Marrying Her Royal Enemy

by Jennifer Hayward

  Even among all the female adulation he’d engendered with his aloof, unattainable air, he’d always made time for her. Had always listened to her. When he’d kissed her in the library, she’d been sure she’d met her soul mate. Everything in her miserable, lonely existence had felt better, the pain of having her self-determination stripped away replaced by the heart-pounding excitement of being in Kostas’s arms.

  For a brief moment in that painful adolescence, she had felt whole, as if she hadn’t been missing some crucial piece that made her so unlovable. So defective she could never seem to do anything right. She’d waited for Kostas in his bed, thinking he’d be thrilled to find her there after the kiss they’d shared that had felt like a revelation. Instead, he’d shattered her heart with the callous, mortifying dismissal he’d administered.

  Her eyelids squeezing closed, she banished the memory to the recycle bin of her mind and this time she would empty it. She was no longer that hopelessly naive, vulnerable girl looking for a fairy tale that didn’t exist. For a man who didn’t exist. So Kostas had caught her off guard with that kiss... She just needed to try harder to channel the impenetrability she aspired to.

  Her emotions too close to the surface, she stayed silent during the rest of the dance. Completed the remainder of her obligatory turns around the spotlighted floor in the same self-protective state until it was finally time to wish their guests farewell.

  She stood by Kostas on the front steps of the castle and waved everyone off as the early hours ticked by on the clock. After a nightcap with Nik, Sofía, Alex, Aristos and her fiancé in the Gothic-inspired conservatory, she went to bed. Except as tired as she was, she kept staring at the ceiling of the creepy, dark room.

  So it turned out the remnants of her old crush were actually a dangerous adult attraction toward a man she was realizing she may have vastly misjudged, a far more dangerous proposition than the first. Her defense strategy for this marriage remained the same. She needed to take her attraction to Kostas and banish it to the deep, dark place she harbored inside her for the heartbreak she’d accumulated more than her fair share of.

  Kissing him in public had been an unforeseen, necessary diversion from the master plan. She wouldn’t have to do it again until their wedding day and that was four whole weeks away. Lots of time to render herself immune to the king.

  * * *

  The week that followed saw both Stella and Kostas wrapped up in their own separate endeavors. Kostas worked insane hours planning the elections and meeting with foreign investors as he attempted to jump-start Carnelia’s economy with an aggressive modernization plan, while Stella followed up with the contacts she’d made at the engagement party, booking meetings with various charities and organizations she wanted to get involved with.

  She wanted to dig in, to discover the issues Carnelians faced after decades of King Idas’s totalitarian rule. What she found was disheartening. The people were suffering both emotionally and economically, leaving them bruised and battered, cynical and distrustful. It was going to take a great deal of time and hard work to heal them and put this country back together.

  On Friday, she returned home from a meeting with the head of the largest social services charity to find Kostas walking in the door at the same time. Powerful and compelling in a dark navy suit and red tie, the lines bracketing his eyes and mouth revealed the pressure he was under to repair this broken country with so many opposing forces in play. The dark, intense aura somehow managed to make him even more dangerously attractive.

  They’d been like two ships passing in the night, but when they did manage to sit down together for a quick meal there was an ever-present and unresolved tension between them. Neither of them had forgotten that kiss. They were simply choosing to avoid it.

  “Long day?” She attempted a polite, even interaction.

  He set down his briefcase, raked a hand through his thick, dark hair and focused his tawny gaze on her. “Exceedingly long. I thought I’d unearth a bottle of good burgundy from the cellar, since we’re staying in tonight. We can sit down to a civilized dinner for once. A date if you like.”

  Her nerve endings tingled. “Aren’t we a bit past that?”

  His catlike eyes hardened. “We are getting married in three weeks, Stella. We need to spend some time together, learn how to interact, get to know each other better. So no, I don’t think we’re past it. I think it’s perfect timing.”

  The rebuke rippled across her skin. “All right,” she said, lifting a hand to slide her bag off her shoulder. “I will go and get changed. A power suit puts me in a particular frame of mind.”

  An amused glint entered his gaze. “So what will you change into, yineka mou? Your agreeable, soft, feminine side? If so, I’m all for it.”

  “I’m not sure I have that.”

  “Oh, you do, Stella.” His sleek, sensual rejoinder slid down her spine like silk. “All it takes is the right mood to bring it out.”

  With that kiss that had brought her to her knees far too fresh in her mind still, she cocked her chin at a defiant angle. “Is that your specialty, Kostas, with all those women you collected? Wining and dining them so you unearthed their soft, agreeable sides?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes it required dinner, sometimes not. But since you are my fiancée, your presence at dinner is my pleasure.”

  Thee mou, but he was arrogant. It didn’t stop her head from going to that story Athamos had told her—of Kostas setting his attention on a particular woman in a bar near the base where they’d trained at Miramar. The rumor went that he’d had her outside against the back of the bar—no dinner needed there. The woman, according to Athamos, had returned to the bar with a very satisfied look on her face.

  “Stella?”

