Conveniently Wed to the Prince

by Nina Milne

  For him it wasn’t only Il Boschetto di Sole to be won. He could have all that Alphonse had taken from him in a deal that did not leave him beholden. And, even more importantly, he could win public recognition for his mother; set the rumours and falsehoods to rest once and for all.

  But to do that he and Holly would have to play their marriage out in the public eye—something he needed to know she was on board with. It also meant they could not risk any complications, and giving in to their attraction would rate way up there on the ‘complicated’ scoreboard.

  ‘Good morning.’

  She turned from the window, her eyes full of caution. ‘Good morning.’ She gestured outside. ‘Look at all those people out there...going about their normal business whilst my world has been upended.’

  He moved closer, tried to block out the tantalising scent of freshly washed hair, the tang of citrus and an underlying scent that urged him to pull her into his arms and to hell with the consequences. But life didn’t work like that. Actions had consequences, and once you’d acted you couldn’t take that act back. Lord knew, he knew that.

  So instead he stood beside her, careful not to touch, and looked outside at the scurrying figures. ‘You’ll find that a lot of those people will be experiencing their own upheavals and worries. But I agree—yesterday was a humdinger of a life-changer. But it is only temporary. One year and then you can have your life back. And half of Il Boschetto di Sole.’

  One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Fifty-two weeks. God knew how many hours.

  ‘And life doesn’t have to change that much,’ she added hopefully. ‘I’ve thought about it. I know we have to live under the same roof, but if we can find a big enough roof we don’t have to actually see each other much. We could even get somewhere with separate kitchens, or work out a rota or...’

  ‘I get it—and I appreciate the amount of thought you’ve put into it.’ Obscurely, a frisson of hurt touched him, even though he knew he should applaud her plan. It wasn’t as if he wanted to act out happy coupledom. ‘That sounds good, but before we settle down to wedded bliss there’s the actual wedding to think about.’

  ‘Yes. But that’s not so complicated, is it? We’ll give twenty-eight days’ notice and then we can do a quick register office ceremony. Simple.’

  ‘It’s a little more complex than that.’

  Go easy here. Clearly Holly’s ideas for the wedding were a long way from the public spectacle now on the cards.

  Suspicion narrowed her eyes. ‘Complex how?’

  ‘How about we discuss this over breakfast? And coffee?’

  Coward.

  ‘Fine.’ Her forehead creased. ‘Though I have the distinct impression that you hope food and drink will soften me up.’

  ‘Busted.’

  She sighed. ‘Dinner does feel like a lifetime ago, and I am hungry. But do you mind if we go someplace else? Perhaps we could grab a takeaway coffee and walk for a while? I’d appreciate a chance to clear my head.’

  ‘Works for me.’ A chance to move, to expend some energy—perhaps the fresh air would blow away the cobwebs of intrigue. ‘Any preference as to where?’

  ‘I thought we could go to the Chelsea Physic Garden,’ she suggested. ‘It’s not far from here. Every Sunday since I’ve got here I’ve explored somewhere in London. To begin with I did all the usual tourist places—you know, Big Ben and St Paul’s Cathedral, which is awe-inspiring. I went to watch the Changing of the Guards too.’

  Her smile was bright and contagious, and for an instant he could picture her, eyes wide, intent on watching the traditional ceremony.

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry—I must sound so gauche. It’s my first time away from Lycander and I decided to...’

  ‘Make the most of it?’

  ‘Explore as much as I could. But I’ve also discovered lots of amazing quirky places, and the Physic Garden is one of them.’

  So five minutes later they headed across the marble lobby, through the sleek glass revolving doors and out onto the cold but sunny autumn street. Russet leaves fluttered past in the breeze and the sun shone down from a cloudless sky.

  They walked briskly. Holly made no attempt to make conversation and yet the silence felt comfortable rather than awkward. For him it was a much-needed buffer until they sat down to negotiate exactly how their marriage would work.

