She swallowed hard. “I know.”
“Then why argue about it, while we should be celebrating?” He flipped the folder open. “Shall we commence with business?”
She glanced at the waiter. He was across the room, chatting with Gordon. “Shouldn’t we order first?”
“I already did. You’re getting steak and a glass of white wine. No sides.” He pointed to the file. “Start reading, Princess Isabelle.”
She skimmed the first line. It didn’t take long to figure out that it was a pre-nup. “Seriously? We’re not even engaged yet.”
“Like we said: that’s a formality at this point.” The ambassador shrugged. “After Friday night, it won’t be.”
Her heart stopped, then sped up painfully fast. “He’s…proposing Friday? You know this for a fact?”
“I’m quite certain of it, actually. He asked your father’s permission.” He flipped the page. “Keep reading. We’ve only got an hour scheduled.”
Panic rose up in her, choking off all words. All thoughts. This was actually happening. This was her life. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want George. Didn’t want a loveless marriage. Didn’t want…this. She forced her blurred vision to the pre-nup. “It says here I have to have three kids. Four if there is no boy in the first three. They can’t be serious.”
“Yes.” The ambassador pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “It’s a little old-fashioned, but it makes sense. They want to assure his line carries on.”
His. Not theirs. “My parents only had me,” she said. “They didn’t have an agreement on how many children they had.”
“And they never had a son.” He splayed his hand across the paper. “If they had, you wouldn’t be forced to do this. You wouldn’t be the heir. But you are, and you need to deal with that. You need to do your duty with the poise and grace expected of you.”
She glanced at Gordon. He stood across the room, clearly not able to hear them. But when she locked gazes with him, he must’ve seen the torment in her. He took a step toward her, glanced at the ambassador, and then stopped. “What’s wrong?” he mouthed.
She shook her head once and forced her attention back to the papers.
“You can have a man on the side, once you give the prince his heirs,” the ambassador said, his attention on Gordon. “But not before. Don’t even think of dallying with the American, Princess Isabelle.”
Isabelle glanced up, unable to believe he’d figured all that out just because they’d exchanged a glance. “Excuse me?”
“I see the way you two are watching each other.” He shrugged. “Even royals have dalliances on the side. But you need to hold off till you have your heirs. It’s right here.” He flipped three pages further and pointed to the paper. “See?”
Sure enough, it had a section about “marital affairs” in it. She wasn’t “permitted” to have an affair until “after the four kids were conceived”. George, however, was permitted to “dally, as long as it didn’t affect his husbandly duty”.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe this.”
“I know. They’ve really thought of everything,” he said, admiration ringing in his tone. He picked up the wine that had somehow arrived without her noticing. “It’s extremely thorough.”
Picking up her glass, she downed it in one gulp.
Princesses don’t imbibe in public.
The ambassador frowned at her empty glass. “Thirsty?”
“Very,” she croaked. After swiping her hand across her mouth, she gathered the papers and stuffed them into the file. “I’m going to take this home with me. Read it over in peace and quiet.”
Maybe find a way to get out of it, she added silently.
“Of course.” The ambassador stood. “But you haven’t eaten yet.”
“I don’t like steak,” she said, standing and gathering her things. “So I’ll be fine.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “I had no idea.”
“No one does.” Except for Gordon. “I’ll look over these extremely thoroughly.”
Speaking of Gordon…he came up to her side, glancing between the ambassador and her. “Are you finished already, Princess Isabelle?”
“Yes. I’m ready to go.” She hugged her file to her chest, her entire body trembling with rage, frustration, disgust and…and…fear. So much nauseating fear. “Please take me back to my hotel. Could you please let my people know I’m leaving early? They can finish eating before following. I have my guard.”
“Of course. But remember what I said about the clause on—” the ambassador looked at Gordon, then back at her, “—activities outside of the contract. If broken, it could be a deal breaker, and we can’t afford that.”
She grit her teeth. “Oh, I remember quite clearly, sir.”
“Excellent.” He bowed. “As always, it was a pleasure seeing you again, princess.”
She inclined her head, then left without another word.
Truth be told, she couldn’t manage to get a nice word out at all. Not right now. Not to him. She pushed past the door, each step jerkier than the one before it. Gordon tried to open the doors for her, but she didn’t wait for him. Her assistant and stylist were sitting at the bar, but they didn’t see her pass. She hadn’t been scheduled to leave for another forty-five minutes, after all.
As soon as they were outside, she collapsed against the brick building and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to do this,” she whispered.
Gordon stepped in front of her, blocking the sun from her closed eyes. “Don’t want to do what?”
“Marry him. I can’t.”
“Then don’t.” He reached out and cupped her cheek. His touch was tender, and yet controlling all at once. “Don’t do it. No one can make you do it.”
Princesses never walk away from their duties. “But—”
Her PR Rep, Mary, came outside. “Princess? You finished early.”
“Y-Yes.” She straightened, and Gordon’s hand fell back at his side. She patted the folder. “I have some reading to do.”