  She blinked. “Sorry?”

  “I’ll meet you in the dining room.”

  Mouth tight, she climbed the stairs to her room. Deliberately picking out the furthest thing from what could be considered sexy attire, she dressed in black leggings and a loose-fitting, gypsy-style blouse she loved. Kostas’s gaggle of women might have been easy targets, but she was not.

  * * *

  Kostas registered Stella’s reappearance with amusement. If she thought the outfit she had on less than agreeable, she was mistaken. The leggings emphasized the long sweep of her elegant legs to perfection, providing a tantalizing glimpse of firm, toned thighs and smooth hips, just enough to fill a man’s hands. The turquoise blouse, while covering her fully, was sheer enough to hint at the delectable curves beneath.

  Blood headed south fast, something that hadn’t happened since before he’d left for Tibet. In his quest to find himself, his guru had preached abstinence as the path to clarity. Having had no desire to have a woman, it had been an easy practice to follow. But not now. Not with his sexy fiancée baiting him at every turn.

  Right now, with the frustration and tension of the day throbbing through him, finding an empty room, backing her up against a wall, wrapping Stella’s beautiful legs around his waist and solving this friction between them exactly as she’d suggested that night in her suite held great appeal. Hot, hard and fast.

  Unfortunately, he conceded, as he picked up his fiancée’s wineglass and filled it as she sat down beside him, he couldn’t do that. Ensuring his fiancée thawed enough to make this partnership of theirs a viable proposition was his goal tonight. Figuring out what had made her so cynical, so brittle, was a big part of that. Hot sex was not.

  “So,” he said as she gave him a wary look, “tell me about your day.”

  She took a sip of her wine. Cradled the glass in her palms. “Almost all of the RSVPs for the wedding are in. I’m shocked at how many can make it, almost three-quarters of those we invited.”

  “They are curious. Curious to see if this Camelot they have invoked is the real thing.”

  Her mouth twisted in that sexy, slightly crooked smile that had always fascinated him. Turned him on. “Now to live up to such an ideal.”

&nbs
p; “Not possible—that’s why it’s a myth.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “This afternoon I met with Theda Demarchis. She offered to give me a tour of the various charities her organization runs. We saw two of them this afternoon.”

  “The system is not in good shape, I know. My father drove the country into the ground before he died. Used far too much of the public funds to tighten the reins on the people, for his security, rather than to help them prosper. I’ve been returning what I can to organizations like Theda’s, but the funds we receive from the foreign investment will be the real key.”

  Her mouth pursed. “It was sad, to see how this once proud country has diminished. There are so many who need help, so many who have suffered so greatly.”

  A knot formed in his gut. At his failure to stop his father. At allowing it to get this far. “It is painful to see,” he agreed. “But slowly it will get better. The foreign investment, the hotel developments, will also create jobs. Unemployment is a big problem.”

  “Speaking of which.” She pressed her wineglass to her chin. “I had a cappuccino in town after my meeting. The proprietor of the café sat down at my table, worried the hotels are going to obstruct his view and take away business.”

  He shrugged. “They might. This isn’t about one store owner’s view, it’s about revitalizing the nation’s economy.”

  “Yes, but he isn’t just one person. He’s an influential voice in the community. He sees the townspeople every day, talks to them, tells them what he thinks.”

  “So what did you tell him?”

  “That more tourists means more business for him.”

  “Exactly how he needs to view it.” He shook his head. “I think, somehow, the people are looking for roses and sunshine from me, when what they really need is actual solutions to their problems.”

  She frowned. “Three generations of that man’s family have run that café, Kostas. It’s the best view in town. I’m not saying there are easy answers, I’m not saying change is going to come easily for people or that you can accommodate all of their requests, but perhaps you can accommodate some. In this instance, perhaps, keep the buildings low-rise like we have in Akathinia.” She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip. “I told him to write you a letter.”

  “A letter?”

  “Yes. And you will answer it. You saw the night of our engagement party how much distrust and cynicism exists among the people. The only way you are going to win your people back is to show them the empathy and care your father never did. Prove to them they can trust you.”

  His mouth flattened. “They also need to trust me. Let me do my job. If I get mired down in what every café owner thinks, I’ll never get anything accomplished.”

  She shook her head. “You need to choose your key influencers carefully. Those closest to the people. That café owner is one of them. You need to listen to him.”

  * * *

  Stella watched Kostas over the rim of her wineglass as the salad was served. She was pushing him, but he needed it. His default mode was to know everything, to fix Carnelia’s problems the most efficient way he knew, but that wasn’t going to work here. He couldn’t be a one-man show.

  However, a man like Kostas, so utterly sure in his opinions, needed to find his own way to the truth.

  They managed to pass the meal in a distinctly civilized fashion. By the time it was through, the excellent wine and the chance to relax had her feeling distinctly mellow.

  Kostas picked up the bottle of wine. “Let’s finish it in the conservatory.”

  She followed him there. He sprawled out on the small sofa, long legs splayed in front of him. She headed for one of the wing-backed chairs beside it.

