by Dani Collins
And he expected her to sleep with him. Get started on making his babies. She might not have the option of backing out on their marriage if that happened.
She wanted to sleep with him. That was the unnerving part. Not for Cassiopeia’s or a wedding ring or babies. For the experience. To be able to touch him and feel...
She swallowed, hearing him say her life would have changed regardless. He was right about that. Which made her stupid to turn this down. It was probably the best outcome she could anticipate. Her alternative was to let him have Cassiopeia’s while she tried to sue Maude for a slice of the purchase price. Good luck with that. Maude was headed out of the country. Sopi would most likely lose any settlement she won to lawyer fees anyway.
She told herself she was only signing as a matter of hearing him out, not really committing to changing her entire life.
Shakily, she made the change and set her signature to the page, feeling so overwhelmed her head swam as she rose to bring the pages and pen to him.
He set the contract on an end table and inked his name next to hers, handing it back to her for her inspection.
She moved away from the intensity of his gaze, trying not to think about the full severity of what she was edging toward. She returned the document to the coffee table and picked up her drink, took a bracing sip of scorching whiskey.
“The floor is yours, Rhys.” The alcohol left a rasp in her voice. “Tell me what sort of husband I’ll get for the price of a spa.”
“No more sarcasm,” he said flatly and threw back the last of his drink, then went to pour another. “I offer more than a damned spa in exchange for marriage. You’ll have security of every kind. Wealth and power and a type of fame that can be tiresome but has its uses. It can be very effective when used for altruistic acts. I thought that might interest you.” He cannily noted the way she swung to face him.
“Why would you think that? You don’t know me.” She demurred, forcing her gaze elsewhere while she took another nervous sip.
“I know more about you than you do,” he said with a cryptic sort of confidence that made her feel as though the floor shifted beneath her. “You want this place because it’s your home, not to develop it. You care about your employees and work alongside them because they’re your friends. You never ask them to do a task you wouldn’t do yourself. In fact, you look after complete strangers better than you look after yourself.”
“I’m just trying to keep the place running.” She shrugged off his compliment.
“You’re self-effacing and self-sacrificing. You’ll need that.”
“Being nice doesn’t mean I’m ready to have children.” If she was quick to help others, it came from being bounced into friends’ homes when her father had traveled, which had happened frequently. She had learned to pitch in to fit in and be welcomed.
When her father had remarried, she had thought he would finally stay home and they would live more as a family. Maude had had expensive tastes, however, and his business had been declining, forcing him to travel even more. What Sopi had really learned from the humbling experience of losing everything was the importance of ensuring she could offer support and attention to her children before making any.
“If I could give you more time to absorb all of this, I would, but time is a luxury I no longer have. My brother has testicular cancer. It was discovered when he and his wife failed to conceive.”
“Oh.” She swayed, knocked back by the news but wanting to move toward him, to offer some sort of comfort. “I’m so sorry.”
He was steely and still, his frozen demeanor holding her off. She stayed where she was.
“What...?” She didn’t know what to ask, how to respond.
“They’re pursuing treatment options right now. Obviously, we hope he will survive, but even if he does, he will almost certainly be sterile. I’m next in line, therefore I need an heir. And a spare. Turns out they have their uses,” he stated with grim humor.
He sipped, and she copied the motion, stunned to her toes.
“Are you aware of Verina’s history?” he asked. “Support for my brother has never been higher, but we still have a handful of detractors looking for a foothold. We can’t afford any show of weakness. I have to take action to secure the throne before any of this comes to light.”
As whiskey slid down her throat like a rusty nail, she glanced at the contract she’d signed.
“I see the urgency, but I still don’t understand why me? I mean...” She had to clear her throat to speak, not wanting to state baldly that he might become king. She certainly didn’t want to picture herself at his side if he did. “You’re, um, saying your son or daughter is likely to rule Verina. There are thousands of blue bloods to choose from as a mother for those children. There are a hundred in this building right now.” She waved at the walls.
“True. And I came here expecting to find my bride among those women.” He tilted the last of the liquid in his glass. “I’m expected to marry someone with that sort of pedigree.” He was eyeing her in that penetrating way again. “Henrik’s wife, Elise, is the daughter of a diplomat, schooled much as all the women here.” He waved at the walls. “But her father lacks a title, and it was a long, hard-won fight for Henrik to be allowed to marry her.”
“Then—” That made her a poor choice, didn’t it? She suddenly felt as though the floor was falling away, leaving her grappling with such profound disappointment, she realized that she liked the idea of marrying him.
“I don’t personally care about bloodlines. If I must marry, I want a woman who will be honest with me and show some integrity, rather than tie myself to someone like your stepsisters. I would much prefer to share my bed with someone I want to share my bed with,” he added pointedly.
The hot coals in the pit of her belly seemed to glow bright red, as if he’d blown on them, sending heat through her limbs and up into her cheeks and deep into the notch between her thighs. Her scalp itched and her breasts felt tight.