“Oh.” Mary glanced at Gordon, then back to Isabelle. “Are you going back to your room until supper?”
“Yes. I need to lie down.”
She nodded. “I’ll come along, then.”
“No need.” She smiled, but gave Mary the look that commanded obedience. The one she so seldom used. “I’ll be fine with my guard escorting me. It’s what we hired him for, right? Those moments I wanted to be alone but wasn’t allowed? Well, I need some time alone to think right now. To…process.”
“If you’re certain…”
“Very.” She headed for the car. “Mr. Waybrook? If you please?”
“Of course. I’ll stay outside of her room, keeping watch until someone else comes, if that helps you be at ease, ma’am.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He nodded at Mary. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, ma’am.”
“Likewise,” she said.
But her voice suggested otherwise.
As they headed for his car, Gordon chuckled under his breath. He didn’t bother to ask her if she wanted the town car. He probably knew her answer. “She doesn’t like me.” He didn’t sound the least bit upset about that. If anything, he sounded amused.
“She doesn’t like anyone who isn’t royal.” She stopped at the car. “Herself included.”
Gordon snorted. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s like that.”
He opened her car door, closing it once she got inside. “Where to?” he asked.
“My room.” She rested her head against the car seat. “I need to read this contract over.”
His hands tightened on the wheel. “Is that what I think it is?”
“I couldn’t possibly know what you think it is, but it’s a pre-nup.”
“Why bother to read it if you ‘can’t do this?’”
She sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“Are you going to say yes?”
“Yes. No. I don’t
know.” She rubbed her forehead. “Just take me home. Please.”
He cranked the key, turning the engine over. Without replying, he pulled out of the spot, onto the road, and drove to her hotel. When they parked, he came around to her side and opened her door for her. “I’ll walk you up, and stay out in the hallway until someone else comes.”
She didn’t want him to leave her. She wanted him to stay. To help her come up with a way to get out of this. She wanted him. “You can stay inside the room. With me. If you want.”
“Belle…” He shut her door for her, his whole body held tersely. “I want to, believe me. I want to. But I won’t. We can’t.”
Swallowing hard, she nodded. “Right. Of course.”
“But if you need to talk.” He opened the hotel door for her and led her to the elevator with a hand on her lower back. His touch burned through the fabric of her dress. “We can talk, if you want.”
“What I want is for you to stay with me,” she said, glancing up at him and pushing the up button. He stared straight ahead, his jaw tight. “I know you say you can’t, but I feel like my whole life is out of control right now. I control nothing. No one. Not even myself. But I know what I want right here. Right now. I want you. I want you so badly, and I’m begging you—yes, begging you—to take me. Please.”
The elevator door dinged, and he pushed her inside until her back hit the steel wall next to the control board. Jamming his finger into her floor number, he tilted her head back and stared down into her eyes.
“You’re trying to fucking kill me woman, aren’t you? Because, damn it, I want you, too.” He gripped her thigh, lifting it so he could insinuate himself between her legs. Rolling his hips, he nibbled on her ear. She could feel his erection pressing against her. So close, yet not close enough. “I want you so fucking badly it hurts, Belle.”
She dropped the file, letting it hit the floor. Closing her arms around the back of his neck, she moaned and arched her neck to give him better access. “Then take me.”
“You see…I can’t. That’s why it hurts so damn much,” he muttered, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. “I want you, but you’re not mine. And you never can be, because you’re his. He doesn’t even know you, but you’re going to be his.”
She gripped his suit jacket, her heart wrenching painfully. “Gordon…”
“I can’t,” Gordon said, disengaging himself from her and backing across the elevator as far as he could go. “I just can’t.”
She swallowed past the tears threatening to choke her, not sure what to say. What to do. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to tell Gordon she wouldn’t marry George. Wanted to tell him she’d be his, if only he’d kiss her again. Wanted to promise him everything, and then promise him some more.
But to do that, she had to turn her back on her entire family.
Her entire country.
“Please,” she said one last time. “Please.”
He locked gazes with her, the tension between the two of them enough to bring down the elevator. “I don’t bond and share deep dark secrets with other people, but I will tell you this one thing about me. My dad cheated on my mom repeatedly. It broke her. I swore I’d never touch a woman who belonged to another man. I swore it to myself. To her. To the world.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t break my vow. Not even for you. If I was the type to apologize, I would. But I’m not, and I’m not taking you.”
Her heart twisted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“That’s because no one does. It’s not something I tell people.” He rubbed his jaw. “But if I was going to break that rule for anyone, it would be you.”
She forced a smile. “I’m honored.”
“Belle…” The elevator doors opened, and he took a step toward her. The light in his eyes was predatory. “I think—”
“Princess Isabelle?” George said, looking between her and Gordon. His eyes were narrow, and his fists tight. It was crystal clear he knew something was going on between the two of them, even if he didn’t know exactly how far it’d gone. “Everything top notch in here?”
Isabelle stared at him, not sure what to say. “Y-Yes. Of course. But…what are you doing here? We didn’t have an appointment, did we?”
