She wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest, the pang that went through her only a faint echo of what it once had been, because she’d anesthetized it, marked it as mindless self-pity.
She was destined to be alone. Had accepted that love was unattainable to her. That she’d been too badly scarred too many times to view the concept as anything but a destructive force. Which would almost make the suggestion of a political match bearable. Practical. If it was with anyone but Kostas.
Tying her fate to a man who could destroy her, if the forces threatening to splinter Carnelia apart didn’t do it first, seemed like another bad decision in a long list of many. Unless she neutralized his effect on her.
If she was to do this—marry Kostas—and survive, she would need to bury her feelings for him in a deep, untouchable place where he couldn’t use them against her.
The question was...could she?
* * *
“The princess is here to see you, Your Highness.”
Kostas looked up from the intelligence briefing he was reviewing, his heart climbing into his throat. It had been two days since he’d thrown all his cards at Stella, hoping she’d see the light. Two days with no response. Due to return to Carnelia tomorrow for a regional summit of leaders, he’d started to think his penchant for risk taking had been his downfall. That he had overrated his negotiating skills when it came to a princess who harbored a very personal anger toward him.
He betrayed not one ounce of the relief flooding through him as he nodded to his aide, Takis. “I’ll go up.”
Taking the steps to the upper deck of his old friend Panos Michelakos’s yacht, anchored in Carlisle Bay while its owner took care of business in the West Indies, he found Stella standing at the railing of the impressive seventy-foot boat, looking out at the ocean.
She was silhouetted against the dying rays of the sun, her hair, the color of rich honey, hanging loose down her back. Her slim body was encased in a white skirt and caramel-colored tank top. She looked every inch the cool, sophisticated golden girl she was reputed to be, except he knew from experience Stella was anything but cold. She brought passion to everything she did.
He was fairly sure the image of her in bloodred lingerie, curled up in his bed at the Akathinian palace, would forever be imprinted on his brain. Stored there to torture him with the memory of the one woman he had never allowed himself to have; the one who had never left his head.
A slow curl of heat unraveled inside of him as the erotic image painted itself across his brain. It had been late, the early morning, when he’d climbed the stairs to his room after a palace party, head hazy from too many shots of tsipouro. He’d let himself into his suite unaware anyone else was there, stripped off his clothes, left them in a pile on the floor and collapsed onto the king-size bed.
It was only when his splayed arm had touched silky soft female skin that he’d become aware he wasn’t alone. He’d thought maybe he had drunk too much and dreamed up the lingerie-covered Stella until she’d started talking, telling him he was the most exciting man she’d ever met, that their kiss earlier in the library had been incredible and she wanted him to be her first.
His twenty-three-year-old brain had nearly exploded. She was every red-blooded male’s fantasy come true with her high, perfect breasts and mile-long legs. His body had definitely not been in tune with his head. She’d been too innocent, too pure, too full of her ambitions to change the world for a man caught in a struggle to define himself as different from his autocrat of a father to ever pursue. A man unsure he could ever live up to the lofty ideals she’d built around him.
Somewhere in his liquor-soaked brain, he’d summoned up the sanity to scoop her up, carry her to the door and deposit her on the other side, telling her to go kick sand in her own playground. He’d been sure someday the shattered look on her face would be worth it when she realized he’d spared her a broken heart. That women, for him, were fleeting pleasures meant to be enjoyed, then discarded in the must-win, must-conquer existence that had characterized his life.
But after that night, he sensed his callousness had dug far deeper than he’d believed in a tough, resilient Stella. That his need to underscore he was not the man for her, not the man for any woman in their right mind, had hurt her deeply.
* * *
She sensed his presence before he revealed himself. Turning, hands curling around the rail, a charge rocketed through her. Her soon-to-be fiancé was studying her with an intense curiosity in his hawk-like gaze that seemed to strip the layers from her skin, deconstructing every one of the protective barriers she’d come armed with.
Her chin dipped as he moved toward her. “Planning your next move, Kostas?”
“Admiring you. You still have the power to stop me in my tracks.”
Her stomach folded in on itself, a renegade wave of heat spreading through her in places that needed to remain ice-cold. “No need for flattery,” she said, injecting some of that much-needed, cool composure into her tone. “You know why I’m here.”
“Honesty,” he countered as he came to a halt in front of her, “is something you will always get from me, Stella. Whether you like what I have to say or not.”
Another veiled reference to his humiliating rejection of her? A current of awareness zigzagged through her as she took him in. In a short-sleeved shirt and trousers today, the fading light of the sun illuminating the deep lines etching his eyes and mouth, there was a life experience imprinted on the hard contours of his face that lent him a somberness she didn’t recall. A knowledge.
If those deeply embedded marks that had taken purchase on him made her wonder what the forces had been that had changed him so, had driven him to Tibet on a soul-searching expedition, she pushed that curiosity aside. She was here to negotiate her future.
“I’m good with honesty,” she drawled, holding his dark gaze. “It’s always been my forte. Along with sticking to my principles and reaping the messes I sow.”
