by Dani Collins
Ms Hester Moss.
Personal assistant. Calm automaton. Perfect wife. Yes, he was going to give his country their most inoffensive, bland Queen. In her navy utility trousers, her crisp white tee shirt, her large-rimmed glasses and her hair in that long, purely functional ponytail at the nape of her neck, she looked least like any royal bride ever. Not tall, not especially slender, not styled and definitely not coated in that sophisticated confidence he was used to. In that sense she was right, she was nothing like the women he usually dated. And that was perfect. Because he didn’t want to date her. And she definitely didn’t want to date him. This would be a purely functional arrangement. No sex. No complications.
She had something better to offer him. She was self-contained, precise, earnest, and—he’d bet—dutiful. She’d be efficient, discreet, courteous and they’d co-exist for this limited time in complete harmony And she wasn’t a dragon or a bitch; she seemed too bloodless to be either. Actually, now he thought about it, she struck him as too controlled, too careful altogether. Irritation rippled beneath his skin. He knew she judged him—hell, who didn’t? But he wanted to scratch the surface and find her faults. After all, everyone had flaws and weaknesses. Everyone had something that made their blood boil. He’d seen it briefly when she’d referenced his ‘lifestyle’, when she’d called him out for being ‘spoiled’, when she’d felt the need to snap no at him.
But he’d just got her to say yes to him and damn if it didn’t feel good. Only now he was wondering why she wanted the pots of gold.
He could pull her file from security but immediately rejected the idea. His father would never have allowed Fiorella near someone unsuitable, so there could be nothing in her past to cause concern. He’d satisfy his curiosity the old-fashioned way. Face to face. The prospect of breaking through her opaque, glass façade and making her reveal the snippets of herself that she seemed determined to keep secret was surprisingly appealing. The only question was how he’d go about it.
Now he had her hand in his and he was gazing into her eyes—a breath away for the first time. Even behind the large-framed glasses, he could appreciate their colour—pure gold, a warm solid hue—and it seemed she wasn’t averse to a little smoke and mirrors because she had to be wearing mascara. Her eyelashes were abnormally thick. Heat burned across the back of his neck and slowly swept down his spine, around his chest, skimming lower and lower still. Startled by the unexpected sensation, he tensed, unable to release her cool hand, unable to cease staring into her amazing, leonine eyes.
‘Alek?’
He blinked and turned his head. ‘Fi.’
His sister was gaping at their linked hands.
He felt a tug and turned back to see awkwardness swarm over Hester’s face. Slowly he obeyed her wordless plea and released her hand.
‘What are you doing here?’ Fiorella stepped forward, her astonishment obvious. ‘What’s going on?’
He drew a sharp breath and slammed into a snap decision. He would do this with supreme discretion. No one but he and Hester would know the truth and if they could pass the Fifi test here and now, they’d be fine with the rest of the world. ‘We didn’t intend to surprise you this way,’ he said smoothly. ‘But Hester and I are engaged.’
‘Engaged? To Hester?’ Fi’s eyes bugged. ‘No way.’
‘Fi—’
‘You don’t even know each other.’ Fi was clearly stunned.
‘That’s where you’re wrong. Again,’ he muttered. ‘We know each other far better than you think.’
‘But…’ Fi looked from him to Hester and that frown deepened on her face. ‘No way.’
He glanced at Hester and saw she’d paled. She shoved her hands into the horrendously practical pockets of her cotton drill trousers and stood eerily still, her façade determinedly uncrackable.
‘Hester?’ Fiorella gazed at her assistant, a small frown formed between her brows. ‘I know you’ve been distracted lately and not as available…’
Alek glanced at Hester and saw she’d gone paler still. His instincts were engaged—what had been distracting her? The whisper of vulnerability prickled his senses.
‘She works for me.’ Fifi pulled his attention back with her quiet possessiveness. ‘And I don’t want you to…mess her around.’
