by Maisey Yates
“You might have been raised to hate me, Lazarus, but you... You cannot possibly hate me more than I was trained to hate myself.”
“And is that why you can’t be with her?”
“She doesn’t deserve to be tied to someone like me.”
“She doesn’t deserve to be with a man she’s clearly in love with?”
“It is not so simple.”
“Life is actually quite simple,” Lazarus said. “You must live. Whatever it is that’s in front of you, take it if you can. For there are guarantees of nothing. I was born a prince in a castle, ended up raised in a shack in the woods. If you can have the castle, why are you choosing the shack?”
“What does that have to...”
“You can have love, you’re choosing not to. Don’t be a fool. You and I will have a meeting in a few days. But I expect you will have resolved things with your Queen by then.”
And just as quietly and suddenly as he had appeared, Lazarus was gone. And everything Alex thought he knew about the world had been turned on its head.
Lazarus made it sound like a choice.
Lazarus was alive.
He was alive.
And if he was alive... If there was more to all of this than Alex had ever known...
But perhaps he didn’t know everything.
Perhaps it didn’t have to be the end of him and Tinley. Because they had something that had stopped Lazarus from taking revenge.
Something powerful.
And he... He was choosing fear instead.
He had hidden behind the title, because it meant he didn’t have to feel. Not the grief over losing either of his brothers, or the pain of his mother’s rejection.
But Tinley had asked for the man.
And suddenly, he realized, there wasn’t only death in the wood, there was life too. And life was much the same. There wasn’t only death. He wasn’t only the King. There were miracles, and there were tragedies. There was pain and there was joy. There was hate, but there was love.
And as with Lazarus, love had won over hate.
Love had won.
He wished...very much that his mother had lived to see this. She had been hopeless, that was the problem. She had been hopeless and had seen no other way. And he... It had pushed him into that place too.
But there was hope.
There was life.
He no longer needed to carry the hurt his mother had put there. The sad thing was her life had ended before she could put it aside. But he could choose to. Now. He could choose hope.
He could choose love.
He needed Tinley.
Immediately.
* * *
Tinley was working on a sweater for her cat.
She felt that she had descended to some new low, but at the same time, it was so cute it felt like it could be a high. Life was funny.
She brought her needle around to the front of the yarn for a purl, when there was a knock on her cottage door. She shoved the work back onto the needles and set it down. “Yes?”
She wasn’t expecting anyone, and it wasn’t like her cottage was in the sort of place that got a lot of foot traffic. She stood up and peered out one lace curtain, and then her heart scurried up into her throat.
“Alex?” she called.
“Let me in,” he said.
“I’ll... All right.”
She went and jerked the door open, and there he was, tall and broad as ever. But disheveled. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t been sleeping.
Join the club.
“What are you doing here?”
“I have so much to tell you,” he said. “The first of which is that Lazarus is alive.”
“What?”
“He’s alive. And... There is more to that story, which I will explain, but first... I was afraid. Because I thought there was no way you could possibly love me. Not when my mother seemed to see how unworthy I was.”
“Alex, it’s never been about worthiness...”
“I know. I do now. It was easier, though, to accept that. Because it required nothing of me. And I’ve experienced my share of loss. So it was easier to hide behind the title of King. To hide behind duty. When Dionysus died, when I made the decision to seduce you while he was away for the evening... I was acting with my heart. And over the years, I’ve dismissed it. As lust. Because it was easier than admitting that those feelings I had for you were complicated. But the timing of everything was complicated, and it wasn’t evil of me to want you. Things happened the way they did. I will never be glad that he’s gone. Ever. But I do wonder if I would have ever had the courage then to override what everyone wanted because love is stronger. I wonder if I would have been able to admit that I loved you.” He moved closer to her, cupped her chin. “It doesn’t matter now. What I would have done. What matters is that I’m here now. We cannot change the past. But we have a choice now. I have a choice now. And I choose to make the future the best it can be. I love you, Tinley. I want you to be mine. My wife. My Queen. Marry the man and the King.”
“Of course I will,” she said, love bursting through her chest like a flame. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“You’re my lioness,” he said, touching her hair. “How did I not see it before? The signs were everywhere.”
“Alex. It’s so easy to get caught up in the stories everyone else tells about you. But at some point we have to start telling our own.”
“Yes. We must.”
“Well, I suppose marriage is really the only course of action.”
“I couldn’t agree more. It’s why I have brought the vicar with me.”
“The vicar?” She blinked. “Now?”
