Not Fit for a King?

by Jane Porter

  “Not deliberately. But in order to protect him, I’ve decided to wait to introduce you until I know you’re staying.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  LATER that night, tucked in bed, Hannah took out her phone and researched the Patek Royal family.

  There were dozens of articles online but very few references to the youngest Patek prince, Constantine. Once someone gave his date of birth—he was three years older than Hannah—and another time, he was referred to as the third son, but that was it. To the outside world, Prince Constantine didn’t exist.

  Hannah could see why Zale would want to protect his brother from the world, but to keep his future wife from meeting his only surviving family? It made Hannah think Zale had no intentions of marrying Emmeline.

  Hannah turned off the phone, and then the lamp next to her bed, but couldn’t sleep.

  Zale wasn’t an easy man. He was tough, proud and competitive. And the more she got to know him, the more certain she was that he’d crush Emmeline. Not intentionally, of course, but simply because he didn’t understand his own strength.

  He’d never win Emmeline’s heart by browbeating her, either. He needed to court her. Needed to woo her. Needed to show that he had a softer side, and Hannah knew he did because she saw glimpses of it every now and then. Just not often enough.

  It was time Zale exerted himself a little bit. Time he made an effort to win Emmeline over instead of judging her and criticizing her. He might be a king, but he needed to start treating his betrothed like the queen she would be.

  Hannah woke early the next morning and rang for Celine to help her dress. “Can you send word to His Majesty that I’d like to meet him?” Hannah asked, stepping from her shower to dress.

  Today she chose her own clothes, selecting a pale apricot linen dress from Emmeline’s wardrobe paired with a slim-fitting cropped cashmere sweater the same hue. She slipped a gold bangle on her wrist and small gold hoops on her ears, before pulling her hair back in a ponytail. She did her own makeup, keeping it light, and was just finishing applying mascara when word arrived that His Majesty was waiting for her in the family dining room.

  Hannah took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as a footman escorted her.

  The family dining room was a cozy room on the second floor. Tall mullioned windows lined the walls and sunlight glazed the glass, casting bright rays across the rich walnut table and illuminating the centerpiece of pink and cream tulips in a crystal vase.

  Zale sat at one end of the table reading a stack of newspapers, a cup of espresso at his elbow.

  Briefly he lifted his head as she entered the room, his amber gaze sweeping over her. “This is a surprise,” he said.

  “A pleasant one, I hope,” she answered, taking the chair the uniformed footman held for her and smoothing the hem of her crisp linen dress over her knees.

  The footman poured her coffee and brought her fresh squeezed orange juice before handing her a small elegant printed menu. Her eyebrows arched. A printed menu for a family meal?

  Zale must have been able to read her mind as he said from behind his newspaper, “Chef will make anything you like, but he also offers specialty items every morning based on what he’s picked up from the local farmers market.”

  “How do you know what I was thinking?”

  “You’re easy to read.” He folded the paper and set it down.

  “So what am I thinking now?” she asked, stirring milk into her coffee.

  Zale studied her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “You’re upset that I won’t introduce you to my brother, and you’re here to convince me otherwise.”

  “Not at all,” she said, lifting her cup to sip the hot, strong coffee. “I think you’re spot-on. Your brother should be protected. Until we are absolutely certain we want to proceed with the wedding, we should be careful. I’d hate to grow fond of your brother only to realize you’re not entirely suitable for me.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “And now I’m not suitable?”

  She offered the footman a sunny smile as he moved forward to offer her a selection of flaky pastries. She refused the pastries and turned her attention back to Zale. “I thought about what you said last night—about our lack of compatibility—and you might be right.”

  He shifted in his seat, shoulders becoming broader, expression harder. “Is that so?”

  She nodded, took another sip of coffee. “We don’t know each other, and the only way you’ll know I’m right for you is if I’m myself. So from now on, I’m going to be myself, and hopefully, you’ll like the real me. But if you don’t, I’d rather go home than marry someone who doesn’t enjoy my company.”

  Zale’s brows lowered. “You would reject me?”

  She smiled, the same patient smile she gave Sheikh Al-Koury when he gave her another impossible task. “Since we’re being completely honest, I admit that I don’t want to marry someone I don’t like, either.”

  His lips thinned.

  She nodded, as if he’d given a sign of agreement. “I’m really looking forward to the next four days and spending time together. I imagine you have some fun activities planned—” she lifted a finger, holding him off a moment “—activities other than signing documents, sitting for portraits and selecting china patterns.”

