by Lucy Monroe
“I’m not threatening. I’m telling you I’m not bringing any children into this world who are going to spend their childhoods wondering how important they are to their dad, if at all.”
“And you accuse me of seeing the world in only two colors.”
“I see lots of shades and shadows. That doesn’t mean my children are going to live under one or more of them.”
“Have you never considered the art of compromise?”
“I suck at it.” Hadn’t he realized that already?
She gave in on what didn’t matter, and on what did? Well, she could be a bit intransigent.
“This may be a problem. I am not known for giving in on what matters to me.” He said it like she might not know.
“It’s a good thing we agree on this issue, then.”
Demyan didn’t look comforted. “How is that?”
“You said you wanted to be the best father possible, that you never wanted your children to doubt their place in your life.”
“Yes.”
“Then you agree it is better not to have them if your work schedule isn’t going to change.”
He looked tired suddenly, and frustrated. “It is not that simple.”
“It can be.”
“What do you suggest? That I let Yurkovich Tanner run into the ground?”
“I suggest you hire three assistants, one for each major market, men and women who know the company, who care about it and that you trust to make minor decisions. They’re the first line for policy and decision making, leaving you open to spend your time on only the most high-level stuff.”
“And if that’s all I work on already?”
“It’s not.”
“You told me you tuned out my calls.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t access the memories.”
“You’re scary smart, aren’t you?”
She shrugged, but they hadn’t even bothered finishing her IQ test in high school after she completed the first three exercises before the tester even got the timer going. The teacher hadn’t wanted her to feel like a freak.
If only he’d been able to coach her parents.
“You just found out what my job is and you’re already giving advice on it.” Far from annoyed, Demyan sounded admiring.
“I’m a quick thinker.”
“You’d be brilliant in business.”
“No interest.” Much to both her mother’s and Perry’s distress.
“I’ll talk it over with my uncle.”
“Is he your business mentor?”
“He’s my boss.”
“He works for Yurkovich Tanner?”
“He’s the King of Volyarus.”
She waited for the rest of the joke, only it didn’t come, and the look Demyan was giving her said it wasn’t going to.
She knew that ultimately the ownership of Yurkovich Tanner resided with the monarchy of that country. However, the thought that Demyan’s uncle and the king were one and the same person had never entered her mind.
“Your uncle is a king.”
“Yes.”
“Oxana?”
“Queen.”
“She told me to call her Oxana.”
“That is her privilege.”
Chanel felt like she was going to be sick. “You never said.”
“I didn’t want to scare you off.”
“Holding back important information is like lying.”
“I’m called Prince Demyan, but I’m no knight in shining armor. At heart I am a Cossack, Chanel. You must realize that. Any armor I have is tarnished. I am a human man with human failings.” He said it as if admitting a darkly held secret.
Another time, she would have teased him about his melodrama and the arrogance behind it. Right now? She needed to think.
“I wasn’t expecting this. You’re this corporate guy who wears sweaters.” Only, he hadn’t been wearing them, or the jeans, so much lately.
She hadn’t really noticed, until now. Clothing didn’t matter much to her. She wasn’t her mother, or even Laura in that regard. But looking back, she realized there had been a lot of subtle changes over the past six weeks.
He dressed in suits so sharp they could have come out of the knife drawer. She hardly ever saw the more casual attire he’d been wearing when they first met. Sometimes in the evenings, but he never left the house in the morning wearing a sweater.
She never noticed him reaching to adjust glasses that weren’t there anymore, either.
Which meant what? That he was a lot more confident than she’d thought.
Okay, anyone who thought Demyan Zaretsky lacked confidence needed to take a reality check. Her included.
She didn’t know why he’d worn the glasses, but they weren’t a crutch for some deep-seated insecurity.
And honestly, did that matter right now?
“Chanel,” he prompted.
She stared at him, trying to make the difference between who he was and what he was make sense through the shock of his revelation. “You’re a prince.”
“It’s a nominal title only.”
“What does that even mean?” What she knew about royalty wouldn’t fill a page, much less a book.
“Officially, I am a duke, but I am called prince at the pleasure of my uncle, the king.”
“The one who raised you?” Still not making sense, and getting cloudier rather than clearer.
“He and Oxana raised me as a brother to Maksim, the Crown Prince. I was spare to the throne.”
“Was?”
“My cousin’s wife is expecting their first child.”
“Next in line to the throne now?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just all so strange.”
She looked around the plane, which had taken off at some point but she couldn’t have said when. Her family were all staring, making no effort to hide their interest.
Perry didn’t look surprised at all, but Andrew’s and Laura’s eyes were both saucer wide.
“Mom and Perry knew,” she guessed.
“Yes.”
“They never said.”
“They agreed my position might scare you off me. I wanted time to show you I am the man you promised to marry.”
“But you are a prince.”