Hester’s eyes widened and colour scurried back into her cheeks. But to his astonishment, a pretty smile broke through her tense, expressionless façade. His jaw dropped and for a moment he had the oddest wish that he’d been the one to make her smile like that. She’d suddenly looked luminous and soft. But then the smile faded and her self-contained neutrality was restored.
‘I’m a big girl, Princess Fiorella,’ Hester said in that careful, contained way she had. ‘I can take care of myself.’
Alek realised Hester had feared Fi disapproved of her. And she was hugely relieved to discover she didn’t.
‘I know you had no idea,’ Hester added as she gestured towards him. ‘But we had our reasons for that.’
Instinctively he reached out and clasped her hand back in his. A stunningly strong ripple of possessiveness shimmered through him. Again acting on instinct, he laced his fingers through hers and locked his grip. For the proof in front of Fifi, right?
His sister now stared again at their interlinked hands, her eyes growing round before she flashed a hurt look up at Alek. ‘Is this because of that stupid requirement?’
‘This is because it is what both your brother and I want.’
Hester’s faintly husky emphasis on the ‘want’ tightened his skin.
‘I’m so sorry to have kept this from you, but it’s been quite…tough.’
‘And I’m sorry for the short notice,’ Alek added as Hester faltered. ‘But I’m taking Hester back with me immediately.’
‘To Triscari? Now?’ Fi clasped her hands in front of her chest. ‘You’re for real? Like really for real?’
That light flush swept more deeply across Hester’s face as Alek confirmed it with a twinge of regret. His sister was young and unspoiled but he found himself watching Hester more closely for clues as to what was going on beneath her still exterior.
‘It’s like a fairy tale,’ Fifi breathed. ‘Oh, Alek, this is wonderful.’
Hester’s hand quivered in his and he tightened his hold.
‘You’re really leaving right away?’ Fi asked.
‘It’s been difficult,’ Alek said honestly. ‘It’s best we get back to Triscari. There’s a lot for Hester to take in.’
Worry dulled the delight in Fi’s eyes.
‘It’s okay. Everything’s in your diary and you can always text me with any problems,’ Hester said earnestly. ‘I can keep answering your correspondence—that’s the bulk of what I do for you and there’s no reason why I can’t continue.’
Alek bit his tongue to stop himself interrupting with all the reasons why she wasn’t going to be able to keep working for his sister.
‘Are you sure?’ Fi’s relief was audible.
‘Hester can help train someone up to take over from her quite quickly.’ He sent Hester a shamelessly wicked smile. ‘After all, you’ll be busy managing your own mail shortly.’
A mildly alarmed look flickered in her eyes before she smiled politely back.
‘Well.’ Fi drew breath. ‘I have to go, I’m late to meet my friend. I only called in to tell Hester I need her to…never mind. I can do it. I’ll leave you to…go.’ She glanced again between him and Hester. ‘I still can’t believe it.’
Fi stepped in and Alek gave her a one-armed hug.
He met Hester’s gaze over the top of Fi’s head and saw the glint of amusement in her eyes. She was very good at managing her emotions and at managing a volatile Fiorella. A volatility he knew he had in common with his sister on occasion.
When Fi left, he released Hester’s hand—with a surprising amount of reluctan
ce.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He needed to focus on the important things. Like fabricating their story. ‘You’re good at lying.’
‘I’m good at saying what’s necessary for self-preservation,’ she replied. ‘That’s a different skill.’
His senses sharpened. Self-preservation? Why was that?
‘You really want us to maintain this “relationship” in front of Princess Fiorella?’ she asked too calmly.
‘For now.’ He nodded. ‘I don’t want to risk any inadvertent revelations and I don’t want her to worry.’
‘She’s your sister, she’s going to be concerned about your happiness.’
‘I thought she seemed more worried about you than me.’ He shot her an ironic glance.
‘She doesn’t need to worry about me.’ Hester gazed down at her desk. ‘I’m fine. I can handle anything.’
