The Prince's Fake Fiancée

by Leah Ashton

  ‘But what he did...’ The anger in Jas’s mum’s voice was familiar, and very real. ‘After something like that, I’d hate you to trust the wrong man again.’

  Jas shook her head, even without her mother there to see it. ‘That won’t happen again, Mum. It hasn’t. Marko isn’t the wrong man.’ She swallowed. ‘He’s the right man. You don’t have to worry.’

  ‘Have you told him about Stuart?’

  Jas had to hold back a hysterical burst of laugher. Tell Prince Marko?

  For a crazy, maniacal second, she imagined quietly sitting down with Marko and explaining in a matter-of-fact tone exactly what Stuart had done. And what she’d done, just before Stuart had so irretrievably shattered her trust, in her misguided, desperate act of supposed love...

  ‘Of course I’ve told him,’ Jas said, with calmness that she certainly did not feel. ‘We’re engaged.’

  ‘How did he—?’

  ‘Mum,’ she said firmly. ‘Please. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  Thankfully her mum let it go. For now, at least.

  But how would Marko respond?

  It was the most rhetorical of questions. She’d never tell him.

  She could probably guess, though. He’d respond like every other person who knew: Jas, what were you thinking?

  Of course, everyone hated Stuart too, but they still asked the question. And really, once they asked that, all their vitriol directed at her ex became irrelevant.

  Because it was their judgment that she remembered. That she felt—still—deep inside her.

  Marko wouldn’t be any different.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Jas shoved that question out of her mind.

  Her mum spoke for a few more minutes, but Jas remembered none of it when she eventually hung up.

  Instead, she sat back in her chair, and stared out across the trees and out to the city of Vela Ada—now identifiable only by a mass of lights, with the day shifting into darkness as they’d talked.

  He’s the right man.

  Well, that certainly wasn’t true—at least, not outside this charade. That right man for her might, in fact, not even exist. In the past few years since Stuart, Jas had begun to wonder if there were any right men, for anyone. If love, and especially the concept of one true love, might not be an actual attainable thing.

  After all, she’d loved Stuart.

  Or thought she had.

  A French door opened, and someone, somewhere, turned on the fairy lights that must decorate every outside space at the palace.

  It was Marko who had stepped outside.

  But as he did Jasmine pushed back her seat, and got to her feet.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was just going to my room.’

  She managed a smile as she walked past him, but that was all she could manage.

  She couldn’t remain out here, in the aftermath of lying to her mother and the unwanted reminder of her disastrous recent history with men, and simply talk to Marko.

  So she didn’t.

  * * *

  It was for the best, this new understanding between Jas and Marko.

  It was an unspoken understanding, but in the almost week since he’d invited Jas to swim with him, it would appear they’d both separately come to the same conclusion.

  This was strictly a professional arrangement.

  No more friendly banter—unless they were being observed, of course. No more flirting. And definitely no more deeply personal revelations.

  What had come over him, on that beach, to tell Jasmine so much?

  He’d never spoken of his past, or of his father, to any woman. To anyone. Once he’d used to share most things with his brother, but those days had long passed, even before Lukas’s coronation.

  So to confide in Jas was definitely out of character.

  That had made him feel...not exactly uncomfortable around her, but it had certainly added another layer to the tension already between them.

  Despite Jas’s no-kissing clause, the hum of attraction had not suddenly ceased to exist. It certainly hadn’t gone anywhere when he’d so impulsively invited her into the ocean, and it persisted now, despite their carefully strict professionalism.

  And it was amongst this attraction that there was now this added tension: Jasmine knew something about him that no one else did.

  He hated that.

  Today he was with Jas at a morning tea for a charity for which Lukas was patron.

  It was a relatively small event, held at a hall in the city, which Lukas attended with Petra each year.

  Consequently, they’d been greeted by waiting media as they’d exited their car.

  Which Marko had handled with no problems at all.

  As he’d handled every interaction he’d had with the media since that damn, stupid escape from that school.

  Because he’d needed to. Now was not the time to be so self-indulgent. Of course, he still hated the media intensely—it was just now he was bothering to hide it.

  He was not going to give anyone a headline that would worry Lukas. Instead, he would be the dutiful Prince that Lukas needed him to be, and smile, and nod, and answer—or deflect—inane questions.

  It wasn’t easy for Marko, but it was getting easier, one plastic smile at a time.

  Currently, his plastic smile was aching with overuse, as he and Jas wrapped up their latest conversation. Alone, just briefly, before Ivan subtly brought the next group over. It was constant at these events—a steady stream of people and questions and politeness, carefully managed so that he and Jas could meet as many guests as possible.

  There was a soft clink as Jas replaced her teacup on the delicate saucer she held. The sound drew his attention—and just briefly Jas met his gaze, and smiled.

  ‘I don’t know how Lukas and Petra do this,’ she said. ‘One week of it and I’m already exhausted.’

  Marko nodded. This was their third event for the week—not including her welcome ball. The school visit, an art gallery opening, and now this charity function. ‘He’s very stoic, my brother,’ he said. ‘And also just genuinely interested in everyone. He could extract the life story from a lamp post, and find it fascinating.’