  “Sit here.” His command pulled her to a halt. She turned to look at him. “You may have decided our intimate relationship will be conducted on an as-needed basis,” he drawled softly, “but that doesn’t mean you have to sit a mile away.”

  The glimmer of challenge in his dark perusal was too much to resist. Curling up on the other end of the sofa, she discovered she had little room, as his big frame hogged the space and a hard thigh pressed against hers. She pulled in a breath only to find him in her lungs. Spicy aftershave with a rich, dark undertone that was all Kostas, pure carnal male.

  She handed him her glass to refill. The brush of his fingers against hers transferred his masculine heat, amplifying her awareness of him.

  Seriously, Stella. She searched for an innocuous subject. “I had the interior designer come by this morning. I can’t live in this mausoleum one minute longer. He’s going to have some plans to us next week.”

  “Good.” He handed the glass back to her. “Can he start in the master suite? Perhaps he could have it finished by the wedding?”

  When she would move in there with him, share his bed, sometimes in an intimate fashion. Her stomach curled in on itself. “Might be possible.” She chewed on her lip. “He was wondering about a nursery. Do we want it connected to our suite?”

  “Yes. I want our children to be close in case they have a nightmare or they need us.”

  Children—plural. She swallowed. “How many children are you planning for us to have?”

  “More than one. Maybe three? Four?”

  “Four?” That would require much baby-making, particularly if it didn’t happen right away.

  His mouth kicked up at one corner. “I want lots of kids, Stella. And not because I want to turn you into a broodmare. Because I never had siblings...because I never want our children to feel the isolation I once did.”

  A vise closed around her chest. She couldn’t get his pain out of her head—the childhood he’d led, how destructive it must have been to his soul... It had haunted her as she’d stared at the damn creepy shadows at night trying to sleep.

  “How did you cope?” she asked huskily. “I keep thinking about you by yourself. You were only twelve when your grandmother died. How did the world even make sense?”

  He cradled his glass against his chest. “I retreated into myself. I lived in my own little world. My grandmother kept pulling me out, engaging me, forcing me to find a sense of self. She knew I would need that strength when she was gone.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and hugged tight. “She was a popular queen from what I remember.”

  “Both her and my grandfather, King Pelias, were very popular, benevolent monarchs of the people—not the ambitious, controlling rulers of the past. Unfortunately, my grandfather’s ill health took him very young and my father became king perhaps sooner than he should have. It was up to my grandmother to guide my father then, but after my mother died, he became unreachable. She began coaching me instead. Every night when I went to visit her, she taught me the principles of what she believed in, what being a good ruler meant—that they were of the people, not over the people.”

  “And what you learned at school, during your time in the West, the philosophies you developed, were grounded in what she had taught you.”

  “Yes.”

  She pressed her palms to her cheeks, remembering the loneliness she’d felt. Imagining it ten times worse because there would also be fear. Her gaze rested on him; so stoic, resolute, like he always was. “It was so much for a child to absorb. To understand.”

  A hint of emotion flickered in his dark eyes. “She told me whenever I lost my way, when I harbored doubts about which direction to go, to always remember to be a force of good. That I would be afforded great power, but with that came the responsibility to use it wisely. That if I was strong and followed my heart, I would not fail.”

  A wave of emotion swept over her, tightening her throat, spurring a wet heat at the back of her eyes. To be so brave, to carry his grandmother’s wisdom with him throughout his life and somehow manage not to be consumed by the force his father had been, struck her as remarkable. Extraordinary. But it also illuminated her own shortcomings. Whereas Kostas had been defined by his duty, she had spurned hers, acting out in her need to have someone
acknowledge the pain and isolation she had felt. But that acknowledgment had never come—not from the place she’d needed it most.

  His dark lashes lowered. “Your childhood was also difficult. You never said much, but I could see how painful it was for you. Athamos and Nik were better at hiding it.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “You know what my father is like. He doesn’t have it in him to love anyone. My mother was too broken by his affairs to want to be anywhere near us. I was raised instead by three very conscientious nannies who tried to hide the fact that they felt very, very sorry for me. And even they didn’t last long because of the toxic atmosphere.”

  “It could not have been easy for you to watch your mother go through that. To see your family torn apart.”

  All the while in the glare of the media spotlight. Never a moment of escape... “My life was supposed to be perfect,” she said, a brittle edge to her voice. “To everyone else it was perfect—to me it was hell. My mother was a tragic figure stripped of her self-worth and pride, forced to carry on a facade. I, in turn, was supposed to act the fairy-tale princess, living my fairy-tale life, when in reality it was anything but.”

  He took a sip of his wine, his intense scrutiny remaining on her. “Instead, you rebelled. You skipped out on boarding school, you partied, you dated all the wrong men...”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Is that a statement or a question?”

  “I’m simply trying to understand you, Stella. The woman you’ve become. Just like you just were with me.”

  “I’m not that rebel anymore.”

  “But it goes to what shaped you. I’m curious, though, about where all the cynicism is coming from...about what you said in Barbados—that relationships just aren’t worth it.”