He had the odd feeling she could but that didn’t mean that she should. ‘It seems the pretence is under way, Hester. This is your last chance to back out.’
She was silent for a moment, but then lifted her serene face to his. ‘No, let’s do this. You should be crowned.’
Really? He didn’t think she was in this for his benefit. She’d become rich; that was the real reason, wasn’t it? Except he didn’t think it was. What did she plan to do with the money?
He frowned. It shouldn’t matter, it wasn’t his business.
But what had she been so ‘distracted’ with lately? Not a man, or she’d not have said yes to him. He’d bet it was someone else, someone she wanted the money for.
He huffed out a breath and willed his curiosity to ebb. He didn’t need to know any more. She was palace employed, therefore palace perfect. Contained, aloof, efficient. She even maintained a polite distance from Fi, who he knew was physically demonstrative. He now realised part of Fi’s shock—and reason for her eventual belief—had been because he and Hester were touching. Fiorella hadn’t hugged Hester when she’d left. He was sure the reserve came from Hester—strictly observing her role as employee, not confidante or friend. Doubtless she was all about ‘professional boundaries’, or something. It was evident in the way she dressed too. The utilitarian clothes and sensible black canvas shoes were almost a services uniform from the nineteen-forties. But her hourglass figure couldn’t quite be hidden even by those ill-tailored trousers. Her narrow waist and curving hips held all the promise of soft, lush pillow for a man…that stability she’d made him think of.
But she made him think about other things too—like why did she live in that prison-like cell of a bedroom? Why was it so lacking in anything personal other than a mangy stray cat, a broken wooden box and a pile of second-hand books?
She was like a walled-off puzzle with several pieces missing. Happily, Alek quite enjoyed puzzles and he had a year to figure her out. Too easy—and there was no reason they couldn’t be friends. He could ignore the unexpected flares of physical interest. If his desperate speed-dating of the last month had proven anything to him, it was that the last thing he wanted was anything remotely like a real relationship. Definitely not a true marriage. Not for a very long time. As for that vexed issue providing his kingdom with an heir…that he was just going to put off for as long as possible. Somehow he’d find a way to ensure any child of his didn’t suffer the same constraints he had.
‘We should make plans.’ He moved forward to her desk. ‘I need to contact the palace. You need to pack.’ He glanced over to where she stood worryingly still. ‘Or…?’
‘How are we going to end this?’ she asked pensively. ‘In a year. What will we say?’
He was relieved she wasn’t pulling out on him already. ‘I’ll take the blame.’
‘No. Let me,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re the King.’
‘No.’ He refused to compromise on this. ‘You’ll be vilified.’
Double standards abounded, wrong as it was, and he wasn’t having her suffer in any way because of this. He’d do no harm. And she was doing him a huge favour.
‘I don’t want to be walked over,’ she said a little unevenly. ‘I’ll do the stomping. Keep your reputation. Mine doesn’t matter.’
He stared at her. She stood more still than ever—defensively prim, definitely prickly—and yet she wanted to be reckless in that?
‘You’d sacrifice everything,’ he tried to inform her gently.
‘Actually, I’ll sacrifice nothing,’ she contradicted. ‘I don’t care what they say about me.’
No one didn’t care. Not anyone human, anyway. And he’d seen her expression change drastically when Fi had returned, so Hester was definitely human. She’d been terrified of his sister’s reaction—of her disapproval. Which meant she liked and cared about Fi. And she cared about doing the stomping.
Now he studied her with interest, opting not to argue. He’d had all the wins so far, so he could let this slide until later because he was totally unhappy with the idea of her taking the responsibility for their marriage ‘breakdown’.
‘We’ll finalise it nearer the time.’
She softened fractionally.
‘You know they’ll want all the pomp and ceremony for this wedding.’ He rolled his eyes irreverently, wanting to make her smile again. ‘All the full regalia.’
‘You really don’t think much of your own traditions, do you?’
‘Actually, I care greatly about my country and my people and most of our customs. But I do find the feathers on the uniform impede my style a little.’