  Fifteen minutes and a café stop brought them to the gardens, with bacon and avocado sandwiches and take-away coffees in hand. As they wended their way through he looked around, feeling a sense of tranquillity and awe at the number of different plants on show and their medicinal properties.

  ‘We’ll walk through the rock garden, if you like?’ Holly offered. ‘It’s the oldest rock garden in the world, partly made with stones from the Tower of London and also Icelandic lava that was brought over here in 1772.’

  Her face was animated as she spoke, and for an instant he wished that they could simply wander around and explore this place she clearly loved. That there was no agenda.

  ‘Once we get through here, and then go round a bit, there is a secluded part where we can sit.’

  Different scents wafted through the air, and soon they arrived at a pretty walled area and settled onto a bench.

  Once seated, he unwrapped his sandwich and turned to face her. He waited until she’d taken her first appreciative bite and figured it was as good a time as any.

  ‘So the wedding—there’s been a change of plan. I’ve decided to go public with our engagement.’

  She stilled, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.

  ‘This is a good time for the exiled Prince to return to Lycander—I want to use our wedding as a publicity stunt to smooth that return.’

  Lowering the sandwich, she opted for a gulp of coffee. ‘When exactly did you decide that? You didn’t mention any return over dinner. Or when you “proposed”.’ She tilted her head to one side, her blonde hair rippling in the breeze as she studied his expression, her blue eyes now wary, as if in search of a trap.

  ‘I spoke with Marcus Alriksson last night. Lycander’s—’

  ‘Chief Advisor. I know who Marcus Alriksson is.’

  ‘And we agreed that this is an optimum moment for my return.’

  ‘Because Crown Prince Frederick could do with some family support,’ Holly agreed, and suddenly there was that smile again. ‘I knew you couldn’t be as indifferent about Lycander as you made out yesterday.’

  For a daft second Stefan wished he deserved the approval that radiated from her—but he didn’t, and he wouldn’t let her cast him in family-man mode, nor as a knight in shining armour.

  ‘That is not my motivation. Marcus and I have made a deal. If he can convince me that Frederick is genuine about reform in Lycander then, yes, I will offer my support—in return for the lands my father took from me. No land, no support, no return.’

  Careful here. He had no intention of sharing all the details of the deal he’d made, and he didn’t want to bring up Eloise.

  He forced himself to hold Holly’s gaze, saw the flash of disappointment and steeled himself not to give a damn. He owed Frederick nothing. The whole point of severing family ties was the fact that they no longer existed—couldn’t be used to push or pull.

  ‘But my motivation is beside the point. The point is that it does change the parameters of our marriage. The wedding will now be a grand spectacle, acted out on the global stage, and our marriage will be under public scrutiny. In order to be able to offer Frederick support I need the Lycandrian public to accept me—and you would be a key player in that. I would want you to be in charge of “branding” us as well, of course, as being part of that brand. I will pay you a generous salary for that.’

  That was the bunch of carrots. Now for the stick...

  ‘However, if this is too much for you take on board, I understand. We can abandon our
marriage plan and go back to the marriage race. But I think it’s fair to tell you that Marcus has a bride lined up for me.’

  There was silence as she thought, her hands cupped tightly around her coffee cup. He realised he was holding his breath, his whole body tense as he awaited her decision. Relax. Worst-case scenario: he’d marry Marcus’s choice of bride. Not his preferred option, but not the end of the world either.

  Turning, she looked at him. ‘I accept your offer—but I have an additional condition.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you don’t have children I would like you to leave your share of Il Boschetto di Sole to me or my children. That way one day the land will be reunited. It seems fair to me. You are asking for my help to win more land for yourself—this way my family will gain something in the future. Something important.’ Her gaze didn’t leave his. ‘Of course you can refuse. Marry whoever Marcus has chosen. But I think you have a better chance of pulling off a “branding” exercise with me. Otherwise, I guarantee all the publicity will be about the “marriage race”.’