He ignored the gibe. “What changed your mind?”
“You were right. Notorious dissident that I am, I cannot turn my back on our two countries. Nor on my big dreams, because yes, I do still have them. But there are conditions attached to my becoming your queen.”
He leaned against the rail and folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s hear them.”
“I will not be a figurehead...smothered by the patriarchal establishment. You will give me real power and status.”
“Do you have any advance thoughts?”
“A seat on your executive council.”
His gaze flickered. “That would be most...unusual.”
“Say yes, Kostas, or this isn’t happening.”
He gave her a long look. “Kala. You can have a seat on the council. But I warn you it will not be an easy ride. Akathinia may be enlightened, but Carnelia is still stuck in the Dark Ages.”
“I like a challenge. Clearly. Second, I will continue my work with the current organizations I support unless my schedule proves to be excessive.”
“I have no problem with that. You do great work. What you cannot do is waltz around active war zones. It’s too risky.”
Heat lanced through her. “I do not waltz, Kostas. The photograph of me with those children raised millions of dollars toward the support of a regional disarmament treaty.”
He tilted his head. “An unfortunate choice of words. But the fact remains, I need my queen alive.”
Not because he cared, because she was of value to him.
“Third,” she continued, “you will not take a mistress. Should you do so, I will have the power to divorce you immediately. It will not require a decree signed by government.”
“I’m not your father, Stella. I have no intention of indulging in affairs. Why would I when I have a woman like you in my bed?”
Her gaze rested on his. “Speaking of which, this will be a political marriage. As such, I will not be under duress to sleep with you.”
His gaze narrowed
. “That might be a problem given the fact I need to produce an heir quickly in order to secure the Laskos line. Also, your fourth point seems to be in direct contradiction to your third. I can’t have a mistress, but we aren’t going to have sex?”
She waved a hand at him. “The heir—we can make that happen.”
“How does that work?” He took a step closer, dwarfing her with his height and breadth. “We have conjugal visits? I seek you out when the temperature is right?”
She tilted her head back to look up at him, every cell in her body going on high alert at the proximity of such blatant masculinity. “Something like that.”
A dark glitter filled his gaze. “Setting yourself up as a martyr, Stella? The sacrificial lamb sent to slaughter for the king’s pleasure?”
Her chin lifted. “I would not be the first princess to sacrifice myself to the call of duty. History is littered with them. We are valued for our beauty and poise, our compassion and empathy, but in the end are viewed as nothing more than glorified broodmares.”
He gave her a long look. “I am offering you far more than that. This would be a true partnership.”
“Along with the heir you so urgently require.”
He flicked a hand at her. “What happens when you are not acting as my broodmare? When I have normal male urges?”
Her cheeks flamed at the erotic image that spurred in her head. She knew what he looked like from that night she’d waited for him in his bed...knew how heart-stoppingly virile he was in every respect. It made the blood coursing through her veins fizzle with heat. Singe her skin.
Diavole, but this was not how this was supposed to go. She lifted her chin higher, a belligerent expression on her face. “That’s not for me to figure out, Kostas. That’s your job.”
“Is it?” His gaze touched her fiery cheeks. “I think when you let go of the past, when you finally forgive me, when you acknowledge how good we are together, we will be as potent a match in the bedroom as we will be ruling my country.”
“No,” she said, even as a pulse of electricity ran between them, magnifying the sizzle in her blood. “That isn’t going to happen. Women are objects to you. I am a means to an end. I would be stupid to forget that and cede power to you.”
“You will be my wife, the woman by my side, not an object.” His dark lashes arced over his cheeks. “And who said you would be ceding power? Just because I walked away from you that night didn’t mean I didn’t want you, Stella. That I haven’t replayed that scenario in my head with a far different outcome. You would have equally as much power over me if we went to bed together, maybe more.”
Her stomach muscles coiled. It was a seductive, beguiling thought to imagine he might want her. That her desire for him hadn’t been as one-sided as she’d imagined it to be. That by exploring that revelation, she might wipe away the rejection that stung even now in a place that had never healed. But her head, the part of her she was operating with now, realized his tactics for what they were. Negotiation. Manipulation.
She lifted her chin. “It will be an act, conceiving your heir. Nothing more. I’ve lost my taste for megalomaniacs housed in beautiful packages.”
“Megalomaniacs?”
“Yes—you.”
He studied her for a moment. “Are you including Aristos Nicolades in this esteemed group?”
She lifted a brow. “Following my love life, Kostas? Aristos was simply the last kick at the can.” Her voice took on a nonchalance that hid the steel underpinning her insides. “I’ve decided to make myself as impenetrable as you when it comes to relationships, as unaffected, because I’ve found, in the end, it’s just not worth it.”
He frowned. “That’s not you, Stella. You live by your passion.”
“Not anymore I don’t. You should be happy about my new outlook, by the way. It’s the only reason I’m marrying you.”
“That and your desire to do the immense amount of good I know you will.”
