she got it back under control. She rowed with long strokes, trying to find a rhythm that suddenly eluded her. “I guess.” Somehow, after the guitar playing, the offer of engagement felt like a letdown.

  He still held the small velvet box in his hand. “I didn’t know if I should have had you with me to choose the ring. I wasn’t sure what you like. But this one appealed. I could imagine you wearing it.”

  Long even strokes. That was all she had to do. This wasn’t a proposal. Logan wasn’t asking her to marry her. Even if he had imagined her wearing the ring he’d chosen. This was just a temporary symbol of their temporary arrangement. “It doesn’t really matter.” She spoke the words as much to convince herself as him.

  “It does matter. I want you to like it. You’re the one who has to wear it.”

  “Makes sense,” she said casually. “But it’s only for a couple of weeks. Then you’ll get it back.” Something tightened in her throat.

  “I don’t want it back,” he said, the words clipped, almost angry. “What am I going to do with an engagement ring?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure her direction was true. And to avoid meeting Logan’s gaze. “Give it to someone else? Sell it?” It wasn’t easy to stop herself from looking at either Logan or the ring but she managed. She looked at her hands on the oars, the water, the riverbank. She hadn’t cried in years. She wasn’t going to now. She didn’t even know why the sudden urge was there, tightening her jaw. It was as though this expected proposal had spoiled a near perfect afternoon. And yet this was precisely what they had agreed upon. But the voice of the girl she’d once been—idealistic and full of dreams—wanted to refuse, because suddenly this wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

  Just this morning over breakfast her father had been so relaxed, the lines that creased his brow almost permanently had eased. He’d expressed his satisfaction with her relation ship with Logan.

  She couldn’t throw it all away now.

  And besides, Logan needed her for his negotiations. To help his dreams come true. Which was precisely why he was sitting opposite her holding a small box out for her. “Are you even going to look at it?”

  “Of course. If you’d like.” She pulled the oars toward her, sliding them through the rowlocks so she could rest them on the edge of the boat.

  When she’d run out of excuses to not look at him she lifted her gaze to his glare. This was not how engagements were supposed to happen. Even fake ones, surely.

  “Of course, we’ll need to talk to my father. Royal protocol and all that.”

  “I’ve spoken to him. Asked his permission. It seemed like the thing to do.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “What did he say?” Though she knew what her father must have said, given his contentment this morning.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? Although he didn’t say much at all. First I got one of the longest silences I’ve ever had to endure.”

  Rebecca smiled. She could just imagine it. “He’s good at that.”

  “Very. And then he asked if I thought I could make you happy.”

  “Oh.” She suddenly knew the answer to that, too. She looked at the peeling paint on the bottom of the boat. Logan did make her happy. Being with him was unlike being with anyone else.

  “For a while there I didn’t know if I could go through with it. The thought of lying to your father wasn’t a good feeling. But the funny thing is that when I finally said yes, it wasn’t a lie. Sometimes I think I do make you happy, when I’m
not making you sad by saying stupid things to my brother. You do something…similar for me. So that bit wasn’t a lie. When I told him you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, that wasn’t a lie, either. It was just the wanting-to-marry-you bit that wasn’t exactly the truth. But after a couple of reasonably dire threats about what will happen if I fail to make you happy, he gave me his permission. So, given what I’ve had to go through already, you could put an end to the torture and at least look at the ring rather than the floor of the boat. As fascinating as it is.”

  She looked up and met his gaze. There was something both teasing yet utterly serious in the depths of his eyes. She reached for the box, and eased open the lid. An exquisite sapphire surrounded by diamonds sparkled and glinted, full of promise and beauty. Her heart seemed to rise up in her chest, blocking her throat even further. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “Do you really like it?” His voice had gentled, and contained an unfamiliar uncertainty. “I thought of you when I saw it.”

  Rebecca nodded.

  “Can I put it on you?”

  She nodded again, still looking at the ring and the wooden floor of the boat beyond it and out of focus. She didn’t know when, if ever, she’d been quite so lost for words, quite so certain that if she said something it would be utterly inadequate, or worse, utterly unintelligible.

  Logan eased the box from her fingers, lifted the ring out and slid it onto her left hand. Rebecca stretched her fingers out. The ring caught the sunlight and sparkled, full of false promise.

  “I can change it if you don’t like it. We could choose some thing different together.”

  “No. It’s beautiful.”

  The boat bobbed on the water. Rebecca didn’t trust herself to say anything more. Because she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she had somehow fallen in love with the man opposite her. The man whose ring she was wearing. The realization appalled her.

  “Shall I row?”

  That might be a good idea. She nodded and they swapped seats. Logan turned the boat downstream.

  “If we announce it at the official dinner tomorrow night it ought to help your chances at the board meeting.”

  “That’s not why I did this now.” He dug the oars into the water.

  “Then why?”

  “I had other reasons. Not all of them quite so selfish.”

  “I wasn’t accusing you of being selfish. I was just trying to look at the positives.”

  “Because otherwise it would be a negative?” He pulled hard on the oars.

  “No. That’s not what I said, either.”

  Logan heaved a sigh. “Next time I propose to a woman I’m going to do a much better job of it.”

  “I hope so.” She managed a smile, though the thought of Logan proposing properly to a woman he loved and wanted to spend his life with did not please her. If anything quite the opposite. She bit her lip.

  Logan stopped rowing and pulled in the oars, letting the boat drift with the current. His legs bracketed hers and he leaned forward, slid his hands along her jaw. His thumbs stroked over her cheekbones, and for long seconds she just looked into his beautiful brown eyes, and then he pulled her closer to kiss her. And his kiss did what it always did—broke through the maze of barriers, to something simple and lovely.

