“I did not choose this life,” Nicholas said, letting the depth of his regret show. “I am here because of fate and duty.”
“Well, then the best course of action might be for you to choose another path. There is someone waiting to take your place.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Nicholas found himself saying even though the perfect escape was laid out before him like a gift. A chance to walk away. But he couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t take that step and walk away from everything his family had built over the years. He was trapped by his sense of duty and obligation and he wondered if it would ever feel like the place he belonged instead of a cage. “I am not my father and I am not Alec.”
“I think all we are asking is for you to figure out how to be King Nicholas,” Lord Batton said quietly, his soft voice in direct contrast to the hard tension that kept his body rigid. “But let me be clear, your enemies and the people might not give you much more time to figure it out. Embrace your role as future king, engage with your people and show them what you care about. Find a wife and settle down. If you don’t change course soon, I fear that you will have your decision made for you.”
“I’ll consider your suggestions.” He tamped down the bitter words that threatened to spill over and lead to absolutely nothing productive. “Next order of business, Lord Batton.”
The man had the grace to let it go, nodding slightly before reaching for a piece of paper with a list of names and many handwritten notes and strike-throughs covering its surface. “Have you given any thought to whether you would like an official escort to your coronation ball? We have a preliminary list…”
“I think I’m going to be a little busy during the coronation festivities to worry about abandoning a date.”
Lord Batton kept the paper hovering in the air between them. Nicholas looked at the sheet of names and then back at him until the other man lowered it back to the table and visibly bit back a sigh of frustration.
“It’s never too early for you to start thinking about finding a queen.” His mother spoke quietly, her manners barely hiding her own irritation. “Lady Charlotte von Reuuse would understand your duties in regards to the coronation.”
Chris sank lower in his chair, all of his body language declaring that he wanted to be anywhere but here right now. Join the club.
“I think a mere six months after the loss of Alec and Sophia is too early. We’ve barely taken off the black.”
“Everyone understands why we had to reduce the official mourning period.” His mother waved off the concern like it was nothing. “And you’ve not let it keep you from taking women to your bed.”
He let that comment go.
“I’m not in the market for a queen right now.” Especially not Lady Charlotte. She was a nice enough woman, perfectly polished, lovely as a painting, and with as much personality as the burned bits you scraped off your toast.
She hadn’t even been on his radar of women he was eager to spend a night with getting sweaty. No, she had all the earmarks of a clingy female who would equate a couple of orgasms with the tiara she so desperately wanted. Not the kind of woman he’d ever wanted. Not in this lifetime and not when he’d had his choice at any given time. Being the prince had some definite perks and he’d indulged often with as many women as he could manage, but there were some things you did not do when you were the heir apparentlike fucking the daughter of a royal dukeunless you were discreet. And being discreet did not suit women like Lady Charlotte. She would no sooner let him get the condom off before she’d call the press and announce the wedding.
“Next.” He motioned toward Lord Batton whose pile of papers had dwindled down to one.
“The refugees, sir.” He closed his mouth, just the utterance of those words enough to bring them all to attention.
The thousands of people orphaned due to a religious war in a neighboring country were congregated on a strip of land on the northwest side of Callanos. The Red Cross and other aid organizations were there to help with their needs but they needed more. His country was small, its main industry tourism, casinos, and catering to the high-end jet-setters who also frequented Monaco and Lake Como. An eyesore and a constant reminder that everything was not Cristabel champagne and Harry Winston, many in parliament and the local industry wanted them gone.
He wanted to know how to help. It was not a popular political position with his council.
“I hope you have the report I requested on the situation with a recommended course of action,” he said, the look on his advisor’s face telling him all he needed to know. Lord Batton did not have the report. “What possibly can be taking so long? I have the reports from the humanitarian organizations and they are working on a third of the budget.”
“Sir.” Lord Batton cleared his throat, his neck flushing red with his unease. “I don’t think”
Nicholas was done. He was tired of the stone wall and the excuses.
“Lord Batton, don’t think.” He met his shocked gaze and refused to back down. “Get me the report so I can make a decision. You said that you want me to be engaged, but the one issue I care about is met with stubborn refusal from my council. We’re done for today.”
He stood, turning back to the window as his advisor scrambled to his feet behind him. Lord Batton and his mother murmured behind him, the censure and concern in their tones grating on his nerves like a file against a stone. The door closed behind him and he felt his mother approach from behind, the whisper-soft swoosh of her expensive dress growing louder as she drew near.
“Pushing back on every suggestion is not the way to go forward, Nicholas.”
He turned slightly, looking down at her over his shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, the only thing indicating that his discussion upset her. His mother was warm, she cared for him, but when she was angry or frustrated, her mask came down and almost nothing cracked the armor.
“You sound as if you think I’m doing it for spite’s sake.”
“I’m not convinced you have a good reason to refuse to follow Lord Batton’s advice other than your continued refusal to accept your responsibilities.”
