Vows to Save His Crown

by Kate Hewitt

  Carol Lewis had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s two years ago, and since then her decline had been dispiritingly steady. She’d moved into the second bedroom of Rachel’s flat eighteen months ago. After living on her own since she was eighteen, Rachel had struggled to get used to her mother’s company, as well as her many needs...and the fact that her mother had never actually seemed to like her very much. Neither of her parents had, and that had been something Rachel had made peace with, or thought she had. Having her mother here tended to be an unwelcome reminder of the lack in their relationship.

  ‘Hey, Mum.’ Rachel smiled as her mother shuffled into the room, squinting at her suspiciously.

  ‘Why were you making so much noise?’

  She’d been talking quietly, but never mind. ‘Sorry, I was on the phone.’

  ‘Was it your father? Is he going to be late again?’

  Her father had been dead for eight years. ‘No, Mum, it was just a friend.’ Although perhaps she couldn’t call Mateo that any more. Perhaps she never could have called him that. ‘Do you want to watch one of your shows, Mum?’ Gently Rachel took her mother’s arm and propelled her back to the bedroom, which had been kitted out with an adjustable bed and a large-screen TV. ‘I think that bargain-hunter one might be on.’ Since being diagnosed, her mother had developed an affinity for trashy TV, something that made Rachel both smile and feel sad. Before the disease, her mother had only watched documentaries, the obscurer and more intellectual the better. Now she gorged herself on talk shows and reality TV.

  Carol let herself be settled back into her bed, still seeming grumpy as Rachel folded the blanket over her knees and turned on the TV. ‘I could make you a toastie,’ she suggested. ‘Cheese and Marmite?’

  Another aspect of the disease—her mother ate the same thing over and over again, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Rachel had gone through more jars of Marmite than she’d ever thought possible, especially considering that she didn’t even like the stuff.

  ‘All right,’ Carol said, as if she were granting Rachel a favour. ‘Fine.’

  Alone in the kitchen, Rachel set to buttering bread and slicing cheese, Mateo’s strangely brusque call weighing on her heavily. She was going to miss him. Maybe she shouldn’t, but she knew she was. She already did.

  Looking around the small kitchen—the tinny sound of the TV in the background, the uninspiring view of a tiny courtyard from her window—Rachel was struck with how little her life was.

  She didn’t go out. Her few friends in the department were married with children, existing in a separate, busy universe from her. Occasionally they invited her to what Rachel thought of as pity dinners, where they paraded their children in front of her and asked sympathetically if she wanted to be set up. Rachel could endure one of those about every six months, but she always left them with a huge sigh of relief.

  The truth was, she hadn’t felt the need or desire to go out, to have a social life, when she’d been working with Mateo for eight hours every day. Their banter, their companionable silence, their occasional debates over drinks...all of it had been enough for her. More than enough, since she’d dealt with the stupid crush she’d had on him ages ago, like lancing a wound. Painful but necessary. Thank goodness she’d made herself get over that, otherwise she’d be in real trouble now.

  ‘Rachel? Is my sandwich ready?’

  With a sigh Rachel turned on the grill.

  * * *

  Three days later it was bucketing down rain as Rachel sprinted down the street towards her flat. She was utterly soaked, and even more dispirited by Mateo’s disappearance from her life. She’d tried to be cheerful about gaining a new research partner, but the person put forward by the new chair was a smarmy colleague who liked to make disparaging comments about women and then hold his hands up, eyebrows raised, as he told her not to be so sensitive. Work had gone from being a joy to a disaster, and, considering the state of the rest of her life, that was a blow indeed.

  She fumbled with the key to her flat, grateful that she’d have half an hour or so of peace and quiet before her mother came home. Carol spent her weekdays at a centre for the memory impaired, and was brought home by a kindly bus service run by the centre, which made Rachel’s life a lot easier.

  She was just pushing the door open when someone stepped out of the alleyway that led around to the back courtyard and the bins. Rachel let out a little scream at the sight of the figure looming out of the gloom and rain, yanking her key out of the door, ready to use it as an admittedly feeble weapon.

