by Mia Caldwell
“What? The Irish getting stuck on things idea?”
“No, Marisol. Damn it, you aren’t going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“And why should I?”
“Because I love you, Marisol. I always have, and I suspect I always will.”
Marisol bit her lip as she studied his gorgeous face. “I love you too, Ryan, but you broke my heart when you left me behind in the courthouse.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. If you give me a chance, I’ll make sure I never do or say anything that will hurt you ever again.”
“That’s quite a big promise, but I’m going back to Dalaysia today.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why before you go, I want a promise from you.”
“What promise?” said Marisol.
Ryan dropped to one knee and pulled a velvet box from his pocket.
“Marry me, Princess Marisol of Dalayasia?”
“Oh, Ryan, it’s not that easy for me. I have obligations to my country. I can’t, I just can’t.” Words failed her. How could she explain what it would mean if another Duvaingnon brought another commoner from America into the royal family?
“Open the box, Marisol,” said Ryan.
Marisol, her eyes filling with tears, took the box from Ryan’s hands. Then she opened it and gasped. It was her mother’s engagement ring. There was only one place he could have gotten this. Her father. With this ring, her father was telling her he approved, and that, whatever happened, whatever the fallout, he wanted her to be happy.
“Of course, if you don’t like it, I’ll give it back, and we’ll get you another one. Anything you want, Marisol. Because I’m Irish and stubborn, and I’m not leaving this room until you promise to be my wife.”
“Like it? How can I not like it?”
“Then you’ll marry me?”
She flung herself into his arms. It felt so good to have his strong arms around her. Marisol buried her face in his neck.
“Yes, stubborn Irishman Ryan Kelley. I’ll marry you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Epilogue
“Now tell me again how you were involved in this conspiracy?” asked Marisol. She twisted the paper umbrella in her fruity drink as she waited for Cheryl’s answer.
They were sitting on the upper terrace of the royal palace in Dalaysia, watching the staff putting the finishing touches on the reception and wedding areas. The newly renovated garden stretched out for a couple acres to the cliff that overhung the Gulf of Lion in the Mediterranean Sea. The wedding area sat close to the cliff and was filled with chairs for the invited guests. They’d tried to keep it small, but this was a royal wedding. Royals, dignitaries, government, and business leaders from all over the world had already arrived, jamming the brand new hotels built for the occasion.
The merger between KelTech and Dalaysia proved extremely advantageous, just as Ryan had said it would, but even more so because it kicked up the interests of different businesses, including several in the travel industry. At long last, money was pouring into Dalaysia with the overdue development of the country as a vacation destination.
This spring day was gloriously bright, and Marisol beamed with happiness. Tomorrow was her wedding day, and she would marry the most handsome man in the world. He was perfect.
The media thought so too, and Ryan complained he couldn’t go anywhere without a reporter following him. For months, Marisol and Ryan’s story filled the tabloids. There were even egregiously erroneous ones that announced their engagement was off or that Marisol had to marry because she was pregnant, which made her laugh.
Since that one time, and after both made confessions to their priests and did their penance, they’d vowed to wait for their wedding day to make love again. It was a difficult vow to keep, especially when they wanted each other like crazy. They came very close to breaking that vow, but one of them would sensibly hold back the other.
Marisol could barely contain her excitement over her imminent wedding night, and it made it difficult to concentrate, especially when people were talking to her like Cheryl was now.
“My son can be stubborn and unreasonable, and there was no talking to him. I tried to tell him it was obvious you loved him, but he wouldn’t listen. Even when that story came out about Vattakov’s arrest, he still wouldn’t relent. ‘She’ll marry him anyway,’ he said.
“Well, that just wouldn’t do. I tried calling your father, which, by the way is nearly impossible to do. No one would let me through. Finally, I came to the hotel and demanded to speak to him. It was a tossup whether hotel security or the NYPD was going to haul my ass out of that hotel, but luckily your father walked into the lobby. I launched myself at him, almost getting myself shot in the process, but as you can see, my son gets his stubbornness honestly.”