“We can have a wedding for the benefit of the country. But I think we should have one now. For the benefit of us. Only us. This isn’t for your mother. It isn’t a symbol. It’s not because I told my father I would take care of you, it’s not because you will be a good queen—though you will. It is simply because I love you. And I will marry you here. With your animals as attendants.”
“Really, that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“I thought you would appreciate it.”
“I do. So much.”
“So will you marry me? Outside your cottage, on the edge of the wood?”
“I will. And we can have pie as a wedding treat.”
“I can think of nothing better.”
“I’m very glad we’re writing our own story, Alex,” she said. “Because I know just how I wanted it to end.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Happily ever after.”
EPILOGUE
OF COURSE THEY did have to have a wedding, for the benefit of the nation. Things had changed dramatically in the time since they’d had their private ceremony at the cottage. Tinley had discovered she was expecting the royal heir, a cause for celebration in Liri, but celebrated most of all in the palace, between the King and Queen.
Tinley’s mother had fallen in love with an Italian count, and the man was her guest at the wedding.
And Lazarus was in attendance, along with his people. Reconciliation was being worked on, and the true history of Liri over generations was being brought to light. There were some hard truths to that. But Alex was passionate about making things right.
With his brother by his side.
But even more importantly, with his Queen.
When he spoke his vows to her, they came from his heart. The heart that was healing. That no longer felt so scarred.
The heart that had beaten for Tinley Markham from the very beginning. And he no longer looked back on those feelings as a sin, but a sign.
That love had always been there. And that in the end, love would always prevail.
For love was the source of all magic. Love
could overwhelm curses.
Love was a light that no darkness could stand against. And for all his days Alex was committed to choosing love, with Tinley, forever.
* * *
Swept up in the magic of His Majesty’s Forbidden Temptation?
You’ll be sure to adore these other Maisey Yates stories!
Crowned for My Royal Baby
Crowning His Convenient Princess
The Queen’s Baby Scandal
His Forbidden Pregnant Princess
Available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Innocent Behind the Scandal by Abby Green.
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The Innocent Behind the Scandal
by Abby Green
CHAPTER ONE
Paris
HE WAS THE most beautiful man Zoe Collins had ever seen, and that was some realisation when she was currently surrounded by some of the world’s most physically perfect men and women at one of Paris Fashion Week’s biggest shows.
He was sitting in the front row, so he had to be important.
Aware that she was staring, Zoe dragged her gaze away and looked around the vast ballroom that had been transformed into a fairy woodland scene, with real trees down the centre of the catwalk. The air was scented with the expensive perfume of the hundreds of guests milling around while they waited for the show to start.
Her heart was still pounding from the adrenalin rush of what she’d just done.
She’d been outside the Grand Palais, taking pictures of ‘influencers’ as they went into the show, and by pure fluke she’d noticed one of the catering staff outside a door, having a cigarette. When he went back inside he’d left the door ajar, and Zoe had seized the opportunity to get into the inner sanctum.
She knew that if she could actually manage to get into ‘the pit’, where the official photographers lined themselves up at the end of the catwalk, she would be able to try and convince them that she was one of them. Even though she wasn’t. At all. She was a self-taught amateur photographer.
There was no way she would have got accreditation to be in here officially. As it was, some of the other photographers were looking at her suspiciously. She hunched forward, letting her shoulder-length hair hide her face, and hoped they wouldn’t notice that she had no official lanyard.
Excitement buzzed under her skin. She’d never been at a fashion show before, and it had always been a dream of hers to see the spectacle up close. Along with the dream becoming a bona fide fashion photographer. For as long as she could remember she’d escaped into glossy magazines and pored for hours over the fantastical editorial created by the industry’s best photographers, editors and stylists.
But breaking into a tight-knit industry like this was akin to climbing Everest without oxygen. Next to impossible without contacts or experience.
She knew she shouldn’t draw attention to herself, but she couldn’t resist looking at the man again. When her gaze found him her pulse-rate skipped and her heart beat a little faster.
He had more than just good looks, she realised. There was an air of impenetrability about him. He was talking to no one. Looking at no one. Glancing down periodically at his phone. Totally relaxed, yet primed. Interested, but not showing interest. Aloof.
She guessed he was tall, just from the way he dominated the space around him. He had broad shoulders, a lean body. Very short hair—almost militarily short. Dark under the lights, but not brown, or black. More dark blond.
But his bone structure alone had Zoe lifting the camera to her face, almost without realising what she was doing. And when she looked through her viewfinder her heart stopped altogether.
Close up, he wasn’t just beautiful—he was breathtaking. High cheekbones, deep-set eyes. A mouth that promised decadence and sin. Firm contours. Sensual. A hard, uncompromising jaw that a shadow of stubble only enhanced.