  ‘Rachel, it’s me.’ The low thrum of his voice, with the faintest hint of an accent, had Rachel dropping her keys onto the concrete with a clatter.

  ‘Mateo...?’

  ‘Yes.’ He took another step towards her and smiled. Rachel stared at him in wonder and disbelief.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I wanted to see you.’

  Rachel shook her head, sending raindrops splattering, too shocked even to think something coherent, much less say it. She realised just how glad she was to see him.

  ‘May I come in? We’re both getting soaked.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She scooped her keys up from the floor and pushed open the door. Mateo followed her into the flat, and as Rachel switched on the light she realised how small her flat probably seemed to him, and also that she had three ratty-looking bras drying over the radiator, and the remains of her jam-smeared toast on the coffee table, next to a romance novel with a cringingly lurid cover. Welcome to her life.

  She turned to face Mateo, her eyes widening at the sight of him. He looked completely different, dressed in an expertly cut three-piece suit of dark grey, his jaw closely shaven, everything about him sleek and sophisticated and rich. He’d always emanated a certain assured confidence, but he was on another level entirely now. The disparity of their appearances—her hair was in rat’s tails and she was wearing a baggy trouser suit with a mayonnaise stain on the lapel—made her cringe.

  She shook her head slowly, still amazed he was in her flat. Why?

  ‘Mateo,’ she said questioningly, as if he might suddenly admit it wasn’t really him. ‘What are you doing here?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  THAT, MATEO REFLECTED, was a very good question. When the idea had come to him twenty-four hours ago, after his initial disastrous meeting with Vanessa de Cruz, it had seemed wonderfully obvious. Blindingly simple. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘I wanted to see you,’ he said, because that much was true.

  ‘You did?’ Rachel pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and gave him an incredulous look. ‘Why?’

  Another good question. In his mind’s eye Mateo pictured Vanessa’s narrowed gaze of avaricious speculation, the pouty pursing of her lips that he’d instinctively disliked. She’d been sleek and beautiful and so very cold.

  ‘Of course we’ll have a prenup,’ she’d said.

  He’d stiffened at that, even though he’d supposed it made sense.

  ‘I believe marriage is for life.’

  ‘Oh, no—you’re not old-fashioned, are you?’

  Mateo had never considered himself so before. In fact, he had always thought of himself as progressive, enlightened, at least by most standards. But when it came to marriage? To vows made between a man and a woman? Then, yes, apparently he was old-fashioned.

  ‘Hold on,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m soaking wet and I think we could both use a cup of tea.’ She shrugged off her sopping jacket, revealing a crumpled white blouse underneath that was becoming see-through from the damp, making Mateo uncomfortably aware of how generously endowed his former colleague was. He looked away, only to have his gaze fasten on some rather greying bras draped over the radiator.

  Rachel tracked his gaze and then quickly swept them from the radiator, bundling them into a ball as she hurried into the kitchen. A few seconds later Mateo heard t
he distinctive clink of the kettle being filled and then switched on.

  He shrugged off his cashmere overcoat and draped it over a chair at the small table taking up half of the cosy sitting room. The other half was taken up with a sofa covered in a colourful throw. He glanced around the flat, noting that, despite its smallness, it was a warm and welcoming place, with botanical prints on the walls and a tangle of house plants on the wide windowsill.

  He scanned the titles in the bookcase, and then the pile of post on a marble-topped table by the front door. These little hints into Rachel’s life, a life lived away from the chemistry lab, made him realise afresh that he didn’t know anything about his former research partner.

  Yes, you do. She worked hard and well for ten years. She can take a joke, but she knows what to take seriously. You’ve had fun with her, and, more importantly, you trust her.

  Yes, he decided as he lowered himself onto the sofa, he knew enough.

  The kettle switched off and a few minutes later Rachel came back into the sitting room with two cups of tea. She’d taken the opportunity to tidy herself up, putting her damp hair back in a ponytail, although curly tendrils had escaped to frame her face. She’d also changed her wet trouser suit for a heather-grey jumper that clung to her generous curves, and a pair of skinny jeans that showcased her just as curvy legs.

