by Dani Collins
Whatever the reason, the plant was beautiful and she knew how very special it was that he’d given it to her. She grabbed her phone and texted the number no one but his closest family and advisors was supposed to have.
Thank you for the orchid. It’s beautiful.
His reply came back only seconds later.
I’m glad you like it, my lady. It was one of my mother’s favorites.
Why did that my feel like it should be bolded? Like he was staking claim? And his assertion this had been one of his mother’s plants? How was Nataliya supposed to feel about that?
Special. She felt special. And that was very, very dangerous.
Nataliya had the very distinct feeling that if the King decided to court her, it was going to be a different prospect than the past two months’ worth of impersonal gifts sent via Konstantin’s staff.
* * *
Nataliya remembered that fleeting thought a week later when she looked up from her computer to the sight of Demyan looking amazed.
It was not a look she’d ever seen on her imposing cousin’s features before.
Needing a chance to come to terms with Nikolai’s demand she fulfill the contract, with him, Nataliya had left Volyarus on her cousin’s private plane before dinner the night of the big confrontation.
She’d been really grateful that Maks hadn’t even blinked at putting his plane at her disposal. He’d assured her that he would smooth things over with his father and their royal visitors.
“You’re still my family, Nataliya, and I can only apologize for not realizing that the exile to America was not voluntary on your mother’s part. Had I known I would have redressed the issue.”
She’d stared at him. “You were like my big brother. I thought you didn’t care.”
“My father told me that you and your mother needed space and distance to overcome the humiliation from your father. I believed him.”
And then Nataliya had found herself being hugged by her cousin for the first time in over a decade and it had been all she could do not to break down and cry.
Demyan had come to her to say much the same thing when he got back from Volyarus, adding that he’d never stopped considering her a close member of his family.
Now he stood there, with a really weird expression on his face.
“What?” she demanded.
“You got a new computer.”
“So?” She hadn’t asked Demyan for new hardware though.
“It’s from King Nikolai.”
Well, that was...different. “He gave me a computer.”
Demyan nodded.
“Why do you look so weird?” she demanded.
“It’s a prototype. Even I couldn’t get my hands on this build with the new chipset.”
That stopped her. “How did you know?”
“Because I had to sign an NDA just to take possession and you’ve got one to sign too. The company rep is waiting in the conference room.”
This was crazy, but she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t excited. She loved new technology and like Demyan had said, this was something even he hadn’t been able to finagle out of the manufacturer before early release.
There wasn’t just one computer waiting for her in the conference room. There were two. The second was top of the line of available technology and came with a note. Raise some more money for a very worthy cause.
Okay, she was impressed. Not just that he’d chosen a gift she would love, her own prototypical, super-slim, ultrafast laptop, but because he’d seen what no one else had. How much she’d enjoyed raising money for the charity she’d chosen. And he was telling her, he wasn’t intimidated by the idea she would auction off his gifts.
He expected it. But he provided gifts to auction. Over the next two weeks, every gift she received from him came with a personally written note and some kind of duplicate or equivalent item for her to put in the online charity auction.
He also texted her, several times throughout the day. Some innocuous texts. Some even funny. Others surprising, like when he asked her opinion of Dima’s desire to take a gap year between university and graduate school. Apparently, when Prince Evengi abdicated his rule to his son, he’d abdicated all major family decisions, as well.
And then there were the texts that drove her batty.
How many children do you want?
Do you object to living in the palace after we marry?
As if her agreement was a foregone conclusion. It annoyed her, but there was this tiny frisson of excitement too. Nikolai was a really special guy and he wanted to marry her.
She knew he wasn’t emotionally attached in any way, wasn’t even sure if he found her sexually desirable, but he definitely hadn’t backed down on his stance.
She knew his father wasn’t happy about it. Konstantin wasn’t happy. Demyan had told her, and he’d heard it from Maks. But Nikolai was a king and a king who apparently wasn’t going to let anyone else dictate his future.
Not like he was doing his best to dictate hers, Nataliya reminded herself.
When the couture gown, shoes, jewelry and handbag arrived along with its auction equivalent and an invitation to dinner and a play two days hence, Nataliya could do nothing but stare in consternation at the boxes littering her desk.
Demyan stood, leaning against the doorjamb. “So, he’s finally moving this courtship into the dating stage.”
“Can you date a king?” she asked, a tinge of hysteria touching her voice.
“I guess you’re going to find out.”
“He thinks that stupid contract has me all sewn up.”
“No, he thinks your sense of duty and integrity has you all sewn up. But give the guy his due, he’s setting the rest of his life up to fulfill his own sense of honor.”
“I know you think duty is all there is to life—”
“Not since I married Chanel, but I won’t pretend duty didn’t play a big part in that.”