  “Those are all necessary if we’re to marry.”

  “Yes, if. But as you made clear yesterday, we don’t know that we will. In fact, you’re fairly certain we won’t. So perhaps selecting a china pattern is a bit presumptuous, never mind a colossal waste of time. Perhaps we should slow down and … date … first.”

  “Date?”

  “Mmm. Lunches. Dinners. Activities that allow us to spend time together in a relaxed and enjoyable manner.” “Is this a joke?”

  “No. I definitely wouldn’t joke about our future.”

  Zale stared at her through narrowed lashes, his expression grim. “You’re so different from a year ago. You were so quiet at our engagement party. You hardly looked at me. Where has all this personality come from?”

  Hannah shrugged. “It was always there, just a bit squashed by my parents’ disapproval. But my parents aren’t marrying you. I am.”

  “And this entire epiphany came to you last night?”

  “Yes. As I lay in bed.” She gestured to the footman. “I think I’d like the eggs Florentine and some fresh fruit. Thank you.” She lifted her white linen napkin from the table and placed it on her lap. “I thought you’d be pleased by my epiphany but you don’t seem happy at all.”

  He didn’t look happy, either. His brow was furrowed, his square chin jutted and he was practically glowering at her from across the table. “I find your attitude a trifle cavalier considering the circumstances. Your parents have invested a great deal of money into our alliance—”

  “Five million euros.”

  A small muscle pulled in his jaw at her interruption. “And I, too, am invested.”

  “Two and a half million. Because you’re a king and more important than I am.”

  “Emmeline,” he growled.

  It’d meant to be a warning.

  Hannah ignored it. “But that’s the reality, isn’t it? You are a king and I’m just a princess—” “Stop.”

  “It’s true. You do have more power. You can afford to be critical. Judgmental. Unforgiving.” “That’s not who I am.”

  “It’s how you speak to me. You’ve told me repeatedly that I’m not suitable.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “So why would I want to marry you? Why would I want to spend my life with a person who treats me like my parents do?”

  He leaned back in his chair and for a long moment said nothing and then he shook his head. “I respect your parents, but I’m nothing like them.”

  “Yet all I’ve heard from you since I arrived is that I’m a disappointment and you can’t wait to get rid of me.”

  “I also think I’ve told you you’re beautiful a half dozen times.”

  “But I’d rather you like who I am
as a person than appreciate my looks. Beauty fades. Appearances change. It’s the inside that matters and that’s the part of me you don’t like.”

  “I’ve never said that.”

  “Because there isn’t anything about me—other than my bloodline and my looks—that you do like.”

  He fell silent. She knew she’d made a point. She could see it in his eyes and the twist of his lips.

  Silence stretched. Zale drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I like you right now,” he said after a moment. “I like your candor. I appreciate honesty.”

  Hannah suppressed the twinge of guilt she felt at his mention of honesty. “Zale, I think there are a lot of things you’d like about me, given the chance to get to know me. I love adventure. I have a great sense of humor. I enjoy traveling and reading and learning about new cultures. But if you keep throwing the past in my face, you’ll never get to know any of those things about me.”

  “It’s hard to forget that until last week you were with Alejandro.”

  “Is that pride speaking?”

  “No. It’s the realist in me. The one that knows leopards don’t change their spots.”

  “But the realist must also see that I’m here. I asked to join you at breakfast this morning. I want to spend as much time as I can with you—Zale, the man, not the king—over the next few days. But you have to want to be with me, too, because I don’t want to marry my father. I want a man that likes me. Enjoys me. And could maybe even one day love me.”

  Zale stood up, walked across the room, then turned to face her. “Maybe we need to start over,” he said quietly. “Wipe the slate clean.”

  “Can you?”

  His broad shoulders shrugged. “I won’t know until I try. But let’s do what you’ve suggested. Try to act like a normal couple getting to know each other. We’ll spend time together … date.”

  She smiled at the way he said date. He made it sound foreign and exotic, as if it was something he’d never normally do. “Good. It’s the only way we’ll know if we really have a chance.”

  “So let’s have our first … date … today. I’ve morning meetings but once they wrap up we’ll head out for the rest of the day.” He paused, thought a moment and then added, “We’ll plan to meet at eleven. Wear something comfortable, bring a sweater and a swimsuit, just in case.”