Oh, that was really too much. He turned to fully face her. “I’ve done nothing but accept my responsibility, but I refuse to be pushed into action or inaction before I’ve decided how I want to act.”
“You need to decide more quickly. Your entire life I’ve had to caution you on making decisions too quickly, of becoming an immovable force in a hasty manner, and now it’s like you’re frozen in place.”
She wasn’t wrong. He’d always been the one to look before he leaped, but the man she was talking about was the one who knew his terrain, knew his body, and could quickly survey a mountainside or the most challenging opponents in a triathlon. That was his comfort zone and this was not.
“Alec had thirty-two years to make his choices.”
“You don’t.” She paused and he regretted the motherly pain that flitted across her eyes at the mention of his brother, her son. “It’s not fair and I recognize that fact, but you have advisors and you should heed their guidance.”
“If I want dating advice I am not asking Lord Batton. He’s on the third Lady Batton if I’m correct and this one is my age.”
“That is exactly what I mean,” she said, laying a hand on his arm, her eyes flashing sympathy while her words drove home the truth as she knew it. “Refusing to search for a queen. Running at the crack of dawn without your guards. Failing to understand the delicacy of diplomacy… Nicholas, you need to choose a path and stick to it. The country needs you and you need to listen to the advisors and do what will bring stability to a time where everything is in an uproar.”
“I’m not going to kiss Rushing’s ass or marry some woman I barely know to give temporary solace to the people of Callanos. That is a recipe for long-term instability.”
She sighed and he bit back saying something she wanted to hear just to wipe the fatigue and worry off her face. She was a good mother, a lovin
g wife, and her reign as queen had been flawless. She’d eased into her role as easily as some people put on a new pair of shoes and it had been the same for Alec. His father had often joked that the two other members of their family were “born to be royal” while he and Nicholas were clearly the postman’s children. Growing up, he’d often taken solace in the fact he’d not been the only head that sat uneasy under the crown.
Still, his father had found his stride and ruled with confidence and fairness for several decades and Nicholas would give anything to be able to talk to him about all of this, but his father was trapped behind the ugly disease that robbed him of everything he’d ever been and left behind a stranger.
His mother let him go and turned on her tiny heels to head for the door. Her demeanor was placid, but Nicholas knew this was not the end of the conversation. She nodded to Chris, imploring him to “talk some sense into him” before she left the room. The silence didn’t last very long.
“You are not marrying that Lady Charlotte person. I think she kills her mate after they fuck. No lie,” Chris said as soon as the coast was clear. He shut the itinerary and leaned back in his chair. “If you even think about it I will post those pictures of your bare ass scaling the dean’s wall back in college and everyone will know who the ‘midterm streaker’ really was.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Nicholas laughed and slumped down in the opposite chair. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, twisting his neck to release some of the tension. “Why did I hire you?”
“Because I’m the only one who would take the job. This place is a little nuts for those of us not born with a silver scepter in our mouths.” He rubbed his jaw and yawned. “Being a prince isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
That is why Nicholas had begged his best friend to come with him to Callanos. Chris was an old Oxford University buddy who’d left his career at a large bank in London to help him out as he navigated the crazy after the death of his brother. He didn’t know what he would have done if he hadn’t had him by his side. Lord Batton had not been exaggerating when he said he was almost a stranger in his own country. It had been years since Nicholas had lived here and it was nice to have a familiar face in the midst of the political intrigue and the crushing grief.
“You don’t want the job? You can get in line behind Rushing.” Nicholas leaned back and stared at the ceiling, his mind still trying to process the last couple of hours. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“You’ll figure it out, you always do. Tackle it like you do a cliff face or a race and you’ll be golden,” he said, not a trace of humor in his tone or his expression. “You need to get out of here for a while.”
Yes. He did.
“You know me so well.”
“I do.”
“I think I’ll head outside and get some air.” His friend said nothing, the pause long enough for Nicholas to lower his gaze to see what was going on. Chris was watching him, the smile on his face similar to the fox on his family coat of arms and Nicholas knew what was coming. “What?”
“Lord Batton was not exaggerating. Your security team is not thrilled that you run on the grounds without them.”
“Too bad. I need my space when I’m out there.” Pushing his body, training, figuring out where his physical limits were. It had been a part of him forever and when he was out there, he felt like Nick again. He wasn’t going to give that up for anybody. “The grounds are secure and they are all over the perimeter. I don’t need them breathing down my neck. I don’t need company.”
“So, the little brunette working as assistant gardener doesn’t count as company?”
He didn’t even bother to ask how Chris knew about her. The palace perpetuated more gossip than a high school.
“No, she doesn’t.” She’d never felt intrusive. When she’d shown up one morning six weeks ago, her solitary figure focused, listening to whatever was pulsing through the earbuds fastened around her neck, the miles passing under her feet, he’d waved the guards off when they’d made the move to make her leave. She was clearly one of the staff taking advantage of the early morning and the beautiful stretch of land behind the palace walls. No harm. No foul.