‘Feathers?’ She looked diverted and suddenly, as he’d hoped, her soft smile peeked out. Followed by a too-brief giggle. ‘So, you really mean smoke and mirrors?’
‘It’s a little ridiculous, I’m afraid.’ He nodded with a grin. ‘But not necessarily wrong.’
‘Okay. Smoke. Mirrors. Feathers.’ But she seemed to steel herself and shot him a searching look. ‘You don’t think everyone will know the wedding is only for the coronation?’
‘Not if we convince them otherwise.’
‘And how do we do that?’
‘We just convinced Fi, didn’t we?’
‘She’s a romantic.’
‘So we give them romance.’ Fire flickered along his limbs and he tensed to stop himself stepping closer and seeing what kind of ‘romance’ he could spontaneously conjure with her. What he might discover beneath her serene but strong veneer. ‘Trust me, Hester. We’ll make this believable. We’ll make it brilliant.’ He cocked his head. ‘I think with some work we can look like a couple in love.’
Her eyes widened. ‘But there’s no need for us to touch.’ She sounded almost breathless with horror. ‘Nothing like that. We’ll be very circumspect, won’t we?’
Alek suppressed his laugh. His officials were going to love her, given how much they loathed his usual less than circumspect affairs. And if she presented this shy, blushing bride act to the public, she’d melt all hearts.
‘You mean no public displays of affection?’ he queried more calmly than he felt.
‘That’s right.’
Was she serious? ‘None at all?’
He keenly watched her attempt to maintain her unruffled expression, but tell-tale colour surged over her skin and ruined her proud attempt. But she didn’t reply and he realised she was utterly serious. So what about private displays of affection?
The fierce desire to provoke her came from nowhere and astounded him. The ways he’d make her blush all over? To make her smile and sigh and scream?
The immediate cascade of thoughts was so hot and heady, he tensed all over again. It was just the challenge, right? She’d initially told him no with unapologetic bluntness, while excoriating his social life. Now she reckoned she didn’t want him to touch her?
Okay, no problem.
Yet surely he wasn’t the only one feeling this shocking chemistry? The magnetic pull was too strong
to be one-sided. Her colour deepened as the silence stretched and thickened. Of course she felt it, he realised, feeling a gauche fool. It was the whole reason for her complete blushathon.
Hester stared as he hesitated for what felt like for ever. Her whole body felt on fire—with utter and absolute mortification—but this was something she needed not just to clarify, but to make certain—iron-clad in their agreement. It suddenly seemed essential.
‘Okay,’ he agreed, but amusement flitted around his mouth. ‘I wasn’t about to suggest we practise or anything.’
‘Good.’ She finally breathed out. ‘That would just be stupid.’
‘Indeed. I don’t need to practise. I know how to kiss.’
Hester didn’t quite know how to respond. She wasn’t about to admit how totally lacking in kissing experience she was. That heat beat all over her body, but she counted breaths in and out, to restore outward calm at least. Inside she was still frying.
‘Because, just so you know, we will have to kiss. Twice, if you can bring yourself to agree.’ He gazed at her steadily. ‘During the wedding service, which will, of course, be live-streamed. We’ll need to kiss after the commitment during the ceremony and once again on the steps outside the church afterwards.’
‘Live-streamed?’ Her lungs constricted. ‘From a church?’
‘In the palace chapel, yes. It’s just the part we’re both playing, Hester.’
The palace chapel? It really was the stuff of fairy-tale fiction. As long as she remembered that was all it was, then she could go through with it, right? As long as she remembered what she could do for Lucia and Zoe.
‘Two kisses,’ she conceded briefly.
She was sure they’d be chaste pecks, given they were going to be live-streamed and all. Not even the outrageous Prince Alek would put on a raunchy show for the world with his convenient bride. There was no need for him to ever know she’d never been kissed before.
‘Do you think I can hold your hand at the banquet afterwards? Look at you? Smile?’