Their Royal Wedding Bargain

It was a temporary agreement…

But their wedding date has already been set!

Princess Alexa’s strategy was simple: avoid an unwanted union by finding a short-term fiancé. Notoriously untamable Prince Rafaele seems her safest bet…until the king demands they marry for real!

Suddenly Alexa is in over her royal head! Because their electrifying connection complicates everything. Rafa’s charisma thrills her, his boldness challenges her and the pleasures of their marriage bed give duty-bound Alexa the confidence to ask for more. Can Alexa persuade Rafa to rewrite the terms of their convenient bargain?

With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, MICHELLE CONDER decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one super-indulgent husband, three self-indulgent but exquisite children, a menagerie of over-indulged pets, and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at michelleconder.com.

Also by Michelle Conder

Living the Charade

Duty at What Cost?

The Most Expensive Lie of All

Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir

Hidden in the Sheikh’s Harem

Defying the Billionaire’s Command

The Italian’s Virgin Acquisition

Bound to Her Desert Captor

The Billionaire’s Virgin Temptation

The Chatsfield collection

Russian’s Ruthless Demand

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Their Royal Wedding Bargain

Michelle Conder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09788-8

THEIR ROYAL WEDDING BARGAIN

© 2019 Michelle Conder

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To Heather—

for years of love and friendship and for always

being in my corner. I’ll always be in yours too.

And to my dad. There just wasn’t enough time

in the end. I miss you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

TONIGHT WAS GOING to be a total disaster. Alexa could feel it.

The Annual Santarian Children’s Charity ball, one of the most prestigious events on the international calendar, would commence in under an hour, and she felt sick with apprehension.

‘He’s here, Your Highness,’ Nasrin, her assistant-cum-lady’s-maid-cum-devoted-companion, murmured as she closed the bedroom door, a ripple of excitement evident in her quick steps as she returned to Alexa. ‘One of the chambermaids confirmed that the Prince of Santara has just entered the Summer Palace.’

Retrieving the hairbrush from the old-fashioned vanity unit, Nasrin picked up a skein of Alexa’s long dark hair and met her wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. ‘This is so exciting. I can’t believe you’re actually going to do it.’

Alexa couldn’t either; releasing a measured breath at the thought of what she intended to do, followed swiftly by the seizing of her stomach.

Known for her cool, unflappable poise under pressure, she felt as if she was about to throw up the grilled cheese sandwich she’d had for lunch all over her custom-made designer gown.

He was here. He was really here.

Prince Rafaele of Santara, the King’s younger brother, had actually arrived. There had been whispers that he might not attend tonight, given that he’d created a scandal at this very event last year, embarrassing the King. But apparently nothing stopped the Rebel Prince of Santara from following his own path, and that was a trait that could work in her favour tonight so she should see it as a positive. Being a determined rule follower, she found that somewhat difficult, adding to her massive sense of self-doubt.

How was she going to do it? How was she going to ask a prince with the reputation as a consummate playboy to marry her, even if she was a princess herself? Because that was what she intended to do. What she had to do if she wanted to appease her father.

She and Nasrin had hatched the crazy eleventh-hour plan to propose a fake marriage—or engagement because, as she would explain to the Prince, she had no intention of actually going through with the wedding—two weeks ago when she had realised that her father was deadly serious about seeing her married as soon as possible.

Of course she’d tried to argue with him. Tell him that she wasn’t ready, that she needed more time, but he had shaken his head and informed her that nothing she said would change his mind. As the Crown Princess of Berenia, and only remaining heir, he would not rest until she was settled.

To be fair he had given her six months to create a list of possible marriageable contenders, but Alexa had dragged her feet, hoping he would forget all about it. On the night he’d told her he hadn’t forgotten at all, she and Nasrin had sat down to commiserate over a glass of Sauterne and a completely unrealistic rom-com at the end of a long working day.

According to Nasrin the main actor looked like the dreamy Santarian Prince, his character replete with arrogant, bad boy tendencies and a super-hot body, and the idea had been born. In the film the hero had not wanted to marry the heroine, but love had won out in the end.