“And that duty nearly destroyed your marriage.” She’d been invited to the wedding. She’d seen the other woman’s reaction before Chanel had disappeared from the reception without her groom.
And frankly, Nataliya had known all along what was going on. She was nosy and she had more ways than most of finding out what she wanted to know.
“We all make sacrifices for family and the good of Volyarus.”
And she knew that despite how close he’d come to losing his wife, Demyan still saw duty in all capitals when he thought about it. Chanel just made sure that there was more to his life than a single concept.
“I made my sacrifice ten years ago, to provide a way for my mother to return home.”
“And now she no longer wants to return to Volyarus full-time.”
“But my sacrifice is still there, hanging over my head.”
“Maybe it won’t turn out to be such a sacrifice after all.”
He could say that. Demyan’s own sacrifice had led to the love of his life and children he adored. Hers could lead nowhere but heartache. Nikolai would never love her as he’d loved his first wife and even if she no longer felt the same things for him she once had, Nataliya didn’t want to be trapped in a marriage to a man whose heart was locked in the past.
CHAPTER THREE
NATALIYA WAS NOT at all surprised when her phone dinged with a text ten minutes before the limo was supposed to arrive for her.
Nikolai had texted updates on his schedule and arrival throughout the day.
Like he wanted to make sure she was ready, like he worried she might get the time wrong, or something. Or maybe, he just wanted to be sure she was going to show up. After all, not once had he actually asked her to join him for dinner and the play. No, just the delivery of the dress and tickets which she doubted very sincerely they would have to show to take their seats.
She had no doubt that b
etween him and his security detail, they were taking up an entire box at the theater.
As a king, he was used to getting his way. And she’d been, oh, so tempted to simply not be here tonight, but the truth was, she and Nikolai needed to talk.
Nataliya needed him to understand that his honor would not be compromised by renegotiating the contract.
A sharp knock sounded at the door and Nataliya smoothed the opalescent gray designer dress down her long body. She had to admit that Nikolai had good taste in women’s fashion. Though considering the perfectly coiffed fashionista he’d been married to, Nataliya should not be surprised.
“Showtime,” said Jenna, her friend who had written the “50 First Dates for a Would-Be Princess” article.
She’d come over today to help Nataliya prep for her date with a king, doing Nataliya’s makeup and hair, styling her so that Nataliya looked better than she had for any of those first dates.
Because Nataliya had not wanted to look like a consolation date in any of the pictures that were bound to be taken by the paparazzi.
Not because she wanted to try to look her best for Nikolai.
Nataliya opened the door to her condo and stepped back in shock that the King stood on the other side, two of his security detail hovering in the background. The others were no doubt securing the building.
“You didn’t need to come up,” she said, unable to hide her surprise at his presence.
Wearing a light custom-made charcoal gray suit that accentuated his six-foot-four, well-muscled frame, his presence sent a hurricane rioting through her senses.
Every part of her body suddenly felt more alive, more present and it was hard to take each new breath.
“May I come inside?”
She jolted, realizing she was letting the King of Mirrus stand in the hall like a salesman. “Of course.”
Nataliya stepped back and he followed her inside, one of his security men accompanying him to do a routine sweep of her condo while the other pulled the door shut behind them to stand at attention on the other side.
Neither Demyan, nor Maks practiced such heavy security protocols when they were in Seattle.
But then, Nikolai was a king already, despite being only thirty-five years old.
“The dress looks every bit as beautiful on you as I thought it would.” He took her in, his gray eyes going molten with an expression she had never expected to see in his eyes.
Desire.
“Thank you.” She swallowed. “You could have sent a car for me to meet you at the restaurant.”
Who had ever heard of a king calling for his date in person?
She’d made the mistake of telling him how impersonal and detached she’d considered his brother’s overtures. And Nikolai had assured her, his would not be.
But seriously? Could he say overkill?
“Surely not.” He reached out and brushed a proprietary finger along her collarbone. “This will be our first public appearance together. Calling for you at your door is only the most basic courtesy.”
Heat whooshed through her body from that one small touch and Nataliya was momentarily unable to respond.
“Well, I’m impressed,” Jenna said forthrightly.
Nikolai turned to acknowledge the other woman. “Jenna Beals, former college roommate and good friend of my intended as well as contributing editor for the fashion forward magazine that ran the article on my future betrothed, I believe.”
Jenna gave a credible curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”
Nikolai smiled, his gray eyes warm. “I liked the article and blog posts.”
“You did?” Jenna asked in clear shock. “Really?”
“It was a clever concept, showing the fashion side of the modern dating game.”
Jenna gave Nataliya a significant look. “He doesn’t think you should be shamed for going out on a few dates.”
“Not at all, but all future dates will be with me,” he said with arrogant assurance.