“I don’t even have your sister-in-law’s education,” she said. “I’m as common as clover. You really want to fight that hard for sex?”
He didn’t laugh or reassure her that yes, he wanted her that much. Instead, his expression turned even more grave.
“You’re not a commoner.” He spoke with matter-of-fact solemnity. “Your mother was the daughter of Prince Rendor Basile-Munier. He tried to retake his principality of Rielstek when the USSR fell apart. There was an attempt on his life, and he fled to Sweden, where he lived out his days.”
He spoke so confidently a jolt went through her. It evaporated into a pained sense of setback. Of stinging anguish that this marriage really wouldn’t happen.
“Someone has been embellishing.” Regret sat as an acrid taste in the back of her throat. “Did you overhear a local gossiping? I’ve never heard names and details like that, but it’s pure nonsense.”
He cocked his head. “Why do you believe that?”
“Because I would know if my mother was a princess! Instead, I know when and how that rumor got started. A guest claimed to be writing a history of some kind. He asked my father if my mother had been a princess. My father said that, like most writers, the guy had a screw loose. Mom would have told him if she was secretly royal. Even though it wasn’t true, I was young enough to be taken by the idea. I told some staff, and it turned into a joke. It’s a sort of urban legend, something employees repeat to prank the tourists. It’s not true, Rhys.”
“Yes, it is,” he stated. “That historian was an extremely well-regarded academic. I studied from his textbooks myself. Unfortunately, he passed on before this particular work was published. That’s why our staff had to dig to find it and why your heritage isn’t common knowledge.”
“No.” She shook her head, growing agitated. “My mother would have told me. My father would have known.”
“Not if her father had
actively tried to bury their identity, worried for their safety.”
“No, Rhys.”
“The property in Sweden is still in your family’s name. The caretakers live rent-free. They had no incentive to reach out, but they have provided some documentation to our palace investigators. Our team is looking for a means of DNA testing, but they’re quite satisfied with the evidence they have so far—especially once they compared photos from your social media pages to your grandmother.”
He took out his phone and showed her a photo of a woman in a tiara and a sash. She could have been Sopi dressed in costume.
Sopi dropped her glass, having completely forgotten she was still holding it.
Thankfully, it only held half an ounce of liquid and didn’t break. She scrambled to retrieve it and shakily set the glass next to the contract she had signed. The one agreeing to their terms of engagement.
She shoved her butt onto the sofa cushions and set her face in her hands, concentrating on drawing a breath while the whole world spun in the wrong direction, pulling her apart.
“I didn’t think you were aware,” he commented drily.
“This can’t be true, Rhys. Does Maude know?”
“I didn’t tell her. If I gave a single damn about her, I would look forward to her reaction when she realizes I’m making you my wife and that any future regard you bestow upon her will be strictly on your terms.”
Sopi was convulsively shaking her head. “I can’t marry you. You can’t really expect me to move to Europe with you? Turn into a princess overnight?”
“I’ve just explained that’s what you already are.” There was no pity in his voice. “I’m exactly the sort of husband you were meant to have.”
“But you can’t want me! I—”
“I damned well do.” He sat on the chair to her left, only one hip resting there so he was crowded into her space. His knee brushed hers, and he forced her hands down so she had to lift her gaze to his. “I’ve explained what’s at stake for me and my country. Hell yes, I want to engage myself to a lost princess. We’ll be the feel-good media storm of the year.”
“You expect me to tell people?” It was another blow she hadn’t seen coming. She was going to have a bruise on her forearm where she kept pinching herself, trying to wake up.
“Of course I do. You’re ideal.”
“No, I’m not!” She waved at the bargain jeans and top she wore.
“You will be.”
“You’re not listening to me!”
“I’ve heard every word. You’re shocked by ancestry that has been hidden from you. You’re already homesick because this place is your connection to your parents. You’re afraid to become my wife because it feels bigger than you ever expected to be.”
“I’m afraid of you.” She realized she was trembling. “How can I trust you when you’re forcing all these things onto me?”
“I’m only giving you what you’re supposed to have. Do you want to tear that up?” He pointed at the contract they’d signed.
No, but she didn’t want to accept that she had no say over anything, not even who she was.
He drew a long breath that tried to neutralize the charged energy between them. “I’m just the messenger, Sopi.”
“You’re proposing to be my husband. Maybe you’re fine with marrying a stranger, but I’m not.” She was a stranger to herself, and it was so disconcerting her brain was splitting in two.
“We’re not strangers,” he scolded in that tone that crept past her defenses like wisps of drug-laced smoke, filling her with lassitude.
“Sure, you know everything about me.” She was trying really hard not to become hysterical. “All I know about you is that you swim naked and get whatever you want!”
He let that wash over him, then snorted as if he found something in it funny. He drew a breath and rose, nodding in a way that suggested he was conceding a point.