Alexa knew from past experience that love rarely won out in the end, but fortunately that wasn’t what she required from the Prince.

‘It’s going to be fine, Princess Alexa; he’ll do it,’ Nasrin murmured, accurately reading the panic in her eyes for what it was. ‘Then you’ll have everything your heart desires.’

Everything her heart desired?

What she desired the most was time to make her own marriage match, and for her older brother to still be alive.

Sol had been the true heir to the Berenian throne but since his tragic death three years ago that duty had fallen to her. And she wasn’t up to it, not yet anyway, and deep down she wondered if her father believed that she wasn’t up to it either, especially after the serious lapse in judgement she’d made when she was seventeen. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he was pushing so hard for her to marry right now. Why he was so determined to have it done.

That, and to remove the stink of shame that still hovered over her after the King of Santara had abruptly ended their betrothal twelve months earlier. The ink hadn’t even dried on their marriage contract before he had pulled out and immediately married another woman—an outsider, no less—his actions stirring up centuries-old animosity between their nations and giving the BLF—the Berenian Liberation Front—just the excuse they needed to re-engage in hostilities with Santara.

Her and King Jaeger’s brief, ill-fated betrothal hadn’t been a love-match by any stretch, but his rejection had still felt like yet another kick in the teeth for Alexa because she had liked him. She’d developed a massive crush on King Jaeger when he had saved her from an embarrassing experience on her first official engagement as her father’s consort. At thirteen, she’d been so nervous, decked out in a white tulle gown that had made her feel like a beautiful fairy, that she’d accidentally upended a full jug of cranberry juice all over herself. She’d frozen to the spot as the cold, sticky red liquid had drenched the front of her beautiful gown and chilled her skin. Before she’d been able to respond the newly crowned King of Santara had stepped in behind her and enveloped her in his jacket and whispered that everything would be okay.

Mortified, Alexa had buried her scalding cheeks against his chest, allowing him to draw her from the room without anyone really noticing them. He’d instructed a servant to find her lady’s maid and then melted back into the party. Alexa hadn’t drunk cranberry juice since, and nor had she forgotten the King’s kindness. As she’d matured he’d become the epitome of her dream man: kind, loyal, compassionate and strong.

His brother, by contrast, couldn’t be more different. The consummate good-time guy, Prince Rafaele moved from one lissom blonde to the next as if he was doing nothing more important than choosing a new tie to wear with his suit.

‘Having your hair up was a good choice,’ Nasrin said as she twisted the last of Alexa’s waist-length tresses into place. ‘It shows off the sheer panelling at the back of your dress to perfection.’

‘It’s not too revealing, is it?’ Alexa murmured, twisting on her padded stool to get a better view. She’d chosen her nude-coloured off-the-shoulder gown to attract as much attention as she dared, but she wasn’t used to wearing clothing that revealed so much skin.

‘Not at all. It’s perfect.’

Alexa stared at her carefully made-up face with critical indifference. Perfect would be to have the task ahead of her put behind her and sorted to her satisfaction.

‘And you’re sure he doesn’t want to get married?’ she asked, her outward calm slipping ever so slightly. One of the things that made the Prince so perfect was his reported disinclination to marry. If he didn’t want to marry he would never want to make their union permanent and interfere with her chance to do things her way.

‘Absolutely.’ Nasrin nodded. ‘He’s been on record as saying he never intends to marry. Not that the women seem to be listening. They throw themselves at him like lemmings off a cliff, hoping to be the one to change his mind.’

So why did she feel so sick?

Probably because actually attracting the attention of a man like the Prince was completely foreign to her, thanks to her father’s strict rules and regulations, and her own sense of inadequacy with men. Not that she’d always felt that way. Once, when she was seventeen, she’d believed a man—Stefano—had found her beautiful. But what he’d really found was that she was gullible. Gullible enough to be seduced by a man who was more interested in her title than her as a woman. The mistake had hit her budding confidence hard, pushing her to focus on her degree in business management, and her royal duties, to the exclusion of all else.