“Don’t patronize.” She took a step back because oxygen was necessary for breathing and she couldn’t do that near him. “I’m already on board if you agree to the conditions I’ve laid out.”
He nodded. “Agreed. Shall we go over next steps, then?”
Her head spun. This was actually happening. “Go ahead.”
“I fly back to Carnelia tomorrow for a summit of regional leaders. It would be ideal if you accompanied me so we can make the engagement announcement and begin preparations for the wedding.”
Tomorrow? She had been craving this time to herself so badly.
He read her dismay. “General Houlis, the chief architect behind the military junta, has put his campaign into motion, marshaling strength behind the scenes. His support is by no means solid—he still has a long way to go. We need to neutralize him while we can.”
“I’m assuming the coming elections will be a major weapon at your disposal?”
“Yes. I will announce them at the summit this week. There will be a large media contingent in attendance. Nik will also be there. We will provide a united front.”
“And our engagement? Do we announce that before or after?”
“I will double-check with the palace PR team, but I was thinking this coming Friday. Start the week with a bang at the conference, end the week with an equally strong commitment toward the future.”
“And the wedding? When would that happen?”
“Within two months. Six weeks, I’m thinking. Those who can make it, make it.”
“Six weeks?”
“The events team will make it happen. You just need to show up.”
Like her role in all of this. A chess piece to be moved around at will.
His expression turned conciliatory. “I know it’s traditional for the engagement party to happen in Akathinia, but in this instance, I think it needs to be in Carnelia with all the key figures in attendance.
Her mother was going to have a fit. A deviant streak reveled in the thought. She enjoyed every opportunity she had to push her aloof mother out of her comfort zone. A latent lashing out against her childhood perhaps, at the attention she’d never received.
“That’s fine.” She watched her dream sabbatical fly out the metaphorical window. She could hardly relax on a beach now knowing what was ahead of her.
“Good.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. Caught off guard, she was blinded by its brilliance. A square-cut diamond set in an exquisite platinum filigree, it dazzled in the sunlight. Upon closer inspection, she saw it had the Carnelian coat of arms interwoven on both sides.
“You were that sure of me?”
“Hopeful. This was my mother’s ring. One of the few remaining mementos I have of her.”
Her chest tightened, a sandpapery feeling invading her throat. “She died when you were very young, I remember.”
“When I was four. I have no real memories of her.”
She studied his impassive expression. What must it have been like to grow up without any warmth in his life? With only his universally despised tyrant of a father to guide him? Had he had someone else to confide in, to love him—a grandmother, a godmother? She couldn’t remember him talking of one. Or had he always been alone?
Athamos had once remarked Kostas was the only man he knew who could look alone in the middle of a crowd. It was something she’d never forgotten. How could she?
“Your hand,” Kostas prompted, pulling her back into the moment.
She held her hand out, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. He slid the ring on, his big hand engulfing hers. The enormity of what she was about to do lodged in her throat as she stared at the stone blazing on her finger. It was a ring that not only symbolized the commitment she was making to Kostas, but also the weight of a nation that now lay squarely on her shoulders.
Kostas held her gaze in his dark, unfathomable one. “Efharisto, Stella. Thank you. I promise you won’t regret this. We will make a powerful team. We will give Carnelians the future they deserve.”
&nbs
p; His energy pulsed through her. Sank into the very heart of her. Her future was now inexorably intertwined with a man she had vowed to hate, a man for whom she now realized her feelings were far more complex than she’d ever anticipated. But there was no looking back now. It was done.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DAYS FOLLOWING Stella’s return to Akathinia passed in a blur, likely a good thing given the magnitude of what she’d committed herself to. She knew her decision to marry Kostas had been the right one, knew this was the challenge she had been looking for. It was the noise that was getting to her.
Everyone seemed to have an opinion on her upcoming nuptials to the king of Carnelia, from her hairdresser, who pronounced him “a real man among the current flock of pseudo-men,” to her sister, Aleksandra, who agreed with her hairdresser, referring to Kostas as “one sexy hunk of a man,” to the celebrity press, who’d dubbed their pairing “the most exciting thing to happen to royalty in decades. Camelot has come to Carnelia.”
The traditional media, on the other hand, Kostas’s harshest critics, were taking a wait-and-see approach. Not all of them were convinced King Idas’s son, the thirty-two-year-old Oxford-educated proponent of democracy, could turn his legacy around. Rumblings of military discontent were rippling across the country, approval ratings for the monarchy were down and all bets were off as to whether Kostas could win the hearts and minds of Carnelians.
But there was also hope. The Carnelian people seemed guardedly optimistic, as spontaneous parties broke out in the streets as the first elections in the country’s history were announced for the fall. Those celebrations continued with the news of the king’s forthcoming match to the elder princess of Akathinia. For the great majority, she appeared the bright, promising light Kostas had painted, but for others she was an unknown quantity in a culture historically closed to outsiders. Not a Carnelian.
Marrying Her Royal Enemy Page 3