  A sweater and a swimsuit? She was immediately curious as to where they were going but didn’t ask. “I’ll be ready.”

  Hannah changed into white linen pants, a blue and white striped knit shirt topped by a navy jacket. It was rather nautical but the most casual thing Hannah could find in Emmeline’s elegant wardrobe.

  Reluctantly she packed one of Emmeline’s two-piece swim-suits, thinking there was no way her curvy figure would be covered by the tiny scraps of material, but Zale had said to bring a suit and so she would.

  She headed downstairs at five to eleven to find Zale already waiting for her. She’d expected a car would be waiting outside but discovered a helicopter in the enormous circular driveway instead.

  The pilot gave both Hannah and Zale headsets to wear for the flight to reduce noise. The headsets came equipped with microphones but Zale was quiet as they lifted off the palace helipad and flew above the walled city over creamy colored bluffs, cypress pines and hillsides dotted with orange and red tiled houses.

  Even with the microphones it would be impossible to really talk above the noise and Hannah didn’t mind the silence as it gave her a chance to really see Raguva. It’d been nighttime when she’d arrived and she was fascinated by this jewel-like kingdom on the Dalmatian Coast.

  “We’re going to my island,” Zale said, ten minutes into the flight. “I don’t go often, haven’t been there in years, but I thought we could both use some downtime away from the palace.”

  For twenty minutes they flew over sapphire water and the odd sailboat, barge and yacht until several rocky islands appeared below. The islands were almost barren with just a few gnarled trees above jagged cliffs. There were stone ruins on one island, and a simple stone house on another. That’s the island they were landing on.

  The pilot slowly touched down in a clearing before the house and Zale opened the door, climbed out and helped Hannah out. The pilot handed Zale a leather duffel and they spoke together for a moment before taking off.

  Hannah watched the helicopter lift off, blades whirring, leaving them alone on a deserted island in the middle of the Adriatic Sea. “He’s coming back for us, right?”

  Zale’s lips curved in a trace of a smile. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back before it’s dark. But even if he isn’t, my security detail has been in the water since midmorning. They’ve secured the island and they can be here in minutes.”

  “Do you come here often?” she asked, shouldering her beach tote bag and looking around. The simple farm-style house had thick stone walls, single-pane glass windows and a pale terracotta tiled roof.

  He shook his head. “Haven’t been here in years.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t had the desire, nor the time.”

  The sun was now directly overhead and it was hot in the sunlight. Hannah peeled her navy jacket off. “I should have brought shorts or worn a skirt.”

  “You’ll be in your swimsuit soon. We’re about to head down to the beach for lunch.”

  “Is that our picnic lunch?” she asked, gesturing to the small leather duffel.

  “Nope. My suit, towels and sunscreen.”

  “Where’s lunch?”

  “Hungry?”

  “Thirsty.”

  “Come. Let’s go to the beach. Everything’s already there.”

  They walked across the clearing toward the cypress trees and a steep staircase chiseled into the stone cliff.

  Hannah followed Zale down the stairs slowly, careful not to trip in her heels. The sun beat down on the top of her head and she grew hotter by the moment. Her elegant sandals were totally impractical for the steep descent and her white trousers grew dusty at the hem. And yet the ocean sparkled far below, the sapphire and turquoise water lapping against ivory sand.

  The deep blue water looked impossibly inviting. Hannah couldn’t wait to get her feet wet. She loved to swim and looked forward to stretching out in the sun.

  Zale waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. He’d taken off his shoes and rolled up his sleeves revealing strong tan forearms. “No more stairs till later.”

  She slipped off her high-heel sandals, flexing her toes. “Good. That was a little scary.”

  She’d thought they’d already reached the beach but Zale walked around the corner to another private beach. A large colorful blanket was spread out on the sand with a large basket anchoring one corner, and an ice chest on another.

  Zale crouched next to the ice chest and opened the top. “Chef took care of us. Beer, wine, water, juice. What would you like to drink?”

  “Beer, please,” she said, kneeling down on the blanket, feet blistered and totally parched.

  “Beer?”

  “I love a cold beer on a hot summer day. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, but not many women do.” He withdrew two chilled bottles and a chilled glass.

  “I don’t need a glass,” she said, waving off the glass and taking one of the opened bottles from him. “How did this all get here?” she asked, gesturing to the basket and ice chest.