The days and weeks had passed with them both in the dawn, passing each other at a distance and then running for stretches side by side. They didn’t talk, didn’t interact except for a brief wave at the end of the session.
Until this morning.
He had a foot in height on her and his stride was longer, but she held her own except for the hill near the stand of exotic fruit trees. Nicholas would barrel ahead and leave her in his wake as they scaled the incline and sailed down the opposite side. This morning she’d kept pace with him, her legs pumping to maintain and then just as they neared the top, she’d given it her all and passed him, hitting the apex and flying down the other side without a glance in his direction. But just as she passed, she’d smiled. It was devilish and self-satisfied, and sexier than anything he’d ever seen on the red carpet, on a beach in St. Tropez, or laid out on his sheets.
His breathing had stuttered to the point where it took him a quarter mile to get it back into rhythm and he’d watched her fly out of sight. He’d carried the memory of this woman around with him all day. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to see her again.
Nicholas stood, buttoning his suit coat as he rounded the table to the door. “I need to get out of here for a while. I’m going on the grounds. Check out the progress on the garden restoration.”
“Of course you are. Perfect. Great idea after the conversation we just had about you maybe losing the throne and all,” Chris said as he passed by, not even attempting to hide his look of incredulity. “Let’s go flirt with the help, refuse to even meet women who would make an appropriate queen and piss everyone off a little bit more.”
“It’s a walk, Chris.”
“Go tell that to someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do.” Chris shook his head and tapped the pen in his hand on the table. “Nick, I think you need to tread carefully. I know this isn’t what you wanted but the Duke of Rushing isn’t kidding.”
Nicholas gazed down at his best friend, trying to figure out a way to explain what was going on in his head. “I’m not Alec.”
“I know.”
“I…” He stumbled over what else could be said at this point that hadn’t already been hashed over a million times. He gave up and headed toward the door.
“Hey, Nick?”
“Yes?” He turned just as he got to the door, his hand resting on the door handle.
“Her name is Isabel.”
Chapter Two
There had to be a better way to showcase the wild orchids.
Isabel Reynolds shifted her gaze between the book on her lap and the laptop on the stoop next to her. The late afternoon sun bounced a glare off the glass screen of her computer and she squinted as she trailed a finger over a passage in the book she’d found in the library at the royal gardens. It was huge and musty but full of all the Latin and obscure botanical facts that made her toes curl happily in her flip-flops.
This job was a dream. Assisting in the refurbishment of the royal gardens at the Palace of Callanos was a project all of her fellow landscape architects would kill for and she didn’t even care that she was only here as an assistant to the head gardener, Paulo Arzos. It felt good to work in her field in any capacity and she lifted her face to the sun in gratitude. She was busy, working hard in the sun for hours each day to get ready for the grand public reopening to celebrate the birthday of Queen Beatrice and now the coronation of Crown Prince Nicholas.
Nicholas.
Sweet Lord he was as good-looking in person as he was in the news. Of course, everyone knew who he was even before the death of his brother. International gold-medal-winning triathlete. Extreme sports enthusiast. World-class playboy. Just your typical everyday prince.
So, she was still amazed that she hadn’t recognized him at first.
In the gloom of the early morni
ng, she would have never thought to join him on his run if she’d known who he was. But his royal guards had kept their distance and it wasn’t until the second day that she realized who she was using as a pacer. It was typical to see some of the staff using the grounds and the employee workout facility, especially the burly members of the King’s Guard. In addition to being the home for the royal family, the palace was a tourist attraction and a place of business for the hundreds of people it took to keep it functioning. Since she’d arrived six months ago she’d met housekeepers, mechanics, cooks, and office staff in her forays into the employee-only areas of the grounds. So, she really couldn’t be blamed if she didn’t recognize him at first.
Once she had, she’d given him space, but he’d seem to seek her out for certain portions of his run and she couldn’t peel off without it looking obvious and very rude. They’d become partners in sweat and stamina in the early morning areas and begun an unspoken challenge to push each other a little bit further each day. The crown prince had beaten her soundly on every challenge, his professionally trained body and one-foot height advantage making it almost impossible for her to best him.
Until today.
Isabel had dug down deep and put everything she had into cresting that incline near the exotic fruit trees and pulled away from him at the crucial point where momentum would overcome his physical advantage. Feeling the sweet tingle of endorphins fueled by imminent success, she’d left him in her dust. The smile on her lips had been something she could not hold back. Sweet victory. Now she worried if it was one of the palace rules to never beat the prince at something. They’d given her firm instructions to never engage one of the royal family in conversation unless spoken to, and to avoid direct eye contact, but they’d never covered leaving him in her rearview mirror. What she did not need was to get fired because she’d bruised the ego of temperamental royalty.
The Prince's Runaway Lover (Men of the Zodiac) Page 2