“Yes,” said Marisol with a smile. “I can see that.”
“And I told Francois that it was a crime the two of you weren’t together and he agreed. ‘But what can be done?’ your father asked. And I told him about the work my son’s company was doing, and he got very interested. So he called Ryan, which Ryan tells me nearly knocked him out of his chair. Francois told him there was no reason not to do business together, and Ryan agreed. And Francois has this wonderful way of working people.”
“Yes, I know,” said Marisol.
“And he kept dropping hints that the whole Vattakov affair was devastating to the monarchy’s reputation, that he’d made a horrible mistake in engaging you to Tristan. At the same time, he kept giving Ryan compliments about his work and saying things like ‘if I could find a son-in-law like you, this whole thing with the Vattakovs would blow over.’”
“It sounds like he laid in on thick.”
“Oh, he did, but Ryan was being thickheaded about the whole thing. You know how he gets about business.”
“Yes, the whole ‘get stuck on an idea thing.’”
“That’s right. Finally, Francois had to say, ‘Do you want to marry my daughter or not?’ Again, that nearly knocked Ryan out of his chair. And he said, ‘Of course.’ ‘Then you’d better go get her, son, because she’s stubborn too, and you’re going to have to convince her since you’ve been such an idiot about this. And it might take more than a day, and we’re leaving tomorrow.’”
Marisol laughed. “Well, it didn’t. Thank you for your part, but you must tell me, just what is going on between my father and you? He doesn’t let just anyone call him by his first name.”
Cheryl shrugged her shoulders. “He’s a very nice man. We’ve had some nice talks, that’s all.”
“Uh huh,” said Marisol, taking a sip of her drink.
“And just what are my two favorite ladies up to now?” Ryan threw his arms around both of them.
“Just talking about conspiracies,” said Cheryl archly. “And just what are you doing here now? You aren’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”
“I couldn’t stay away. I had to get a kiss. Come on, Marisol, let’s take a walk in the garden.”
With Ryan’s arm around her, they walked down the stairs to the elaborately decorated garden.
“Okay, confess, Ryan Kelley. Why did you pull me away from your mother?”
“What? A kiss isn’t enough of an excuse?”
“No,” said Marisol.
Ryan’s eyes travelled up the terrace where Cheryl sat. Her father closed in on her, with a smile on his lips.
“Oh, I see. Another conspiracy,” Marisol said.
“He just wants to ask her to lunch.”
“Uh huh,” said Marisol.
“And I want to get mine,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye. Before she could say anything, Ryan crushed his lips into hers, and soon all she thought about was how good Ryan Kelley felt in her arms.
“One more day,” she whispered, “One more day and there will be no more waiting.”
***
Could she be any happier? They had the most glorious wedding on a beautiful day. Her family priest consented to have the
ceremony on palace grounds because the Catholic church they attended wasn’t big enough for all the guests. The tiny space in the center of Dalaysia’s capital would have proved a security risk.
The reception and dinner was perfect as well. The first dance in Ryan’s arms as his wife was a memory she’d treasure forever, but what brought a tear to many people there was when she danced with her father as the band played Butterfly Kisses.
Ryan and his mother danced to A Song for Mama. It was the sweetest thing Marisol ever saw, especially when Ryan kissed his mother’s cheek when the band’s singer sang “You’re the queen of my heart.” She beamed with pride at her new husband because she knew from he way he loved his mother, he would love her forever too.
Now they were alone in the suite her father had prepared for them in the palace. Marisol had her tired feet up on the table in front the large couch before the fireplace. Ryan opened the champagne also left by her father and handed her a glass.
“I don’t think I need more alcohol,” groaned Marisol. “How many toasts were made to us?”
“I lost track,” he admitted. “But one more for us.”
