by Kendrick, Sharon; Lawrence, Kim; Crews, Caitlin; Milburne, Melanie
“I saw Achilles Casilieris, out there in the lounge,” she’d said instead. The notorious billionaire had been there on her way in, brooding in a corner of the lounge and scowling at the paper he’d been reading. “He looks even more fearsome in person. You can almost see all that brash command and dizzying wealth ooze from his pores, can’t you?”
“He’s my boss,” Natalie had said, sounding amused—if rather darkly. “If he was really oozing anything, anywhere, it would be my job to provide first aid until actual medical personnel could come handle it. At which point he would bite my head off for wasting his precious time by not curing him instantly.”
Valentina had been flooded with a rash of follow-up questions. Was the biting off of heads normal? Was it fun to work for a man who sounded half-feral? Most important, did Natalie like her life or merely suffer through it?
But then her mobile started buzzing in her clutch. She’d forgotten about ferocious billionaires and thought about things she knew too much about, like the daredevil prince she was bound to marry soon, instead, because their fathers had agreed regardless of whether either one of them liked it. She’d checked the mobile’s display to be sure, but wasn’t surprised to find she’d guessed correctly. Lucky her, she’d had another meeting with her husband-to-be in Murin that very afternoon. She’d expected it to go the way all their meetings so far had gone. Prince Rodolfo, beloved the world over for his good looks and devil-may-care attitude, would talk. She would listen without really listening. She’d long since concluded that foretold a very happy royal marriage.
“My fiancé,” she’d explained, meeting Natalie’s gaze again. “Or his chief of staff, to be more precise.”
“Congratulations,” Natalie murmured.
“Thank you, I’m very lucky.” Valentina’s mouth curved, though her tone was far more dry than Natalie’s had been. “Everyone says so. Prince Rodolfo is objectively attractive. Not all princes can make that claim, but the tabloids have exulted over his abs since he was a teenager. Just as they have salivated over his impressive dating history, which has involved a selection of models and actresses from at least four continents and did not cease in any noticeable way upon our engagement last fall.”
“Your Prince Charming sounds…charming,” Natalie had said.
Valentina raised one shoulder, then dropped it. “His theory is that he remains free until our marriage, and then will be free once again following the necessary birth of his heir. More discreetly, I can only hope. Meanwhile, I am beside myself with joy that I must take my place at his side in two short months. Of course.”
Natalie had laughed, and the sound had made Valentina’s stomach flip. Because it sounded like her. It sounded exactly like her.
“It’s going to be a terrific couple of months all around, then,” her mirror image was saying. “Mr. Casilieris is in rare form. He’s putting together a particularly dramatic deal and it’s not going his way and he…isn’t used to that. So that’s me working twenty-two-hour days instead of my usual twenty for the foreseeable future, which is even more fun when he’s cranky and snarling.”
“It can’t possibly be worse than having to smile politely while your future husband lectures you about the absurd expectation of fidelity in what is essentially an arranged marriage for hours on end. The absurdity is that he might be expected to curb his impulses for a year or so, in case you wondered. The expectations for me apparently involve quietly and chastely finding fulfillment in philanthropic works, like his sainted absentee mother, who everyone knows manufactured a supposed health crisis so she could live out her days in peaceful seclusion. It’s easy to be philanthropically fulfilled while living in isolation in Bavaria.”
Natalie had smiled. “Try biting your tongue while your famously short-tempered boss rages at you for no reason, for the hundredth time in an hour, because he pays you to stand there and take it without wilting or crying or selling whingeing stories about him to the press.”
Valentina had returned that smile. “Or the hours and hours of grim palace-vetted prewedding press interviews in the company of a pack of advisers who will censor everything I say and inevitably make me sound like a bit of animated treacle, as out of touch with reality as the average overly sweet dessert.”
“Speaking of treats, I also have to deal with the board of directors Mr. Casilieris treats like irritating schoolchildren, his packs of furious ex-lovers each with her own vendetta, all his terrified employees who need to be coached through meetings with him and treated for PTSD after, and every last member of his staff in every one of his households, who like me to be the one to ask him the questions they know will set him off on one of his scorch-the-earth rages.” Natalie had moved closer then, and lowered her voice. “I was thinking of quitting, to be honest. Today.”
“I can’t quit, I’m afraid,” Valentina had said. Regretfully.
But she’d wished she could. She’d wished she could just…walk away and not have to live up to anyone’s expectations. And not have to marry a man whom she barely knew. And not have to resign herself to a version of the same life so many of her ancestors had lived. Maybe that was where the idea had come from. Blood was blood, after all. And this woman clearly shared her blood. What if…?
“I have a better idea,” she’d said, and then she’d tossed it out there before she could think better of it. “Let’s switch places. For a month, say. Six weeks at the most. Just for a little break.”
“That’s crazy,” Natalie said at once, and she was right. Of course she was right.
“Insane,” Valentina had agreed. “But you might find royal protocol exciting! And I’ve always wanted to do the things everyone else in the world does. Like go to a real job.”
“People can’t switch places.” Natalie had frowned. “And certainly not with a princess.”