Not that she wanted to attract Prince Rafaele. No, she only wanted his cooperation in a scheme that, in the end, would serve him as equally as it would her by restoring cordial relations between their two nations. A scheme that had seemed a lot easier to follow through on when she’d gone over it late at night in her bed than in the cold light of day.

Trying to remain positive, Alexa slipped on her heels and smoothed her hands down her bespoke gown, ignoring how the clever creation made her feel both elegant and naked—which, according to her exuberant assistant, was the whole point of the design.

‘You will feel sexy and alluring,’ Nasrin had assured her when she’d first set eyes on the dress. ‘And every man in the room will look at you and want you.’

Right now she felt as sexy and alluring as a tree. And she didn’t want every man in the room looking at her. She was nervous enough thinking about one man looking at her.

She picked up the dossier Nasrin had put together on Prince Rafaele last week, rifling through photo after photo of him attending parties and movie premieres every other week. Vastly wealthy in his own right, he owned an empire of nightclubs and bars across Europe that, once opened, became the only place to be seen. ‘Dens of iniquity, her father had once disparaged.

An unwanted shiver shot through her as she gazed at a shirtless photo of the Prince holding onto a sail line on the deck of a yacht. His white trousers were flattened against his muscular thighs by the breeze, his dark shoulder-length hair streaming out behind him, his broad chest deeply tanned to the colour of the teak deck. His face was turned towards the camera and the lens had lovingly captured his perfect wide smile, hawkish features and startling blue eyes as he laughed at something in the distance.

The caption underneath read: The Rebel Prince in search of sun, fun and adventure.

Alexa studied his image. Despite his relaxed pose there was something about the way he held himself that said Danger…beware. A jaded slant to his lips that indicated that he had seen everything there was to see in life, and was surprised by none of it. Which would be a good thing if he went along with her plan because their break-up would seem inevitable: the Playboy Prince and the shrinking violet could never have lasted. Not that she was a shrinking violet. She just chose not to make waves if she didn’t have to.

‘Hot, isn’t he?’ Nasrin said as she glanced at the photo before running a practised eye over Alexa. ‘You look stunning, Your Highness. The Prince won’t be able to resist you.’

While Alexa appreciated Nasrin’s optimism, she knew from personal experience that men found her all too easy to resist. ‘More likely he’ll laugh in my face.’ She closed the file. ‘And if he’s that opposed to marriage he might not even go for a temporary engagement.’

‘But you have an ace up your sleeve. If he agrees, it could help settle all the bad blood between our nations. Of course he’ll go for that. And the engagement would only be temporary. Unless…’ Nasrin’s pretty eyes sparkled mischievously ‘…you fall in love with each other.’

Alexa shook her head. Nasrin had a romantic nature that no amount of rational conversation could extinguish. And while Alexa might have once craved love and a happy-ever-after too, she’d been disappointed enough in the past not to wait around for it.

Love wasn’t as important as dignity. Self-respect. Objectivity. And imagining the Prince of Santara falling in love with her, or her with him, was frankly hilarious.

‘That’s as likely to happen as the moon is to turn blue,’ she said dryly.

‘If you wish hard enough, Your Highness, you’ll get whatever you ask for.’

Alexa knew that rarely happened either.

‘Fortunately, I don’t want the Prince’s love. Just his co-operation.’

‘Then go get it,’ Nasrin urged with a flourish.

Alexa smiled. Nasrin had been like a gift when she’d come to work for her after Sol had died, organising her life and making her smile again with her chatty, easy nature. Everything else had felt so oppressive at the time, oppressive and overwhelming, during those dark days.

Not that she begrudged her role as the future Queen of Berenia. She didn’t because she loved her country, and her countrymen, and she wanted to do the best job for them in Sol’s stead. She wanted to make her father proud. And if the Prince went along with her plan she could do that. She could help rebuild relations between Berenia and Santara, and buy herself the necessary time to make a marriage that not only pleased her father but herself as well.

The decider would be whether or not she could implement a plan that had seemed perfectly logical at inception, but now felt desperately naive.

