The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow

by Jane Porter

  “Let’s get the supplies in,” her father said, turning to her. “While you put away the food, I’ll set up the radio.”

  “Can I help?” Alexander asked.

  “No, but thank you,” her father said.

  “Then I’ll give you some time to catch up.”

  In the cottage, Josephine kept glancing at her father as she unpacked the groceries and various supplies needed for life on Khronos. Her father worked on the radio, attaching it to the solar panels that would maintain a constant charge. Normally he’d talk to her while he worked. This morning he was silent.

  She folded her arms and faced him. “You’re upset.”

  “Do you know who he is?” he asked. “This shipwrecked man of yours?”

  “No. But he’s obviously European, and wealthy. It was a huge yacht, incredibly luxurious.”

  Finished with the radio, her father went to his backpack and retrieved his computer and a pile of newspapers. “He’s a prince from the kingdom of Aargau. And he’s been missing for over a week.”

  She laughed. “A prince?”

  Her father didn’t smile. His expression was stony.

  “A prince?” she repeated, her throat suddenly scratchy.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Her father flung down the stack of newspapers. “It’s in all the news, in papers from all over the world. Everyone is looking for him. It’s been in the headlines daily. At first he was merely missing, but they have now begun to worry he’s not going to be found—at least not found alive. All the more tragic as he’s supposed to be getting married in just a few weeks.”

  He was getting married?

  No...

  No.

  “Maybe it’s a different person. Maybe—” she broke off as her gaze fell on the top newspaper, the headline paired with a photo. The bold headline read “Prince Alexander Feared Dead,” and while she didn’t recognize the name, she recognized the face in the photo.

  It was him.

  And his name was Alexander.

  Alexander. She said the name silently, rolling it over in her mind, before looking back down at the photo. Her mystery man, her beloved stranger, wasn’t a rich Italian but a Mediterranean prince. Thirty-four-year-old Prince Alexander Julius Alberici, who was engaged to marry Princess Danielle Roulet at the end of this month.

  Her father returned to the radio, adjusting the signal. “I’m going to call the Greek authorities,” he said. “They’ll in turn alert the authorities in Aargau. I imagine they’ll send help right away, probably a helicopter.”

  She crossed the floor to the open window, where she stood facing the sea. She couldn’t see Alexander, not from where she stood, but she knew he was out there, probably in the sheltered cove.

  “Do you have to call today?” she asked quietly, her back to her father, her gaze still on the bay. “Can you wait until the morning? Give us this last day.”

  “That would be cruel. His family thinks he’s dead.”

  She nodded, swallowing hard around the lump filling her throat. She didn’t want to be cruel, but she would miss him. Terribly.

  “Can you at least wait until I’m gone?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder to where her father sat at the table with the radio.

  “I’m going to call soon,” her father answered.

  She fought the salty sting of tears and forced back the lump making it difficult to swallow.

  It was ending so quickly. She’d thought she’d have at least two more days before her father returned, but instead he was here and taking control, and she was grateful he was doing the right thing, the proper thing, but she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Alexander.

  She didn’t want to be here when they came for him. She couldn’t imagine parting, never mind surrounded by strangers who didn’t understand what the past week had been like.

  It had been heaven on earth.

  She’d never been so happy in her entire life.

  And yet he wasn’t hers. He was never meant to be hers. What they’d shared here on Khronos was a mistake—no, she wouldn’t call it that, but a fluke, something that hadn’t been meant to be. And while the time they’d shared couldn’t be taken from them, there was no future for them. It was unlikely their paths would ever cross again.

  “I don’t want to be here when they come for him,” she said quietly, her gaze meeting her father’s before shifting away. “May I have your permission to take the boat to Antreas? I haven’t been off Khronos in ages. It’ll be good for me to get out and do something.”

  “You don’t want to see him off?”

  “You know how I am about goodbyes. I find them painful.”

  “Won’t the prince be offended?”

  “It will be better for him if people don’t know he was here alone with me. It will be better if help comes and they find you.”

  “The truth will get out. It always does.”

  “But that won’t be my problem then. He’ll be home in Aargau with his family and his fiancée.” The words stuck in her throat. She managed a tight smile. “And at least this way I’ll have some dignity. Goodbyes always hurt too much.”

  “You’ve been this way ever since you lost your mom—”

  “I don’t want to talk about her. Let me gather a few things quickly as I’d like to leave soon. I’ll take the boat to Antreas for the night and return by noon tomorrow.”

  “It’s too far on your own.”

  “It’s a straight shot north. I’ll be fine, and I’ve done it before.” She managed another small, brittle smile. “And when I return tomorrow, all will be well, and life will return to normal.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALEXANDER RETURNED FROM his swim to discover Josephine had left, and she’d gone without a word to him. She’d gone without a goodbye.

  Her father attempted a weak explanation, which only made Alexander grit his teeth. It was a battle to hide his shock and disappointment.

  “She didn’t know how to say goodbye,” Professor Robb added. “She doesn’t like to cry.”