  Mateo had never once looked at Rachel Lewis with anything remotely resembling sexual interest, yet now he supposed he ought to. At least, he ought to decide if he could.

  ‘Here you are.’ She handed him a cup of tea, black as he preferred, and then took her own, milky and sweet, and went to perch on the edge of an armchair that had a tottering pile of folded washing on it. ‘Sorry for the mess,’ she said with a wry grimace. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I certainly wouldn’t have left my bras out.’

  ‘Or this?’ He picked up the romance novel splayed out on the table, his lips quirking at the sight of the heaving bosom on the cover. ‘“Lady Arabella Fordham-Smythe is fascinated by the dark stranger who comes to her father’s castle late one night...”’

  ‘A girl’s got to dream.’ Humour glinted in her eyes again, reminding Mateo of how much fun she could be, although her cheeks had reddened a little in embarrassment. ‘So why are you here, Mateo? Not that I’m not delighted to see you, of course.’ Another rueful grimace, the glint in her eyes turning into a positive sparkle. ‘Despite the lack of warning.’

  ‘And the underwear.’ Why were they talking about her underwear? Why was he imagining, not the worn-out bras she’d bundled away, but a slip in taupe silk, edged with ivory lace, one strap sliding from her shoulder...

  The image jolted Mateo to the core, forcing him to straighten where he sat, and meet Rachel’s laughing gaze once more.

  Her eyes were quite lovely, he acknowledged. A deep, soft chocolate brown, with thick lashes fringing them, making her look like a gentle doe. A doe with a good sense of humour and a terrific work ethic.

  ‘Have you heard who has taken over as chair?’ she asked, her grimace without any humour this time, and Mateo frowned.

  ‘No. Who?’

  ‘Supercilious Simon.’ She made a face. ‘I know I shouldn’t call him that, but he is so irritating.’

  Mateo’s lip curled. ‘That was the best they could do?’ He was insulted that Simon Thayer, a mediocre researcher at best and a pompous ass to boot, had been selected to take his place.

  ‘I know, I know.’ Rachel shook her head as she blew on her tea. ‘But he’s always played the game. Cosied up to anyone important.’ The sparkle in her eye had dimmed, and Mateo didn’t like it. ‘Working with him is going to be hell, frankly. I’ve even thought about going somewhere else, not that I could.’ For a second she looked so desolate Mateo had a bizarre and discomfiting urge to comfort her. How? ‘Anyway, never mind about that.’ She shook her head, cheer resolutely restored. ‘How are you? How is the family emergency?’

  ‘Still in a state of emergency, but a bit better, I suppose.’

  ‘Really?’ Her eyes softened, if that were possible. Could eyes soften? Mateo felt uncomfortable just thinking about it. It was not the way he normally thought about eyes, or anyone. ‘So why are you here, Mateo? Because you haven’t actually said yet.’

  ‘I know.’ He took a sip of tea, mainly to stall for time, something he wasn’t used to doing. When it came to chemistry, he was decisive. He knew what to do, no matter what the scientific conundrum. He saw a problem and he broke down the solution into steps, taking them one at a time, each one making sense.

  So that was what he would have to do here. Take her through his reasoning, step by careful, analytical step. Rachel raised her eyebrows, a little smile playing about her generous mouth. Her lips, Mateo noticed irrelevantly, were rosy and lush.

  And instead of starting at the beginning, and explaining it all coherently, he found himself doing the exact opposite—blurting out the end point, with no lead-up or context.

  ‘I want you to marry me,’ he said.

  * * *

  Rachel was sure she’d misheard. It had almost sounded as if Mateo had just asked her to marry him. In fact, that was exactly what it had sounded like, which couldn’t be right. Obviously.

  Unless he’d been joking...?