“You could think about whether or not you really want to quit,” Valentina pointed out, trying to sweeten the deal. “It would be a lovely holiday for you. Where will Achilles Casilieris be in six weeks’ time?”
“He’s never gone from London for too long,” Natalie had said, as if she was considering it.
Valentina had smiled. “Then in six weeks we’ll meet in London. We’ll text in the meantime with all the necessary details about our lives, and on the appointed day we’ll just meet up and switch back and no one will ever be the wiser. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“It would never work,” Natalie had replied. Which wasn’t exactly a no. “No one will ever believe I’m you.”
Valentina waved a hand, encompassing the pair of them. “How would anyone know the difference? I can barely tell myself.”
“People will take one look at me and know I’m not you. You look like a princess.”
“You, too, can look like a princess,” Valentina assured her. Then smiled. “This princess, anyway. You already do.”
“You’re elegant. Poised. You’ve had years of training, presumably. How to be a diplomat. How to be polite in every possible situation. Which fork to use at dinner, for God’s sake.”
“Achilles Casilieris is one of the wealthiest men alive,” Valentina had pointed out. “He dines with as many kings as I do. I suspect that as his personal assistant, Natalie, you have, too. And have likely learned how to navigate the cutlery.”
“No one will believe it,” Natalie had insisted. But she’d sounded a bit as if she was wavering.
Valentina tugged off the ring on her left hand and placed it down on the counter between them. It made an audible clink against the marble surface, as well it should, given it was one of the crown jewels of the kingdom of Tissely.
“Try it on. I dare you. It’s an heirloom from Prince Rodolfo’s extensive treasury of such items, dating back to the dawn of time, more or less.” She smiled. “If it doesn’t fit we’ll never speak of switching places again.”
But th
e ring had fit her double as if it had been made especially for her.
And after that, switching clothes was easy. Valentina found herself in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed like a billionaire’s assistant, when Natalie walked out of the stall behind her in her own shift dress and the heels her favorite shoe designer had made just for her. It was like looking in a mirror, but one that walked and looked unsteady on her feet and was wearing her hair differently.
Valentina couldn’t tell if she was disconcerted or excited. Both, maybe.
She’d eyed Natalie. “Will your glasses give me a headache, do you suppose?”
But Natalie had pulled them from her face and handed them over. “They’re clear glass. I was getting a little too much attention from some of the men Mr. Casilieris works with, and it annoyed him. I didn’t want to lose my job, so I started wearing my hair up and these glasses. It worked like a charm.”
“I refuse to believe men are so idiotic.”
Natalie had grinned as Valentina took the glasses and slid them onto her nose. “The men we’re talking about weren’t exactly paying me attention because they found me enthralling. It was a diversionary tactic during negotiations, and yes, you’d be surprised how many men fail to see a woman who looks smart.”
She’d freed her hair from its utilitarian ponytail and shook it out, then handed the stretchy elastic to Valentina. It took Valentina a moment to re-create the ponytail on her own head, and then it was done.
And it really was like magic.
“This is crazy,” Natalie had whispered.
“We have to switch places now,” Valentina said softly, hearing the rough patch in her own voice. “I’ve always wanted to be…someone else. Someone normal. Just for a little while.”
And she’d gotten exactly what she’d wanted, hadn’t she?
“I am distressed, Miss Monette, that I cannot manage to secure your attention for more than a moment or two,” Achilles said then, slamming Valentina back into this car he dominated so easily when all he was doing was sitting there.
Sitting there, filling up the world without even trying.
He was devastating. There was no other possible word that could describe him. His black hair was close-cropped to his head, which only served to highlight his strong, intensely masculine features. She’d had hours on the plane to study him as she’d repeatedly failed to do the things he’d expected of her, and she still couldn’t really get her head around why it was that he was so…affecting. He shouldn’t have been. Dark hair. Dark eyes that tended toward gold when his temper washed over him, which he’d so far made no attempt to hide. A strong nose that reminded her of ancient statues she’d seen in famous museums. That lean, hard body of his that wasn’t made of marble or bronze but seemed to suggest both as he used it so effortlessly. A predator packed into a dark suit that seemed molded to him, whispering suggestions of a lethal warrior when all he was doing was taking phone calls with a five-hundred-thousand-dollar watch on one wrist that he didn’t flash about, because he was Achilles Casilieris. He didn’t need flash.
Achilles was something else.
It was the power that seemed to emanate from him, even when he was doing nothing but sitting quietly. It was the fierce hit of his intelligence, that brooding, unmistakable cleverness that seemed to wrap around him like a cloud. It was something in the way he looked at her, as if he saw too much and too deeply and no matter that Valentina’s unreadable game face was the envy of Europe. Besides all that, there was something untamed about him. Fierce.
Something about him left her breathless. Entirely too close to reeling.
“Do you require a gold star every time you make a statement?” she asked, careful not to look at him. It was too hard to look away. She’d discovered that on the plane ride from London—and he was a lot closer now. So close she was sure she could feel the heat of his body from where she sat. “I’ll be certain to make a note to celebrate you more often. Sir.”