“I was in the vicinity, and I just wanted to see you again. Maybe go out for a light supper?” George smiled. “Do I need an appointment for that?”
“Of course not.” Isabelle pushed off the wall, smoothed her hair, and bent to collect the papers she’d dropped. Their pre-nup, of all things. “Give me a second. I dropped my papers while talking to Mr. Waybrook.”
Gordon bent down and helped her collect the rest, his movements jerky and hard. “Here. I’ll get them for you, my lady.”
“I’ve got it,” she said, her throat growing incredibly hard to swallow past. “I’m fine.”
“You can leave us,” George said, his tone haughty. He gestured to a group of three men who stood to the side, dressed in dark suits. “Your services aren’t required when I’m with her. As you can see, I have my own men.”
“I work for her, so unless she tells me to go? I stay.” Gordon asked from his position on the floor. He’d froze with the last paper in his hand. “Princess? Would you like me to go?”
“I…” She glanced at George, who studied her far too closely. Her whole country’s safety rode on this moment. Her answer. “Yes. You may go.”
“Okay.” Gordon handed her the last paper, his fingers brushing hers, then stood. Something flashed behind his eyes. Something that made Isabelle want to take back her answer, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. “Good evening, Princess Isabelle.”
She didn’t reply. She wasn’t capable of it at the moment.
“Thank you,” George said, his attention locked on Gordon. “She’ll be safe with me; I assure you.”
“I know,” Gordon said, backing into the elevator. “I’m not worried about you at all.” He glanced at Isabelle one last time. “I’ll be back before your scheduled dinner tonight, my lady.”
“Thank you,” Isabelle said, her voice soft. “Arrive at six, please.”
He bowed. “As you wish, Princess.”
“Thank you for taking your duty to serve her so…diligently,” George said, his head cocked to the side. As Isabelle came out into the hallway, he tossed an arm over her shoulder. “Our countries are ever so grateful—especially since they will be uniting soon.”
Gordon tightened his jaw. “I’m just doing my job.”
“As long as everyone remembers that,” George said, looking Gordon up and down with a curled upper lip. “And as long as everyone remembers their place in this world.”
The last thing Isabelle saw, before the doors shut, was the look on Gordon’s face.
He looked like he was ready to kill someone.
Namely…George.
Chapter Nine
Later that night, Gordon fell onto on the couch in her hotel hallway and lifted his water to his mouth, his grip on the glass tight. After the little episode in the elevator, followed by the surprise visit from Prince fucking George himself, he’d been in a less than stellar mood. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t wait until Max came to relieve him from duty.
Last night had been hell, sitting outside her door all night, knowing he couldn’t have her. Tonight would be even worse. He eyed the door, his heart thumping in his ears. It would be so easy to walk up to it, knock, and go inside. To take what she offered, and then take even more. So. Fucking. Easy.
And yet so fucking wrong, all at the same time. Her actions were like a see-saw, going up and down non-stop in his mind. One second she was on the ground, telling him she wanted him and only him, and the next she was in the air, calling him Mr. Waybrook and sidling up to a prince for pride and country.
Did she really want him, or was it all an act to get him back in her bed before she settled down and married a proper prince? He couldn’t see a world where she wanted to be his, though. Not like he wanted her, anyway.
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It just didn’t make sense. He didn’t know her country’s laws, but if she was expected to marry a prince, he had a feeling her parents—and country—wouldn’t approve of her shacking up with an average American. She had duties. Expectations. Rules she had to live by. People who counted on her to make the best choice for them, no matter the cost to herself.
Shit, he was starting to sound like her now.
He didn’t have as many rules as she did, but his only rule was pretty simple. What made this situation all the harder was how murky the water was surrounding Isabelle.
Yes, she was supposed to marry George. Yes, they’d met. But they weren’t in love. They weren’t even engaged yet. So who was to say he couldn’t have her?
Before she said yes?
And maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to convince her that she deserved more than an arranged marriage. Maybe she would say no…and then maybe they would…
Shit, they would nothing.
She was still a princess, and he was still not a prince.
He dropped his head back against the cushions. “Damn it.”
After eying her room again, he set his water down, stood up, and walked to her door. He refused to give it any more thought. She wasn’t George’s yet, as long as they hadn’t kissed or fucked. To the best of his knowledge, that hadn’t happened.
Not yet, anyway.
So she was his…until she wasn’t.
He made it to her door in seconds. That’s how close he’d been to her, unable to touch. Unable to take. She’d gone inside thirty minutes ago, so she shouldn’t be asleep yet. If she was, well, he’d take that as a sign that this wasn’t meant to be, then. He’d go sit his ass back down on the couch and have no regrets in the morning.
He stood there for a second, his head pounding with the knowledge of what he was about to do. Lifting his hand, he knocked three times.
The door cracked open, and Isabelle peeked through. She blinked at him. Her long, wavy, soft blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders. She’d taken off all traces of makeup, and her soft pink lips looked shiny and fresh. He’d never seen her like this. So…
Real.
“Gordon? Did you forget something?”
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