  Annoyance warred with admiration. It turned out Holly had a talent for negotiation too. Her request was unusual, but reasonable.

  ‘Agreed.’ No point prolonging negotiations. ‘So we have a new deal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  This time she nodded her head, kept her hands firmly around her cup. ‘But I’ll be up-front. I do think you have a better chance with me, but this wedding won’t be an easy sell. People will realise we are getting married through legal necessity. We certainly can’t pretend it’s a love match. Especially when we plan to start divorce proceedings in a year.’

  ‘You’ll need to find some positive spin.’

  ‘Ha-ha! I’m not sure an army of washing machines could provide enough spin.’

  Placing the coffee down, she tugged a serviette from her bag, a pen from her pocket and began to scribble.

  ‘The terms of the will are bound to be published, so any story we come up with needs to acknowledge the legal necessity of our marriage. But we need to incorporate some sort of “feel-good” factor into it.’

  For a few minutes she stared into space and he watched her, seeing the intense concentration on her face, the faint crease on her brow, hearing the click-click of the pen as she fiddled with it. Her blonde hair gleamed in the autumn sunlight, gold flecks seemed to shimmer in the light breeze. His gaze snagged on her lips and a sudden rush of memory hit him. The taste of her lips, the warmth of her response...

  ‘Stefan! Earth to Stefan!’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Get with it, Petrelli.

  ‘How about this? When I came to London a year ago I was intrigued by you—the exiled Prince of my country—so I called you up and asked to meet you. We hit it off and started a relationship. A low-key relationship, because that suited both of us. Perhaps Roberto Bianchi found out—we’ll never know. Anyway, when we came to know the terms of the will we really did not want to fight—we even wondered if he’d been hoping we’d marry each other and that’s what we decided to do. It could be that it won’t work, and we both know that, but in that case we will each own half the grove.’

  Stefan looked at her appreciatively. ‘I like it. That has a definite ring of authenticity and, whilst we are fibbing, it isn’t so great a fib as all that. Hell, it could even have happened like that.’

  For a second his imagination ran with the idea. Their meeting, the tug of attraction... Only in this version it was an attraction that had no barriers, an attraction that could be fulfilled...

  Whoa. Rein it in.

  The silence twanged. Her cheeks flushed and then she let out a sigh. ‘I think we need to role-play it.’

  ‘Huh?’ Given where his imagination had been heading, he couldn’t hold back the note of shock.

  ‘No!’ Her flush deepened; pink climbed the angles of her cheekbones. ‘I don’t mean every detail. Obviously. I mean we’re going to be questioned closely on this. How did we meet? Where was it? What were we wearing? How did we feel? I assume part of this gig will involve press interviews and appearances on TV. So I think we need to have a practice run. I know it feels stupid, but I think it’s important.’

  Stefan shrugged. ‘OK. Here and now?’

  ‘Sure. Why not?’ Holly looked around, checked there was no one to see them, no one close enough to overhear them. ‘So... I’ve written to you, asking to meet with you. Why do you agree, given that you are known to have little interest in Lycander?’

  ‘You sent a photo?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Joking! I’m joking.’

  ‘Well, I’m not laughing.’

  But he wasn’t fooled. There was smile in her eyes—he could see it. ‘Inside you are. But, OK, fair enough. I can see why this is a good idea. But let’s back up a step. What did you say in your letter?’

  ‘Hmm... Let’s work backwards—what would have persuaded you to meet me? How about if I’d asked for help? For Lycander? Extolled Frederick’s virtues?’

  ‘I’d have told you to take a hike. Preferably a long way away.’

  ‘All right. Let’s say that’s what you did and I took umbrage and demanded an apology. I turned up at your offices, sweet-talked my way past the front desk and...’

  ‘You’d never have got past my PA.’