  Jas laughed. ‘You aren’t using lamp posts as a metaphor for the people of Vela Ada, are you, Marko?’

  ‘No!’ Marko said. ‘If anything, I’m the lamp post. And also not very good at asking leading questions.’

  ‘So you’re a taciturn lamp post,’ she teased, tilting her head as she studied him. ‘Interesting.’

  Her eyes sparkled with humour.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘this isn’t actually the most ridiculous conversation I’ve had today.’

  Jas grinned. ‘I know. Are you going to be guest judge at the Vela Ada National Dog Show?’

  ‘I expect so,’ Marko said drily, ‘seeing as detailing my lack of qualifications wasn’t much of a deterrent. And how about you—will you ensure I never stray by baking Baba Lucija’s madjarica cake for me every Sunday?’

  ‘No,’ Jas said firmly. ‘Although the recipe looked good, so I’m going to keep it.’

  Ivan was approaching with the next small group.

  Jas took another sip of her tea, and then leaned close to Marko, standing on her tiptoes so only he could hear her.

  ‘You’re good at this,’ she said, firmly. ‘Nothing lamp-post-like about you, I promise.’ He looked down to meet her gaze, surprised.

  Jas narrowed her eyes, as if considering something.

  ‘Well, maybe you could smile a bit more.’

  ‘More!’ he whispered, disbelieving. But Jas gave nothing away as to if she was teasing, or genuine—as surely it was physically impossible for him to smile more? Jasmine simply smiled at him, serenely.

  And so Marko, of course, found himself smiling to
o—and this time, as he was introduced to their latest guests, it was a smile without the faintest hint of plastic.

  * * *

  It had been nice to make Marko laugh.

  She’d tried, for a whole week, to be strictly professional, but she was just spending too much time with the Prince to maintain it. So after the lamp-post incident, she began to relax a little around Marko again—chatting with him in the car on the way to events, and talking more freely at the events themselves.

  But outside the royal events they attended—and in the second week there were only two—Jas backed off again. Even when they met for a meal—and they were scheduled to have at least one together each day as part of their ruse—Jas didn’t encourage much conversation.

  It was just easier that way.

  No confusion, no chance she’d misinterpret Marko’s innate, rather smouldering charisma as having anything to do with her specifically. They were just two people working together. Professionally.

  So they would eat breakfast, or lunch, or dinner—usually out on the terrace—in a not quite comfortable almost silence. Marko began bringing along whatever book he was reading—generally autobiographies or science fiction—while Jas would manage Gallagher Personal Protection Services.

  Which didn’t mean that at times Jas didn’t want to ask him questions. About what it was like growing up in this palace—and why he’d hated it so. About his obviously complex relationship with his brother. About all sorts of things.

  But she never asked, of course. Because it was none of her business.

  Midway through Jas’s third week as fake fiancée, they headed for Vela Ada harbour for a sailing regatta. Terraced houses huddled close to the water, overlooking everything from rowboats to yachts, all moored along narrow jetties, bobbing gently in the undulating sea. Crowds milled near the water’s edge, kids dangled their legs into the water, and couples drank dark coffee in cafés. When they’d arrived, there’d been a large crowd waiting for them, but now they’d finished an extended meet and greet the crowd had dispersed somewhat, and they were being led to their exclusive VIP marquee.

  It was a beautiful day, the sun warm on Jas’s shoulders, revealed by the drop sleeves of her white summery dress. The novelty of the beautiful clothes she got to wear still hadn’t worn off, and Jas had never felt more sophisticated than she did right now in her wide-brimmed, fashionably floppy hat and dark, oversized sunglasses.

  She also still felt like a total fraud, but, miraculously, now three weeks in, the people of Vela Ada continued to embrace her as their future princess. Three weeks of shaking hands, and small talk, and smiling—and countless newspaper and magazine articles—and Marko’s plan continued to go to plan. Everyone actually believed she was Marko’s fiancée.

  It was crazy, really.

  Although the real reason anyone believed any of this was because of Marko.

  In public, he played the affectionate fiancé in the most natural, casual ways: he took every opportunity to hold her hand, he was forever touching her—the small of her back, her shoulder...

  And the way he spoke to her. And about her...

  It was beautiful.

  It made her feel beautiful.

  And in those moments, a part of Jasmine let herself believe it was all real.

  Only a very small part, the part of her that in the dead of night couldn’t remember why their no-kissing clause had seemed so essential—but a part of her, nonetheless.

  She’d seen that part of her in some of the many photographs taken of her. She tried to avoid paying attention to them, because—unfortunately—becoming a fake princess-to-be had not suddenly made her effortlessly photogenic. But she was human, and so she’d looked herself up on the Internet. And amongst the photos that made her cringe at her awkward expression or an unflattering angle (Marko, without exception, always looked devastatingly handsome) there had been images of her simply looking at Marko. And in those images it was easy to see why Vela Ada—and the world—thought they were in love.

  Because her gaze was that of a woman besotted.