“Does that change how you feel about me?” he demanded, no give for prevarication in his voice.
There were a lot of conflicting things going on inside Chanel, but this wasn’t something she was in any question about. “No. I love you, not what you are.”
“I am glad to hear it.” The relief in his tone couldn’t be faked.
“This is so cool,” Andrew said, reminding Chanel of their audience.
She frowned at her little brother. “You might think so.”
“I do, too,” Laura said.
“The only thing that matters is what you think,” Demyan said from beside her.
“The jury is still out on that one.”
“Don’t be flip.”
She glared up at him. “I’m not. I mean it. Give me some time to process.”
“Chanel—”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
She didn’t want to talk at all, and shut down every attempt either he or her family made on the rest of the flight, going so far as to feign sleep to get them all to just leave her alone for a bit.
Life had changed so fast and she’d thought she’d come to terms with that, but Demyan was still throwing her curveballs and Chanel had never been good at sports.
*
Their arrival in Volyarus was less overwhelming than she might have expected given Demyan’s position.
Thankfully, there was no fanfare, no line of reporters with oversize cameras. Of course if there had been, she would have shown them all just how she’d gotten her black belt in tae kwon do, with Demyan as her unwitting assistant in the endeavor.
However, other than some official-looking men who looked like they were straight off the set of
Men in Black, there were only two other people—Chanel’s mother and a beautiful woman with an unmistakable regal bearing. Queen Oxana.
Demyan guided Chanel toward the two women with his hand on the small of her back. He stopped when they were facing his aunt and he introduced them all.
The queen put her hand out to Chanel. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Demyan speaks very highly of you, as does your mother.”
Chanel did her best not to show her surprise.
She knew Beatrice was trying, but the idea she had actually complimented Chanel to the other woman was still too new to be anything but startling. Oxana had spent the past two weeks in Beatrice’s company. In the past, Chanel would have been sure the results would be catastrophic for any hopes she might have of gaining the queen’s regard.
From the look of both women, that wasn’t something she had to worry about anymore.
Unexpected and warm pleasure poured through Chanel’s heart, filling it to the brim, and she smiled at her mother before squeezing the queen’s hand. “Thank you for making Demyan a part of your family. Someone taught him how to protect the people he cares about and I think that was you.”
The lovely dark eyes widened, Oxana’s mouth parting in shock and then curving into an open smile. “I believe he will be in very good hands with you, Chanel.”
The king was waiting at the palace when they arrived, his manner more reserved and less welcoming to Chanel. She didn’t mind.
She thought she understood.
Everyone else was acting as if it was perfectly normal for a prince to get engaged after a month and married six weeks later.
Obviously, King Fedir had his qualms about it.
Since Chanel still had her own fears, she had no problem with the fact he might have some, as well.
Wedding plans made it impossible for Chanel and Demyan to have any time alone for the rest of the day. She was not surprised to find him in her room late that night after she left her mother and the indefatigable Oxana still discussing seating charts.
Demyan pulled Chanel into his arms and kissed her for several long seconds before stepping back. “That is better.”
“You missed me.”
“I spend all day without you at work.”
“But it was different here.”
“Yes.”
“Worried the mom of your heart would let slip too many of your secrets?” she teased, unprepared for the clearly guilty look that crossed his features. “What?”
He shook his gorgeous head. “Nothing.”
“Demyan?”
“She is the mother of my heart.”
“Have you told her and the king you filed for an official name change?”
“They will hear when the priest names me during the ceremony.”
“You’re a closet romantic, aren’t you?”
“I am no romantic, Chanel.”
“You just go on thinking that.” Then a truly horrific thought assailed her. “Are people going to call me Princess after we are married?”
“Are you going to refuse to marry me if I say yes?” he asked, sounding way too serious.
“I’m not going to refuse to marry you, but Demyan, it’s not easy, this finding-out-you’re-royalty thing.”
He nodded, as if he understood, but how could he? He’d grown up knowing what he was.
“So, about the princess thing…” She wasn’t willing to let this go. Chanel wanted an answer.
He’d left enough out up to this point.
“That depends on my uncle.”
“If he calls me princess…”
“Then others will.”
“Oh.” Considering the cool reception she’d received from King Fedir, she didn’t think he was going to call her princess anytime soon.
“You look relieved.”
“I’m not a princess in his eyes.” As she said the words, she knew them to be absolute truth. And she didn’t blame King Fedir for feeling that way. “I’m not nobility.”
“You are. You inherited the title from your great-great-grandfather—you are a dame. Marrying me will make you a duchess.”
“So?”
“So, even if you are not called princess, most will call you by your title.” His expression and tone said he was perfectly aware she wasn’t going to see that truth as a benefit to marriage.
“That’s medieval.”
“No. Trust me, the nobility system is alive and well in many modern countries.”