  She glared at him. ‘OK. I lingered behind a potted plant until she left to make a cup of coffee—or maybe she was on holiday, so it was a temp and...’

  ‘You got into my office and I was so intrigued by your initiative I agreed to listen.’

  ‘Perfect. We got talking and decided to continue the conversation over dinner.’

  ‘Italian. I think we had spaghetti marinara and fettucine Alfredo.’

  Dammit, he could almost taste the tangy tomato sauce, smell the oregano, picture her forking up the spaghetti with a twirl, her laugh when she ended up with a spot of sauce on the tip of her nose.

  ‘And then a tiramisu to share, with coffee and a liqueur.’

  There was a silence, and he was suddenly intensely aware of how close Holly was. Somehow during their conversation they had moved closer to each other, caught up in the replay. Now the animation had slipped from her face, left her wide-eyed, lips slightly parted. One hand rose to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear.

  She looked exactly as she would have looked on that mythical first date.

  ‘And then this...’ he said and, moving across he turned to face her, cupped her face in his hand and kissed her.

  Imagination and reality fused. The surrounding scents of the garden combined with the idea that this was really a date. The kiss was sweet, and yet underlain with a passion that heated up as she gave a small moan against his mouth. In response he deepened the kiss, felt the pull of desire, the caress of her fingers on the nape of his neck.

  He had no idea how long they kissed until the real world intruded in the shape of a terrier. The small dog bounded up to them and started barking, leaping up, desperate for the remains of Holly’s abandoned bacon sandwich.

  They pulled apart. His expression was no doubt as dazed as hers, and her lips were swollen, her hair dishevelled. The dog, uncaring, continued to target the bacon, and within minutes its owner had hurried up, hand in hand with a toddler.

  The little girl beamed at them. ‘Hello!’

  Stefan pulled himself together. ‘Hello. Is this your dog?’

  ‘Yes. He’s called Teddy.’

  ‘What a lovely name.’ Holly leaned down and patted the dog, which promptly rolled over and presented his tummy.

  ‘He likes you.’

  ‘I like him too.’

  ‘Come on, Lily. Come on, Teddy.’ The woman grinned at them. ‘Sorry for the interruption!’

  ‘No problem,’ Holly managed.

  Once the trio had receded into the depths of the gardens she
put her head in her hands. ‘I am beyond embarrassed.’

  ‘The exiled Prince of Lycander and his fiancée—caught necking like a couple of teenagers.’

  ‘On a bench over a bacon and avocado butty!’

  Suddenly Holly began to giggle and, unable to help himself, Stefan chuckled. Within minutes they both couldn’t stop laughing. As soon as his laughter nearly subsided he would catch her eye and he’d be off again. In truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so freely.

  Eventually they leant back, breathless, and Holly shook her head. ‘I’m exhausted!’

  Stefan glanced at his watch. ‘And we’ve still got loads to do if we’re going to catch a plane tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Yup. We’re headed to Lycander first thing.’

  The words were a reminder of what this was all about. The reason for their role-play was to create an illusion, to enable him to keep his deal with Marcus.

  ‘There’s no point hanging about—especially as I want to pre-empt any publicity about the will.’

  The private jet was already booked. Marcus had offered the use of a royal helicopter, but Stefan had been resolute in his refusal. Until he sussed out whether Frederick was on the level he would accept nothing from the monarchy.

  ‘I can’t just pack up and go at such short notice. I have a job and...’

  ‘I am sure Lamberts will understand—especially given the publicity potential. If they kick up a fuss negotiate. Say you’ll use them to help with the wedding.’

  All trace of laughter had disappeared from her eyes now. ‘Is everything a deal to you?’

  He rose to his feet. ‘Everything in life is a deal. You’d do well to remember that.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Holly unclicked her seat belt as the jet cleaved its way through the clouds. The whole idea that she was aboard a private jet seemed surreal; in fact the whole situation seemed to personify the idea of a waking dream.