“Because you have so much time to spend with me,” Nataliya said with unhindered cynicism.
“And yet, here I am.”
“But this is a one-off.” Wasn’t it? He was a king, he didn’t have time to woo her.
Woo. What an old-fashioned word, but what else fit?
His honor demanded he fulfill the contract on behalf of his family and he was determined to convince her that marriage to him was what she wanted. Ten years ago, it wouldn’t have taken any convincing.
But that was then and this was now.
* * *
The multi-Michelin-star restaurant he took her to for dinner was one she’d heard a lot about, but had never tried. The simple, elegant modern Japanese-style decor went perfectly with the Asian Fusion food on offer.
Among the diners on the way to their table, she recognized two prominent politicians, a football star and a television star.
Even the notable patrons’ attention caught on King Nikolai and his entourage as they walked through the restaurant. Security took tables on either side of the one she and Nikolai were led to.
He held her chair for her, himself, his closeness impacting her in ways something so simple should not have.
Disconcerted, she blurted, “You don’t have to do this over-the-top stuff. I’m a computer programmer, not a princess.”
“You are Lady Nataliya and when we are wed, you will be The Princess of Mirrus.”
“As opposed to a princess?”
He settled into his own seat across from her at the intimate table for two. “It is the distinction given to the wife of the King.”
“I haven’t said I’m going to marry you,” she said quietly, not wanting to be overheard.
The expression on his chiseled features was untroubled. “On the contrary, you signed a contract that said that very thing.”
She looked around and though no one was looking at them, that did not mean none of the other diners were listening. Though the acoustics in the restaurant and table placement made it unlikely.
“Why?” she asked him.
“Why?” He paused. “What?”
“You know what I’m asking. You turned down Maks’s offer to renegotiate the contract at favorable terms for Mirrus Global.”
“But I do not wish to renegotiate the contract. There are not terms more favorable than the ones we have now.”
He could not mean what it sounded like he meant, that marriage to her was the most favorable term.
“You can’t want to marry me.” This she whispered nearly inaudibly, paranoid about being overheard as only the daughter of the notorious Count Shevchenko could be.
“You are mistaken.”
That was all. You are mistaken. No explanation, but then this was not the place to have this conversation.
She should have brought it up in the limousine, but she’d been fighting entirely adult sexual feelings she had never experienced before. And he’d been happy to keep up the conversation with a charming urbanity that only increased his attractiveness to her.
Not one of the fourteen men she’d dated so far for the article and its accompanying blog posts had been even remotely as interesting, even the computer programmer who had developed an app that she loved to use.
“I am still obligated to go on thirty-six dates for the article,” she apprised him, surprised at her own reticence about doing so.
“Thirty-five.” His smile was way too appealing for her peace of mind.
“Thirty-five?”
“Tonight is one.”
“But the photos of my style.” That was the whole point of the article.
And technically, it could work, because Jenna had styled her.
“I will take care of it.” He called one of his security people over with a jerk of his head.
A few low-
spoken words and the other man went back to his table, his phone already out.
“A photographer will be here before we are finished with our dinner.”
“I’m sure Jenna will appreciate that.” Because honestly? Nataliya had made up sixteen different excuses for not scheduling a date the past two weeks.
“I will make sure we have a photographer on hand for the remainder of our dates.”
“You’re not going to take me out thirty-five more times.” No way did he have the time.
“Some of those dates will have to happen after our wedding, but I fail to see why you are so surprised at the idea. You did not imagine that we would lead separate lives?”
“What do you mean after our wedding? When do you think we are getting married?” It took at least a year, usually two, to plan a royal wedding.
“Three months from now Mirrus is hosting a summit for small countries and monarchies. I would like the event to culminate in our wedding.”
“Maks and Gillian did that, but she was pregnant. There was a reason for the rush.”
He tilted his dark head in acknowledgment. “You have waited ten years for my house to fulfill its part of that contract. That is long enough.”
“You’re really stuck on this honor-of-your-house thing, aren’t you?”
She expected him to get angry, or at least annoyed, by her snark.
But Nikolai smiled. “Yes, in fact, I am.”
She sighed, acknowledging if only to herself, that he would not be manipulated as easily as his brother. “You’re not going to be reasonable about this, are you?”
“If by reasonable, you mean change my mind, no.”
She felt her own usually even temper rising. “You do realize you are a king, right?”
“And as such, I am accustomed to getting my own way.”
She’d just been thinking that very thing, but still. “You’re not supposed to admit that.”
“I should lie?” he asked arrogantly.
“I don’t know. Can you really see me as your Queen? Excuse me... I mean your Princess?”
“I have no trouble picturing that eventuality at all.” The expression in his eyes was all male approval.