He pulled out his phone, said, “Gerard. We’d like the dinner we missed. When do you expect Francine? Good. Send her up. I want Sopi to meet her.”
“Who?” Sopi asked as he ended the call.
“The new manager of Cassiopeia’s until such time as you make changes.”
“This is happening too fast, Rhys.”
“I know.” Now, he almost sounded as if he pitied her. He stepped closer and cradled her jaw, giving her cheekbone a light caress with his thumb. His hand felt a lot warmer than her face.
Despite being wary of trusting him, she rested in that reassuring palm. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. He was the only solid thing in a crumbling universe.
Murmured voices outside the door had him releasing her to invite a middle-aged woman to enter. She had a sleek blond bob and an elegant figure in a crisp suit. If she was jet-lagged, she didn’t show it a bit. Her handshake was firm, her smile friendly. Her English held an accent similar to Rhys’s, somewhere between French and German.
“Francine will be your proxy once our paperwork is finalized and you take possession,” Rhys said with a nod to their contract.
“I’ll take the first week to observe, then communicate my recommendations.” Francine mentioned her credentials, which were stellar. “I’ve taken possession of the office and all the equipment. I thought to also start an audit, if you agree?”
Sopi glanced at Rhys. “I can’t afford her.” Maybe after a year of penny-pinching, but not when Maude had just drained the coffers dry.
“You can,” Rhys assured her. “Once the press release about us goes out, this place will thrive. Go ahead with the audit,” he instructed Francine.
Sopi’s chest felt compressed. Agreeing to hire Francine felt like an acceptance of marriage and all the rest.
“Francine will ensure future profits will continue to support her well-deserved but exorbitant salary. Even if you were going to be here, I would recommend you move forward with her as your manager.”
I will be here, Sopi wanted to argue. She couldn’t hold his unwavering gaze, though. Her eyes were growing too hot and damp.
“We’ll come back in a few months,” he offered in a gentle coax, as though trying to soften a blow. “The ski hill has accepted my offer to purchase, but they want to finish the season. When I come back to finalize that, you can check in here.”
It was a thin lifeline, but she grasped it. “You promise?”
“I do.”
She gave Francine a timid nod, pretty sure it was the equivalent of pushing the button that would blow up her bridge back to her old life. Even though it was already on fire.
Francine smiled and departed, revealing the room service trolley had arrived. The bodyguard wheeled it in before returning to his station outside the door.
More out of habit than anything, Sopi began transferring the dishes to the small dining table.
Rhys was right there to help. She stepped back, startled to find him so close. “I can do it.”
“So can I. I’ve waited tables.”
“When?”
“When I had to.” His mouth pursed and his movements slowed as he took care with the setting of their cutlery. “I’ve been through this sort of transition, Sopi. Both directions. I wasn’t given time to pack a bag or hire staff or worry about anyone beyond myself and my brother.”
He spoke in a distant tone, as though consciously removing himself from painful memories.
“Online it says you were ten when the revolution happened. I don’t understand how anyone could break into a home and commit violence against innocent people.”
“Power is an aphrodisiac. The justification was that my father did nothing for Verina. It wasn’t until he was gone that people realized the difference between a leader who serves his country and autocrats who take from it.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes from his grim face.
“I’m so sorry. How did yo
u cope? Where did you go?” He hadn’t had any velvet cushions to land on.
“There’s a small lake on our border with France. Some of the servants were escaping in a rowboat and took us across with them. We were taken into a protective custody by French authorities, but several governments squabbled over us through those early years, all eager to wage war on our behalf. The real goal was to take possession of Verina, not that we understood it at the time. We only wanted our parents. Our own beds.”
“Are you saying you were political hostages?” She was appalled.
“Pawns. Well-treated orphans on whose behalf they claimed to operate. Eventually, a Swiss diplomat who had been a close friend of our father’s was able to take us in. He saw to our education with a focus on politics so we understood what was happening to us and Verina. We quickly realized the only help we should accept from any government was the basic human right to move freely. Henrik was sixteen, I was fourteen when we finally moved out on our own.”
“That’s when you lived...”
“Poorly. Yes,” he said shortly. “It was a frustrating time, some of it typical adolescent rage, but we were realizing how badly we’d been used. That the people who should have helped us were operating from their own motives. The greater loss was hitting us, as well. We were mature enough to see the damage that had been done to all of Verina. The path forward to repair not just our own lives, but those of people who we were meant to protect and lead, was daunting. I honestly don’t know how Henrik faced being the one. We were eating out of dented cans, barely making the grade at school because we were working any spare moment we had just to pay rent on a moldy apartment. He proved himself to be worthy of the role, though, showing the necessary leadership, making the hard decisions.”
“But you were there, supporting him. That had to be important, too.”
“To some extent, I had to become what we both hated. A gambler and a hustler, playing politics and digging at social cracks. Eventually, protesters in Verina forced a proper election. When the legitimate government was reinstated, we returned. Then we had to find our feet as royals all over again in a very different environment.”