  “And why would she cry?” Alexander retorted stiffly.

  The professor pushed a set of newspapers across the rough-hewn table, giving him a glimpse of headline after headline.

  “Aargau’s Prince Alex Missing”

  “Tragedy on Yacht in Aegean Sea”

  “Royal Prince Feared Dead”

  “She knows who I am,” Alexander said.

  Professor Robb nodded. “But so do you, don’t you?”

  “I started remembering pieces a few days ago, but it wasn’t until yesterday that I remembered my name and who I was.”

  “You didn’t tell her.”

  Alexander didn’t reply. “When will she return?”

  “After you’re gone.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “I suspect help will be arriving later this afternoon.”

  The professor was right.

  A helicopter from Aargau’s Royal Navy arrived within hours, a medic on board in case Alexander needed care, but after a quick exam, he was cleared to fly, and they left Khronos.

  Alexander didn’t speak the entire flight to Aargau, nor did he speak as the Mercedes whisked him from the helipad to the palace. It was just a fifteen-minute drive and he stared out the window seeing, but not seeing, the streets of Roche, Aargau’s capital city, home for the past one hundred sixty-five years to the royal Alberici family.

  His family.

  As the chauffeur drove him, with cars driven by security ahead and behind him, he wondered why he didn’t feel relief that he was home.

  He wondered why sights that were familiar didn’t fill him with any comfort or pleasure.

  Instead he felt only an oppressive sense of dread. He knew his father was ill—he remembered that c
learly—but there was something missing in his memories, something that didn’t explain the dread that felt like a lead weight in his gut.

  Perhaps it was because he didn’t remember his time on the yacht. Perhaps it was because he feared questions about the trip and his injury and his questionable memory. He didn’t want to alarm his mother by letting her know that there were things he didn’t remember. He needed to protect her from more stress. The past nine days couldn’t have been easy for her.

  Arriving at the palace, the gates opened for the parade of black Mercedes and then closed behind them. The palace was surrounded by thick walls dating back to the fifteenth century, and portions of that early fortress remained: a chapel, a tower, a prison dungeon. Newer buildings had risen around the medieval architecture, sometimes incorporating them, sometimes ignoring them. The Alberici family lived in the eighteenth-century palace, and guards and staff filled some of the other buildings. Years ago Alexander had claimed the tower as his own, converting each floor into rooms of his own. He had a private gym on the ground floor and an office one floor above that. His private library was on the third floor, with access to a guest suite on the fourth. The stairwell between the fourth and fifth floors led to the roof and the parapet where antique cannons remained.

  When he needed to be home for long periods, he’d retreat to the tower guest suite, sleeping there to give himself some much-needed privacy. No one entered the tower without his permission, and he limited access when he was in residence to his own butler and valet.

  His butler and valet were on the palace front steps as the motorcade drew to a stop, and they ushered him to his suite of rooms in the palace, where he showered, shaved and dressed.

  “Are you well, Your Highness?” his valet asked after giving Alexander’s coat a tug, adjusting the fit over his shoulders.

  “Yes, thank you,” Alexander answered.

  “You have quite a cut on your head, sir.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “The doctor has seen you?”

  “A navy doctor checked me out on the way here.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  And then Alexander was off, leaving his suite for that of his parents’ rooms.

  The meeting with his mother and father was brief. His father was in a chair, his eyes closed, when Alexander entered the room. His mother, Serena, was sitting in a chair nearby, embroidering. She’d taken up embroidery a few years ago and now it was rare to see her in private without a needle and thread in her hands.

  Seeing that his father was sleeping, he paused at his mother’s chair, stooping to kiss her forehead. At fifty-five she was slim and elegant and until recently had looked far younger than her years, but his father’s change of health had unfairly aged her. “Hello, Mother.”

  She reached up to pat his cheek and tears filled her eyes. “Alexander,” she said, the quiver in her voice betraying the stress of the past few weeks.

  He glanced to his father’s chair. His father looked shockingly thin, his complexion gray. “How is he?”

  Her shoulders shrugged. “He’s—”

  “Tired of worrying about you, you thankless scoundrel,” his father answered, his voice hoarse and thin.

  Alexander smiled faintly. His father wasn’t joking, either. He’d been a disappointment to his father ever since he was a boy and had refused to hunt and shoot animals and whip his horse and do any number of things that a male should do to prove his dominance. “You can stop worrying then. I’m back, safe and sound,” Alexander said lightly.

  “It crossed my mind that you were deliberately staying away, enjoying our discomfort.”

  “No, never.” He glanced down at his mother, his expression softening. “I’d never want to distress Mother. Now, you, you’re a different matter.” His lips were curved, his tone dry and slightly mocking because that was how he and his father communicated. With biting sarcasm and stinging disdain.

  “Ha, I knew it.” His father struggled to sit up in his chair and Alexander went to his aid but his father brushed him away. “I’m not so frail that I can’t sit up in my own chair.”