Marisol looked at the envelope on the coffee table addressed to Ryan in her father’s hand. “Are you going to open that?”
“I don’t know. What could it be?”
“Open it and find out.”
Ryan picked up the envelope and pulled out the card inside. Marisol glanced at it and smiled.
By Royal Decree of His Royal Highness Francois Duvaingnon, King of Dalaysia, let it be known that Ryan Andrew Kelley, is now styled as Prince Ryan of Dalaysia, consort of Crown Princess Marisol Duvaignon of Dalaysia, and is to be accorded all privileges and honors of that rank.
“I told him it wasn’t necessary,” said Ryan. “And I didn’t say I was giving up my American citizenship.”
“That’s not what this means. It means my father loves you like a son. How can that be bad? And you can hold dual citizenship here.”
“But I’m not a prince,” protested Ryan.
Marisol shifted to lean across her husband.
“You are to me,” she whispered. She put her arms around his neck to bring herself even with his lips. He bent his head and kissed her gently, at first, then more passionately.
“Let’s get me out of this dress,” she whispered.
Ryan helped Marisol up from the couch. In the bedroom, Ryan unbuttoned the many buttons on the back of the wedding dress, cursing lightly. Finally, the dress pooled to the ground and Ryan looked at her hungrily.
“I’ve been waiting for this a long time,” he said.
“I can see,” said Marisol noting the fullness in his dress slacks. She hugged him, pressing her body against his and he groaned.
“I’ve waited too long,” he said. With that he swept her into his arm, just like he did that first night they shared and laid her on their bed. He didn’t wait for words of encouragement from her and shortly was beautifully naked before her, his shaft hard and straining.
“Come here,” she said, holding out her arms. “And don’t wait. I’ve waited for you too, and I can hardly stand it. I’m ready for you.”
Ryan lay over her, holding his weight up with his forearms.
“You’re so beautiful. Is it any wonder that I love you?”
“Don’t wait,” she said squirming under him desperate for more of him.
Ryan guided himself to her entrance and she sighed as she felt him between her legs.
“Please, baby,” she begged. “I need you.”
His eyes closed half-lidded with desire he entered her. Both of them moaned at the sensation of their flesh joining filling every inch of her core. Marisol felt the gathering rush inside her. It won’t take much or long for her completion. Ryan moved, groaning at each stroke. “You feel so good.”
“More, honey. Please.”
Ryan moved, thrusting faster and harder, growing wilder, and Marisol slipped headlong into the fire that consumed her body. She exploded around him, crying his name. Ryan pulsed inside her, crying her name, sending aftershocks of her orgasm through her.
They held each other tightly, listening to the beat of their hearts. He kissed her neck, whispering how much he loved her. Then he tightened, getting tense.
“Damn,” he said. “I didn’t use a condom.”
Marisol smiled. “Relax, sweetheart. We’re married now.”
“But I’m sure you don’t want a child this soon after marriage. There’s so much work for us to do.”
“This is the first duty of any newly married royal couple,” she said.
“First duty?” said Ryan.
“Securing succession.”
“Oh,” said Ryan. Then he smiled. “Well, as a royal duty, it’s not so bad.”
“What?” Marisol slapped his shoulder.
“As a matter of fact, let’s do our duty again.”
Marisol smiled. “And you said you weren’t a prince.”
******
Bonus Excerpt
Scottish Billionaire’s Baby
Blurb
Months ago, against her better judgment, Lizzy let Ian sweep her off her feet. When he disappears, leaving behind more than just regrets, she decides to follow him to Edinburgh and make sure he understood the consequences of their brief fling—due to arrive in a few months. Instead, she learns Ian was really Gerard. He stole his brother’s name and mannerisms to woo her before he was killed in a car accident.