There was a faintly olive tone to his skin. And then his head turned and his eyes connected directly with hers through her camera. She froze. His eyes were mesmerising. Dark grey. Cold. Cynical. Guarded.
Zoe acted on instinct. Her finger came down on the button and the camera made a clicking sound as it immortalised his image for ever.
But before she could even take the camera down from her face there was a blur of movement, and then she was being grabbed by her jacket and hauled up and out of the pit full of photographers.
‘Who the hell are you and why are you taking pictures of me?’
Dimly, Zoe recognised the fact that his voice matched the rest of him. Deep and authoritative. Slightly accented. She also recognised that he was much taller than she might have guessed. Well over six feet, and towering over her own far less substantial five foot four.
His eyes raked her up and down. ‘Who are you? Where’s your accreditation?’
‘I...’ She faltered, all the bravado that had led her in here dissolving. She swallowed. ‘I don’t have any.’
She vaguely heard muttering from the other photographers and guilty heat climbed up over her chest to her face.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I saw an open door and I just—’
‘Thought you’d enter illegally?’
Zoe spluttered. ‘Well, that’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’
He put his hand on her arm and pulled her out of the photographers’ area and along the front row towards the main doors, on the opposite side of the room from where she’d entered. Her face burned with humiliation. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Acting like judge and jury? Crashing a fashion show was hardly the crime of the century!
Zoe could see people tucking their legs out of the way as they passed, and noted several iconic famous faces assuming looks of disgust and horror as she was all but hauled out.
When they were on the other side of the main doors she pulled free. She could see security guards approaching, but the man put up a hand and they stopped. She looked up, breathless. Adrenalin rushed through her system, and something else—something that felt disturbingly like excitement.
‘Who are you?’ She rubbed her arm, even though he hadn’t hurt her at all.
He didn’t answer, just reached for her camera, lifting it over her head before she could stop him.
She reacted instantly, reaching for it. ‘Hey, that’s my camera. You can’t just—’
But a hand planted squarely on her upper chest, holding her back, stopped her words.
She watched in dismay as he easily accessed and scrolled through the pictures, presumably finding the one of him, and the ones she’d taken outside.
He closed one hand around the camera and took his other hand down from her chest. ‘I’ll take this. You can go.’
Zoe went cold inside. ‘But you can’t just take my camera—that’s my property.’
Her most precious possession.
It had belonged to her father and it had gone everywhere with her since that awful—
She spoke rapidly to push down unwelcome memories. She didn’t need those now. ‘Are you Security? You can wipe all the pictures. I don’t care. Just please give me back the camera.’ She put out her hand. Panicking.
The man’s voice was incredulous. ‘You don’t know who I am?’
She looked at him. She wasn’t all that up to date on pop culture or gossip magazines, but she was fairly sure he wasn’t an actor or a singer. Although he did look vaguely familiar. Maybe he was a male model. He certainly had the looks. Although there was something raw about him—as if he would never do anything so submissive as pose for a photograph.
‘Y
ou’re not Security?’
‘I’m Maks Marchetti.’
He looked at her. She looked at him. Shock spread through her body.
Maks Marchetti.
He arched a brow. ‘The Marchetti Group? We own the fashion house whose show you just crashed.’
Zoe could feel the blood draining south from her face. Faintly she said, ‘I know who you are.’
The reason she hadn’t recognised him was because he was the most reclusive of the three Marchetti brothers, who had inherited the business from their father on his death some years previously.
The Marchetti Group was at the very top end of exclusive, and had become even more so in the years since Marchetti Senior’s death. It owned every major brand in the world—and if they didn’t own it they were busy acquiring it. The brands they didn’t own weren’t worth mentioning.
And this man was a Marchetti. Which meant he could buy and sell everyone in that room.
She could hear music starting now. Presumably the show was kicking off. That dark grey gaze was unnervingly direct. He seemed unconcerned that he was missing the start. Zoe recalled that sense of aloofness she’d picked up from him.
‘Shouldn’t you be inside? If you could just give me back the camera I’ll go and you’ll never see me again.’
* * *
Maks Marchetti looked down at the woman in front of him, more transfixed than he liked to admit. At first glance she was pretty average. Average height, average weight and build. Slim. Petite, actually. But there was something about her that kept him looking—that had caught his attention when he’d looked over and seen the camera raised to her face, pointing directly at him.
She had honey-blonde shoulder-length hair. Finely etched brows. A delicate jaw. Straight nose. Her eyes were an arresting shade of green and blue. Aquamarine. Pretty.