  There was a kernel deep within her that ached for this to be real, for Logan to love her, to want to spend his life with her.

  He ended the kiss and, after searching her face, started rowing again and Rebecca decided that sometimes it was best if they didn’t speak. If she didn’t let the feelings—insecurities and hopes—that she wasn’t supposed to have bubble to the surface.

  On the dock ahead of them a small group of photographers gathered. She sighed and Logan glanced back, scowling when he saw the pack. “Either we were followed or the boat owner must have called.”

  “My reputation,” she said as pieces started to fall into place.

  “What about it?”

  “That was your other reason for getting engaged now. You wanted to protect my reputation after that photo of my car at your apartment.”

  He again looked back over his shoulder to the photographers. His face darkening.

  “That’s sweet. Thank you.”

  His strokes slowed. “This is supposed to be good for both of us. So far it seems to be working mostly in my favor.”

  “I don’t know. It’s doing what I need it to. And there have been other…benefits,” she said, thinking, as she did far too often, of how they’d made love, knowing he’d know that was what she was thinking of. She’d hoped to make him smile with the reference. She didn’t succeed.

  They neared the dock.

  “Once the news is released there will be questions.” She pointed out the obvious.

  “Like, when’s the wedding going to be?”

  She nodded.

  “In ten months.”

  “You sound certain.”

  “I had to talk your father down from eighteen months. He insists that at least that much time is necessary to arrange a proper royal wedding. And after Rafe and Lexie snuck off for theirs and cheated him and the country of that celebration he is insisting on a proper royal wedding. But I wanted to be convincing, which meant I needed to stick as close to the truth as possible. If we really were getting married I’d want it to be as soon as feasible. I wouldn’t want to waste another day not being married to you.”

  He would have had no difficulty convincing her father. He almost had her convinced—so badly was she blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.

  Logan flicked another glance at the small group on the dock. “As for where we’re going to live I don’t see why we can’t spend half the year here and half the year in the States. If your father and your adoring public would allow it. And if you wanted to.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Almost too perfect. They may as well get their story straight.

  “Babies?”

  “Eventually,” she answered, letting herself believe the fantasy they were weaving. “We’ll want some time together alone first.”

  “Long evenings when we can make love.”

  “And you can play the guitar for me.”

  “Definitely. And you can make us pancakes for breakfast.”

  “Definitely.” She looked at her hand. The ring that represented so much and so little, sparkled.

  Thirteen

  The ring still sparkled but in the space of a day everything else had changed. Yesterday afternoon Rebecca had—for a blissful time—willfully indulged in the fantasy and allowed herself to be happy, even though it was all a pretence.

  She didn’t even have that now.

  Now she was both executioner and victim.

  Wearing a vibrant glittering red dress, a far cry from the somber mood that gripped her, she sat at Logan’s side for the official dinner, her head swimming, her heart heavy.

  As Eduardo had requested, she’d made time to speak with him. Just two hours ago.

  And everything had changed.

  She’d then spoken with her father. And her father had had to call in his aides to let them know of the changes in the dinner plans.

  Usually these evenings dragged. But tonight the pre-dinner socializing, and the dinner itself, sped by. She hadn’t had a chance to be alone with Logan, who wore a tuxedo better than any man she’d ever met. And she’d wanted and needed that chance desperately, while at the same time hoping it would never come. She’d hoped to delay doing what she now had to do.

  It wouldn’t hurt him, she told herself. It wouldn’t even hurt her. He’d get what he’d wanted and so would she. She was just speeding things up a little. So why did she feel so wretched?

  Her father stood to make his after-dinner speech. Logan reached over and squeezed her hand, his thumb swept over her fingers. Frowning, he dropped his gaze to her bare left hand.

  His beautiful ring was back in its box, making a small bulge in her evening bag.

  “You’re wai
ting for the official announcement?” He glanced at her father as the prince began speaking then back at her.

  Rebecca bit her lip and shook her head. “There’s a change of plan. Our engagement isn’t being announced to night.”

  Doubt clouded his eyes. They sat through the announcement of Lexie’s pregnancy. She got the feeling it was as difficult for Logan, knowing something was wrong, as it was for her to join in the air of excitement and joy. Her father sat down to rapturous applause. Animated conversation erupted around the room.

  Logan’s gaze rested unnervingly on her. “Where can we go to talk?”

  “I can’t leave the dinner. Royal protocol.” A protocol she was choosing to follow when, if she really wanted, she could arrange to slip out. But she couldn’t be alone with Logan right now. She wasn’t strong enough to do what she had to if he was questioning her, pressing for an explanation.

  Music, an upbeat waltz, began to play. Couples filled the dance floor.

  Logan sat stock-still at her side. “Is this about what I said the other morning?” His voice was a low whisper beneath the sound of the music. “About you not meaning anything to me. I thought we sorted that out. You know it wasn’t true.”

  She could not let him believe that. Not now. “No,” she said, “this is about me not wanting to go on with this charade.” Her own words tore at her. She reached for her evening bag and felt inside for the small velvet box. Her hand closed around it and she clutched it for just a second before drawing the box out. Beneath the table, she slid it to Logan. His hands stayed clenched into fists on his thighs. She took a breath and called up the awful, gut-wrenching words she’d rehearsed as she’d dressed. “I don’t want to pretend to be engaged to you.”

  Quite the contrary. She’d realized when she’d spoken to her father earlier, telling him not to announce their engagement, that what she wanted more than anything was to make what she had with Logan real.

  That she loved him.

  In an awful irony the lie she’d had to tell her father was not that she loved Logan when she didn’t, but that she didn’t love him when she did.