  It had scared her at first—her mother’s warning warring with her own determination to never be so romantically stupid again—but then she’d started paying attention to Marko’s gaze in those photos.

  And his—while not besotted—told its own story. His gaze was that of a man with all sorts of delicious plans for the woman he was looking at. A gaze that made her shiver.

  It was also a gaze that was absent the moment they left the public eye.

  At the palace, there were two people with a business arrangement and a no-kissing clause.

  So, they were both pretending. They both could separate fact from fiction.

  Marko’s wrist bumped against hers as they walked along the marina, and then—in an action that was now so familiar—he laced his fingers with hers.

  In a reaction that was also familiar, Jas’s belly flipped over, and electricity zipped up her arm.

  But she ignored all that, and, because it was her job too, she looked up at Marko and smiled.

  Her eyes were hidden behind her dark glasses, but his weren’t.

  And when he smiled back at her, and squeezed her hand, looking at her as if she were the only woman for him in the world...

  She simply acknowledged, once again, what a remarkably good actor he was.

  Chapter Nine

  JASMINE MIGHT THINK he was good at this—at mingling with all these total strangers beneath an open-sided marquee where waiters constantly circulated with obscenely expensive champagne—but Marko did not feel that way at all.

  He was getting more practised, certainly. He now didn’t feel he needed to wrack his brain for things to say, and instead he found words and platitudes spilling easily from his mouth. The people he met—and honestly, most were really very nice people—seemed happy enough, anyway.

  Obviously he was no Lukas, but then, he wasn’t trying to be. He was playing a role for a defined period of time, and the people of Vela Ada seemed okay with that. He had no doubt that Jasmine was having a huge influence on his acceptance into this role, and that having her by his side was the reason why he was attracting crowds that rivalled the King and Queen’s at events. Without Jasmine, he was simply the absent, disreputable Prince, but with her, he was—according to the headlines—a changed man. A changed man who had come home to Vela Ada.

  Home?

  No. Vela Ada wasn’t his home. But this perception fed perfectly into the narrative that he and Jasmine had created, and for that he was grateful.

  He’d spoken to Lukas earlier this morning, just before his brother had begun his day of chemotherapy. He was doing as well as could be expected, he’d said. And he’d asked about Jas.

  So, everyone believed in his relationship with Jas.

  This was good, right? Exactly what he’d wanted?

  ‘Your Highness?’

  Marko blinked. The older couple standing in front of him were looking at him curiously.

  See? This was why he was no good at this. He’d just completely checked out of this conversation.

  He took a long sip of his champagne, and glanced at Jas.

  He’d meant to shoot her a look of thanks for carrying the conversation, but then he noticed the way her lips were arranged in a tense, straight line.

  ‘We were just discussing how lovely it is that you’ve settled down,’ the older man said. Marko glanced at the name tag pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket. He didn’t recognise the name, but the seafood business printed in italics beneath it, he did. The largest in the country.

  Marko nodded without a lot of commitment, wondering what he’d missed. He could sense the tension in Jas, despite the gap between them.

  ‘Yes,’ said the woman. She was beautiful, with white-blonde hair wrapped into a polished chignon. ‘And to choose such a successful
woman. How nice.’

  ‘I’m very proud of Jas’s achievements,’ Marko said, but a little warily now. ‘She is exceptional at what she does.’

  There was a glint to the woman’s gaze when she looked at Jas that Marko did not like.

  ‘But it must have been hard giving up your old lifestyle,’ the man said.

  ‘I haven’t left the military,’ Marko said. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  But he did, of course. The surname on their name tags suddenly clicked into place, and a half-formed memory of a young woman with hair the same colour as in that chignon.

  He turned to Jas, taking her hand. He lifted his gaze in search of Ivan, to signal that this conversation was over.

  But the older couple weren’t paying attention, seemingly intent on delivering their message.

  ‘So many beautiful women,’ he said, in a chummy, ‘just between us men’ type tone. ‘Models, actresses, the most stunning women in Vela Ada. And with all that choice, you chose Jasmine.’

  He smiled at Jas in a way that made Marko feel violent.

  ‘You must be very proud of her,’ the woman said. ‘Of all that she’s achieved. Because, well—’

  The woman whipped her hand in front of her mouth, and laughed, as if she’d accidentally let something slip, instead of carefully constructing this entire conversation.

  Jas gripped his hand tightly, but she murmured, ‘It’s okay. I’m fine.’

  But this really wasn’t fine. Anger bubbled inside him, and the urge to tell these people exactly what he thought of them—and loudly—was almost impossible to resist.

  Yet resist it he did.

  Because if he didn’t, if he made a scene, it would be in the papers, it would be all over the Internet. And he suspected that was exactly what this couple wanted.

  So instead, he faced them both again.

  ‘Jas is the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met,’ he said, in a deliberately calm and low tone. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—’

  The man’s words were muttered beneath his breath, but neither Marko nor Jas misheard: It’ll never last.

  ‘Ivan,’ Marko said, more loudly now. His valet stepped closer. ‘Please escort this couple to the exit.’