But if the Prince turned her down she’d just have to find someone else. Because the alternative—marrying the man who was on top of her father’s list of eligible suitors—didn’t bear thinking about.

Rafe gazed around the ballroom of the Santarian Summer Palace, a place he’d spent many formative years, with mixed emotions. As a general rule he tried not to return here very often, not only because it didn’t hold the best memories, but because when he’d left Santara as a disaffected teenager he’d cut all ties with his nation.

And he wasn’t sorry that he had. He didn’t miss the life here. He didn’t miss the sun that was hot enough most of the year to blister paint, and he didn’t miss the endless round of lacklustre royal duties his father had expected him to carry out as the second son of Santara. The less important son. He didn’t miss having his ideas shot down in flames by a man who had never understood his drive and ambition to forge his own path in life.

‘It’s lucky you’re a prince, sibi,’ his father had often snarled. ‘You’d amount to nothing if you weren’t.’

Hard-nosed and narrow-minded, his father had treated opposing opinions as little more than ripples on a quiet pond.

Rafe had learned not to care, disconnecting from his father, and rubbing his nose in it any chance that he got. And despite—or perhaps because of—his father’s convictions that he wouldn’t amount to anything he’d made a success of his life.

He’d broken free of the constraints of royal duty and lived life on his own terms. Not that his father was around to see it. His death when Rafe had been eighteen was the very thing that had set him free. Or rather his brother had set him free when he’d stepped into the role of King at nineteen and given Rafe permission to spread his wings.

Returning from studying in the US at the time, Rafe knew that Jag could have used his insider knowledge and support, and it was only now, looking back, that he understood the sacrifice his brother had made for him, shouldering the burden of a troubled nation on his own and never asking anything of Rafe in return.

Once sharing what he would have said was an unbreakable bond, their relationship had grown strained with distance and Rafe was never sure how to bridge the gulf without losing himself in the process. Still, he owed Jag a debt of gratitude, even if his brother didn’t think so.

Catching the direction of his thoughts before they progressed any further, Rafe shook them off with well-practised ease. This was partly the reason he hated returning home. The memories, the choked feeling of constraint and the heaviness that came over him that wasn’t a part of the life that he lived now. A life based on unsurpassed pleasure, beauty and freedom. A life he lived predominantly in England, where he’d used a stellar investment in technology while attending Cambridge to purchase his first bar and nightclub. He had ‘the touch’ some said, an innate ability to tap into what his clientele wanted and to transform any venue he took over into the hottest place in town.

Which often made him the hottest property in town, pursued again and again by women looking to change his mind about remaining single. Something he had no intention of doing. Ever. In his experience the novelty factor rarely lasted beyond the bedroom and, even if it did, his parents’ tumultuous relationship had cured him of ever thinking marriage was an institution he wanted to be part of.

Much better to have fun while it lasted, and move on before anyone got hurt. And if the tabloids wanted to paint him as a playboy prince to get foot traffic on their websites, that was hardly his problem. Something Jag didn’t understand.

But then Jag was still a little aggrieved about the whole French heiress debacle at this event last year. Having grown bored early on in the night, Rafe had taken her to his hot tub upstairs, only to have her post photos of the two of them to her social media account. If he’d known Jag was in the middle of important negotiations with her father at the time he would have insisted that she leave her phone downstairs.

An oversight that had led him to promise his brother that he would stay out of trouble this evening. Which wasn’t exactly fair because Rafe rarely went looking for trouble any more. More often than not it found him.

As if on cue, he saw his sister making a beeline for him as she wound her way through the throng of impeccably groomed guests at the ball.

‘I take it the ostrich lost?’ he teased, his eyes going to the brightly coloured feathers covering her skirt. ‘Or do you have plans to return the outfit to the poor creature at the end of the night?’

‘Laugh all you want,’ Milena challenged with narrowed eyes. ‘But I love the dress and every feather had already been shed before it was collected. Is that what you were grinning at before? Or was it something else? I swear you had that glint in your eye that said you were up to no good.’

‘Just remembering a certain French heiress I met at about this time last year.’