“But…” She didn’t want to be called duchess.
“The correct term is Your Grace.”
“That makes me sound like, like… What do they call them, a cardinal or something in the Catholic church.”
He laughed, like she’d been joking.
She wasn’t. “I’m… This is…”
He didn’t let her keep floundering. Showing he knew exactly what Chanel needed—him—Demyan pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
All thoughts of unwanted titles and unexpected ties to royalty went flying from her head in favor of one consuming emotion. Love for the man so intent on making her his wife.
*
Over the next few days, Chanel hardly saw Demyan—except when he came to her room at night and made passionate, almost desperate love to her.
She didn’t understand, but it felt like he was avoiding her. Not sure that wasn’t her old insecurities talking, she refused to voice her concerns aloud.
He didn’t seem inclined to anything serious for pillow talk either, but she understood that. Chanel certainly didn’t want to talk about the wedding and its never-ending preparations and plans. Nor was she interested in discussing her fledgling closer relationship with her mother and stepfather.
Beatrice was in her element planning a wedding for her daughter to a prince. A cynical part of Chanel couldn’t help wondering how much of her mother’s newfound approval stemmed from this unexpected turn of events.
Perry wasn’t nearly as overtly critical as he had been in the past, but he didn’t go out of his way to extend even pseudo fatherly warmth, either.
As they had been for the majority of her life, Laura and Andrew were two bright beacons of sincere love and affection for Chanel. Their steady presence reminded her that no matter how her life might change by marrying royalty, some things—the truly important things—remained.
Though she saw little of him during the day, Demyan arrived in her room every night—sometimes very late and clearly exhausted. Apparently when he was in Volyarus, his duties extended beyond the company business into the family business: the politics of royalty.
Sometimes they didn’t make love before falling into exhausted slumber, but those nights he woke her in the wee hours in order to bring amazing pleasure to her body.
He’d found time to sit with her today, though, while she and her stepfather’s lawyer went over the prenuptial agreement. Perry had offered his expertise as well, but honestly?
Chanel trusted Demyan to watch out for her best interests more than her stepfather.
Once she’d read it through, though, she didn’t think she needed anyone else’s interpretation. For a legal document, the language was straightforward and to the point.
There was some serious overkill in her opinion, but nothing that bothered Chanel to sign.
Upon her marriage, she and her heirs gave up any and all rights they might have in Volyarus, its financial and political endeavors and anything specifically related to the business enterprises of the Yurkovich family.
The fact that particular paragraph was followed by one giving any children she had with Demyan full interest as his heirs, she felt was particular overkill.
Clearly, the royal family was very protective of their interests, though. King Fedir’s influence, no doubt.
The man had not warmed up to her at all, but he’d never been unkind, either. After her years with Beatrice and Perry, Chanel was practically inured to anything less than overt hostility.
Even with what she was su
re were the king’s stipulations, the terms of the agreement were very generous toward Chanel, considering the fact she wasn’t bringing any significant accumulated wealth to the marriage. The agreement guaranteed an annual sum for living expenses that Chanel couldn’t imagine spending in five years, never mind one.
Unless it was on research, but she didn’t see Demyan approving using their personal finances to fund her scientific obsessions. Yurkovich Tanner had been generous in that regard already.
One thing the prenup spelled out in black and white, oversize and bolded print to her heart was that Demyan wanted their relationship to be permanent. If she’d been in any doubt.
Which she wasn’t.
The financial provision did not decrease in the event of his death. The annual income was Chanel’s and her children’s for her lifetime and theirs.
There were some other pretty stringent requirements that would insure she didn’t divorce Demyan or be unfaithful to him, though. Not that she would ever do either.
But the agreement spelled out quite clearly that any children born of a different father had absolutely no financial interest through her or any other source in the Yurkovich, Zaretsky or Volyarussian wealth.
Oddly, if she divorced Demyan, or he divorced her for anything other than her infidelity, she would still be well taken care of. Until she remarried. If she were ever to marry someone else, or have irrefutable evidence of infidelity brought against her, she lost all financial benefits from her marriage to Demyan.
It wasn’t anything less than she expected, but having it spelled out in black and white sent a shiver along her spine that was not exactly pleasant.
Demyan laid his hand over hers before she signed. “You are okay with all the terms?”
“They are more than generous.”
“I will always make sure you have what you need, no matter what the agreement says.”
“I believe you.” And she did. With everything in her.
CHAPTER TEN
THE MORNING OF Chanel’s wedding was every bit as tediously focused on beauty, fashion and making an impact as she’d feared it might be with Beatrice in charge.
Strangely, for the first time in her life, Chanel found she didn’t mind her mother’s fussing over her appearance.
For once, going through the paces of having her legs waxed, her hair done and makeup applied resonated with an almost welcome familiarity in this strange new situation that had become her life.