  “Never doubted your strength, sir.”

  His father cleared his throat and then coughed and coughed. And coughed some more. It was a long time before he could speak. “Your cousin,” he rasped, eyes watering, voice quavering. “He’s been quite anxious about your return. Damian’s been checking in a half-dozen times a day.”

  “Hoping to inherit, I’m sure.”

  His father looked at him hard from beneath dark brows. “He has always respected the crown, unlike you.”

  “I was a boy when I said those things. Don’t you think it’s time to forgive?”

  “I forgave you, but I won’t forget.”

  Alexander held back the words he wanted to say. There was no point in defending himself, no point in arguing his case. It would change nothing. “I would have it no other way, Father.”

  “Princess Danielle’s family has also been in touch daily. Have you spoken yet with her?” His mother asked, diverting the attention. “She’s been frantic.”

  “Does she do frantic? I’ve only ever known her to be the epitome of calm.”

  “Not frantic as in frenzied, but concerned,” his mother conceded. “Which is why we like her so much. She won’t embarrass you. She won’t embarrass us.”

  “A perfect wife,” he murmured.

  And yet his mother heard, her dark blond eyebrows rising. “I thought you liked her.”

  “And I do,” Alexander answered. “She’s a perfectly lovely princess.”

  “Faultless,” Serena added.

  “Right.” He gave her a slight bow and then another in the direction of his father, and he was off. The great homecoming was over.

  Alexander’s close friends were warmer in their greetings. They descended on him, gathering in his large suite in Alberici Palace, exclaiming over his tan, offering fierce hugs and pats on the back. These were men who’d grown up with him and gone to university with him and served in the Royal Navy with him, and they were damn glad to see him home.

  “We were desperate,” Gerard said as they all took seats in Alexander’s living room. “Once we discovered you were gone, we notified the palace immediately, and they sent planes and helicopters, and the Greek Air Force and Navy joined in the search, but there was no sign of you. We honestly feared the worst.”

  “When did you realize I was missing?” Alexander asked, the only one not to sit.

  Gerard grimaced. “When you didn’t come out for breakfast, and then lunch, I knew something was wrong. I ended up breaking your door down.”

  “Well, I broke it down,” Rocco corrected. “Gerard was trying but not very successfully.”

  Everyone laughed, but the laughter died to an uncomfortable silence.

  “Have you talked to her yet?” Marc asked after a moment. “She’s been really upset.”

  “Danielle?”

  “No, Claudia,” Marc answered. “I hate playing the big-brother card, but it seems that you owe her an apology.”

  “Not now,” Gerard murmured. “He’s only just returned. This isn’t the time.”

  “Why not now?” Marc retorted. “Better to handle this now without Damian here, don’t you think?”

  Alexander glanced from Marc to Gerard to Rocco. There were undercurrents he couldn’t read. Things had happened that he didn’t understand. He still had no memory of the trip and yet clearly he needed his memories. “What is this about Damian? And where is he?”

  His three friends all glanced at each other before Gerard, the diplomat, answered. “It’s been a difficult ten days for him. You and he had that...falling-out...on the ship. And then you went missing. He’s been juggling shock and grief—”

  “About what?” Alexander interrupted, frustration sharpening his voice.

 
“Damian said you’d consumed more liquor than we knew. Maybe it was true,” Rocco said bluntly.

  “And not to play big brother again, but Claudia wasn’t yours anymore, Alberici,” Marc added. “You broke up with her, not the other way around. You should have left her alone.”

  The gathering abruptly ended. Alexander asked Gerard to remain behind. He and Gerard had been roommates at the Naval Academy and then had served together all three years in the Royal Navy, and there was no one Alexander trusted more. Gerard was a vault. The man knew how to serve, protect, and keep a secret.

  “I need you to tell me what you remember of that last night,” Alexander said after the other two had gone.

  “What’s happened?” Gerard asked quietly. “Something has, hasn’t it?”

  “Other than the fact that I’m being accused of hitting on my ex-girlfriend and fueling a feud with my cousin?”

  “None of that took place?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “But you don’t know.”

  “I’d like to look at the footage from the yacht’s security camera.”

  “I already requested it.”

  “And?”

  “There is none.”

  “What?”

  “There is no footage, that end of the ship was never equipped with security cameras.”

  Unbelievable. Alexander closed his eyes and held his breath, containing his disappointment. He’d been counting on footage helping him piece together the mystery of what happened on the boat, and why.

  “So what do you remember of that last night?” Alexander said, when he could trust himself to speak calmly.

  “You were having a drink with us and said you’d be right back, but you never returned.”

  “What time did I excuse myself?”

  “It was after dinner, so maybe ten. Annaliese said it might have been a little earlier. Gigi thought it was a bit later. But ten is a safe bet.” Gerard watched Alexander pace the length of the room and the tense silence stretched. After several minutes passed, he said, “You’re worrying me, Alex. You are the most detail-oriented person I know. Nothing escapes your attention. Why all the questions? What’s happened?”