An accident of her own leaves Lizzy on bedrest and stranded in Scotland with only her former lover’s brother to watch out for her. He takes good care of her, but she has to safeguard her heart, because she’s falling for the gentle billionaire, and she’s certain he’s in love with her too. Their love can either heal both their wounded hearts or shatter them into fragments with no chance of ever being whole again. It’s a risk Lizzy isn’t sure she’s ready to take. Is Ian?
Chapter One
Lizzy frowned and pulled her jacket over her swollen belly as she stood in front of the drab stone building. The weather in Scotland was colder than the weather in New York, which wasn’t what any reasonable person would call warm. It didn’t help that her body and clothes had declared war on one another. The wool peacoat that fit her so well two weeks ago now strained at the lower buttonholes to accommodate her baby bump, another casualty of war. She had been so busy getting ready for the trip across the Atlantic that she hadn’t had time to buy maternity clothes. It seemed like a waste of money anyway. Her body changed each day, unperceivable changes that she didn’t notice all the time, but added together made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. But then her life would be full of changes once the baby was born.
It wasn’t that she disliked being pregnant, but Lizzy planned her life to the smallest detail. She always had. Form a strategy, plan it, and execute it. That was how she survived in the cutthroat world of art. Carelessness wasn’t her style. Careless people often found themselves an unwitting part of someone else’s plan and usually to their detriment. Lizzy had learned that lesson the hard way, and that knowledge had carried her from the tiny apartment in rough-and-tumble Washington Heights to a still-small, but more upscale apartment on the Upper East Side. It wasn’t much compared to some of the newer, fancier apartments in the area, but she made do.
Ian MacHolden changed everything. He was wealthy, gorgeous, and had a way of looking at Lizzy that made her feel like she was the only woman alive. Not even the hardened heart she’d once so prided herself on could withstand that. Five months and one shocking pregnancy test later, she still couldn’t explain how Ian managed to blast his way past her defenses. Or why he’d disappeared once the last wall she laid in place had come down. She pushed the thoughts aside as she stared up at the building. This trip wasn’t about her and Ian. It was about the baby, and she’d delayed the trip for too long already.
Lizzy couldn’t afford to waste time lamenting the past. She owed her baby the best, which meant a father, even if i
t put her in a room with the man who’d seduced her and disappeared. Lizzy closed her eyes to calm herself and take in her surroundings.
The wind was gentle, but had a slight chill that bit at her cheeks. If she’d left her hair down, it might have shielded her face from the worst of the wind, but she’d settled on a loose braid. Something that said, “I’m not here for a fight or a reunion. I just want to talk this out.” The only way to get warm was to go inside.
She took a deep breath as she walked into the lobby. The interior of the office surprised her. Wealthy men in New York loved to show off. They bought offices and homes in towers of glass and steel, the kind with sprawling marble desks with security clerks in suits. Instead, a receptionist in a crisp button-down shirt sat behind a small desk of glass and metal. She glanced up at Lizzy and smiled.
“May I help you, miss?” The woman looked Lizzy up and down.
In her rush to see Ian, she’d forgotten to change out of her travel clothes. Cotton pants and a T-shirt were comfortable travel attire, but not appropriate for barging into the office of a rich businessman. Lizzy cleared her throat and tugged at the hem of her waistcoat. “I’d like to speak to Ian MacHolden.”
“Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist turned to her computer. Lizzy knew this dance well. The dismissive receptionist and the eager walk-in. Men like Ian MacHolden always had a receptionist standing guard. Someone to let the peasants down without bruised egos when they tried to demand too much. Lizzy wasn’t having it.
“I don’t, but it’s urgent.”
“I understand, miss. But Mr. MacHolden’s schedule is full today, I’m afraid. If you’d like to come back another time—”
“I’m only in the country for a few days.”
The receptionist smiled again, but this time, it didn’t reach her eyes. Lizzy knew that move too. The blow-off smile. Lizzy could almost see the receptionist’s mind calculating how long it would take to shoo her away. “I’m sorry, miss, but there’s nothing I can do if you don’t have an appointment.”