Valentina didn’t know what she was doing. In Natalie’s job, certainly, but also with this man in general. She’d learned one thing about powerful people—particularly men—and it was that they did not enjoy being challenged. Under any circumstances. What made her think Achilles would go against type and magically handle this well?
But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
And the fact that she had never been one to challenge much of anything before hardly signified. Or maybe that was why she felt so unfettered, she thought. Because this wasn’t her life. This wasn’t her remote father and his endless expectations for the behavior of his only child. This was a strange little bit of role-playing that allowed her to be someone other than Princess Valentina for a moment. A few weeks, that was all. Why not challenge Achilles while she was at it? Especially if no one else ever did?
She could feel his gaze on the side of her face, that brooding dark gold, and she braced herself. Then made sure her expression was nothing but serene as she turned to face him.
It didn’t matter. There was no minimizing this man. She could feel the hit of him—like a fist—deep in her belly. And then lower.
“Are you certain you were not hit in the head?” Achilles asked, his dark voice faintly rough with the hint of his native Greek. “Perhaps in the bathroom at the airport? I fear that such places can often suffer from slippery floors. Deadly traps for the unwary.”
“It was only a bathroom,” she replied airily. “It wasn’t slippery or otherwise notable in any way.”
“Are you sure?” And something in his voice and his hard gaze prickled into her then. Making her chest feel tighter.
Valentina did not want to talk about the bathroom, much less anything that had happened there. And there was something in his gaze that worried her—but that was insane. He couldn’t have any idea that she’d run into her own twin. How could he? Valentina had been unaware that there was the faintest possibility she might have a twin until today.
Which made her think about her father and his many, many lectures about his only child in a new, unfortunate light. But Valentina thrust that aside. That was something to worry about when she was a princess again. That was a problem she could take up when she was back in Murin Castle.
Here, now, she was a secretary. An executive assistant, no more and no less.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Casilieris.” She let her smile deepen and ignored the little hum of…something deep inside her when his gaze seemed to catch fire. “Are you trying to tell me that you need a bathroom? Should I ask the driver to stop the car right here in the middle of the George Washington Bridge?”
She expected him to get angry again. Surely that was what had been going on before, back in London before the plane had taken off. She’d seen temper all over that fierce, hard face of his and gleaming hot in his gaze. More than that, she’d felt it inside her. As if the things he felt echoed within her, winding her into knots. She felt something a whole lot like a chill inch its way down her spine at that notion.
But Achilles only smiled. And that was far more dangerous than merely devastating.
“Miss Monette,” he said and shook his head, as if she amused him, when she could see that the thing that moved over that ruthless face of his was far too intense to be simple amusement. “I had no idea that beneath your officious exterior you’ve been hiding a comedienne all this time. For five years you’ve worked at my side and never let so much as a hint of this whimsical side of your personality out into the open. Whatever could have changed?”
He knows. The little voice inside her was certain—and terrified.
But it was impossible. Valentina knew it was impossible, so she made herself smile and relax against the leather seat as if she’d never in her life been so at her ease. Very much as if she was not within scant inches of a very large, very powerful, very intense male who was eyeing her the way gigantic lions a
nd tigers and jaguars eyed their food. When they were playing with it.
She’d watched enough documentaries and made enough state visits to African countries to know firsthand.
“Perhaps I’ve always been this amusing,” she suggested, managing to tamp down her hysteria about oversize felines, none of which was particularly helpful at the moment. “Perhaps you’ve only recently allowed yourself to truly listen to me.”
“I greatly enjoy listening to you,” Achilles replied. There was a laziness in the way he sat there, sprawled out in the backseat of his car, that dark gold gaze on hers. A certain laziness, yes—but Valentina didn’t believe it for a second. “I particularly enjoy listening to you when you are doing your job perfectly. Because you know how much I admire perfection. I insist on it, in fact. Which is why I cannot understand why you failed to provide it today.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
But she knew what he meant. She’d been on the plane and she’d been the one to fail repeatedly to do what was clearly her job. She’d hung up on one conference call and failed entirely to connect another. She’d expected him to explode—if she was honest, there was a part of her that wanted him to explode, in the way that anyone might want to poke and poke and poke at some kind of blister to see if it would pop. But he hadn’t popped. He hadn’t lost his temper at all, despite the fact that it had been very clear to Valentina very quickly that she was a complete and utter disaster at doing whatever it was that Natalie did.
When Achilles had stared at her in amazement, however, she hadn’t made any excuses. She’d only gazed right back, serenely, as if she’d meant to do whatever utterly incorrect thing it was. As if it was all some kind of strategy.
She could admit that she hadn’t really thought the job part through. She been so busy fantasizing herself into some kind of normal life that it had never occurred to her that, normal or not, a life was still a whole life. She had no idea how to live any way but the way she’d been living for almost thirty years. How remarkably condescending, she’d thought up there on Achilles Casilieris’s jet, that she’d imagined she could simply step into a job—especially one as demanding as this appeared to be—and do it merely because she’d decided it was her chance at something “normal.”