  She gave him a quizzical little smile, as if she was unfazed, perhaps a bit nonplussed, rather than completely spinning inside and, worse, suddenly deathly afraid that he was joking. That it was so obviously a joke...as it had been once before. She’d been able to take it from Josh all those years ago, but she didn’t think she could take it from Mateo, someone she both liked and trusted. Please, please don’t make me the butt of your joke. ‘Sorry,’ she said lightly. ‘Come again?’

  ‘I didn’t phrase that properly.’

  Was there another way to phrase it? Rachel took a sip of her tea, mostly to hide her expression, which she feared was looking horribly hopeful. This was starting to feel like something out of the novel on the coffee table, and she knew, she knew real life wasn’t like that. Mateo Karras did not want to marry her. No way. No how. It was impossible. Obviously.

  ‘I want you to marry me,’ he said again. ‘But let me explain.’

  ‘O...kay.’

  ‘I’m not who you think I am.’

  Now this was really beginning to seem melodramatic. Rachel had a sudden urge to laugh. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’

  Mateo grimaced and put down his cup of tea. ‘My full name and title? Prince Mateo Aegeus Karavitis, heir to the throne of the island kingdom of Kallyria.’

  Rachel stared at him dumbly. He had to be joking. Mateo had liked to play a practical joke or two, back in the lab. Nothing serious or dangerous, but sometimes he’d relabel a test tube with some funny little slogan, and they had an ongoing contest of who could come up with the worst chemistry joke.

  If H2O is the formula for water, what is the formula for ice? H2O cubed.

  Was that what he was doing here? Was he making fun of her? Her cheeks stung with mortification at the thought, and her heart felt as if it were shrivelling inside her. Please, no...

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I don’t get it.’

  Mateo frowned, the dark slashes of his brows drawing together. Why did he have to be so handsome? Rachel wondered irritably. It didn’t make this any easier, or less painful. ‘Get it?’

  ‘The punchline,’ she said flatly.

  ‘There’s no punchline, Rachel. I mean it. I accept this comes as a surprise, and it’s not the most romantic proposal of marriage, but please let me explain.’

  ‘Fine.’ She put down her tea and folded her arms, feeling angry all of a sudden. If this was some long, drawn-out practical joke, it was in decided poor taste. ‘Explain.’

  Mateo looked a little startled by her hard tone, but he continued, ‘Five days ago my brother Leo abdicated his throne.’


  ‘Abdicated? He was King of this Kall—?’

  ‘Kallyria, yes. He’s been king for six years, since my father died.’

  He spoke matter-of-factly and Rachel goggled at him. Was he actually serious? ‘Mateo, why did you never say anything about this before? You’re a prince—’

  ‘I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want anyone to know. I wanted to succeed on my terms, as my own man. And that’s exactly what I did. I used a different name, forewent any security protocols, and established myself on my own credentials.’ His voice blazed with passion and purpose. ‘No one at Cambridge knows who I truly am.’

  ‘No one?’

  ‘No one.’

  For a terrible second Rachel wondered if Mateo was deluded somehow. It had happened before to scientists who spent too much time in the lab. They cracked. And the way he’d left so suddenly, this family emergency...what if it was all some weird delusion?

  Her face crumpled in compassionate horror at the thought, and Mateo let out an exasperated breath. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’

  ‘It’s not that...’

  Mateo said something in Greek, most likely a swear word. ‘You think I’m actually making it up!’

  ‘Not making it up,’ Rachel soothed. ‘I think you believe you’re a prince...’

  Mateo swore again, this time in English. He rose from her battered sofa in one fluid movement of lethal grace. ‘Do I look or act like someone who is insane?’ he demanded, and Rachel cringed a little.

  No, he most definitely did not. In fact, with his eyes blazing blue-green fire, in a suit that looked as if it cost more than she made in a month, he did look like a prince. She sagged against the back of her chair, causing the pile of laundry to fall in a heap to the floor, as the realisation thudded through her.

  ‘You really are a prince.’

  ‘Of course I am. And in a week’s time I am to be crowned king.’

  He sounded so assured, so arrogant, that Rachel wondered how she could have doubted him for a minute. A second. And as for being deluded...of course he wasn’t. She’d never seen a more sane, focused, determined individual in her life.