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Hannah blinked back tears and pushed away from the door. “I just returned,” she said, mustering a watery smile. “But I’d love your help getting out of this gown.”
Leaving Emmeline, Zale forced himself to put her from his mind and focus now on other things—like Tinny.
He headed toward his own wing of the palace but first stopped at his younger brother’s room. He never went to bed without a last check on Tinny.
Opening the door to Tinny’s sitting room he saw that all the lights were out except for the small lamp on the top of the bookshelf on the far wall.
Tinny’s night-light. He couldn’t sleep without it.
Zale felt a rush of affection for his twenty-eight-year-old special-needs brother, a brother who’d needed him even more after their parents’ death.
Constantine—or Tinny, as he’d always been called within the family—was to have been on the plane with his parents on that ill-fated flight, but at the last minute he’d begged his parents to let him fly to St. Philippe, their private Caribbean island, with Zale the next day instead.
Even five years later, Zale gave daily thanks that Tinny hadn’t been onboard. Tinny was everything to him, and all the family he had left, but Tinny still missed his parents dreadfully, still asked for them, hoping that maybe today his beloved mama and papa would come home.
“Your Majesty,” a voice whispered from the dark, and Mrs. Sivka, Tinny’s evening nurse, emerged from the shadows in a dressing gown. “He’s doing well. Sleeping like a lamb.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to say good-night earlier.”
“He knew you wouldn’t be coming. When you were here at tea this afternoon you told him tonight was a very important night.” Mrs. Sivka smiled. “How did it go, Your Majesty? Is she as beautiful as they say?”
Zale felt a strange tightness in his chest. “Yes.”
“Tinny can’t wait to meet her. It’s all he talked about today.”
“He shall meet her as soon as possible.”
“Tomorrow?”
Zale pictured Emmeline and then his brother, and knew that innocent, idealistic Tinny would immediately place her on a pedestal. He’d adore her, worship her and give her the power to break his heart. “Not tomorrow, but soon, I promise.”
“He’ll be disappointed it’s not tomorrow.”
“I know, but there are a few wrinkles to still iron out.”
“I understand and Prince Constantine will meet your bride when the time is right.” Mrs. Sivka smiled. “I’m proud of you. Your parents would be proud, too. You deserve every good thing coming, you do.”
“But you have to say that, Mrs. Sivka,” he said, teasing her gently, forever grateful she’d come out of retirement to help with Tinny after his parents’ accident. “You were my nanny, too.”
“That I was. And now look at you.”
He smiled crookedly. “Good night, Mrs. Sivka.”
“Good night, Your Majesty.”
Zale left his brother’s suite of rooms and headed to his own, feeling tightness and tension return to his chest.
He felt like he’d ridden a roller coaster of emotions tonight. He didn’t like it.
He rarely let his emotions get the better of him. Little ruffled Zale. Virtually nothing got under his skin. But tonight everything about Emmeline had gotten to him. She wasn’t the one he’d remembered. She was nothing like the cool ice princess of the past. And tonight she’d managed to turn him inside out.
Not good, he told himself, walking to his own suite of rooms in the next wing.
He wasn’t supposed to be emotionally involved with Emmeline. As they both knew, their union wasn’t a love match but a carefully orchestrated arrangement with significant financial incentives. Every step of their relationship had been outlined and detailed in the final draft of the seventy-page document they’d sign in the morning.
He could want her, desire her and enjoy her but he couldn’t ever forget that their relationship was first, and foremost, business.
Business, he reminded himself sternly, which meant he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted, not even by a beautiful face and lush body.
Fortunately Zale was famous for his discipline. That same discipline ensured success in school, in sport and then as Raguva’s sovereign.
Growing up the second of three sons, no one placed pressure on him. No one had particularly high expectations for him. But Zale had high expectations for himself. From a young age he was determined to find his own place in the world, would carve a niche that was uniquely his. And so while his older brother, Stephen VII, Raguva’s Crown Prince, had learned the fundamentals of ruling a monarchy, Zale had learned the fundamentals of football.
His older brother would be king one day and Zale would play professional sport.
Zale had been sixteen and attending boarding school in England when nineteen-year-old Stephen, in his second year at Trinity College, had been diagnosed with leukemia. His parents and Tinny had relocated to London to be with Stephen during the grueling chemo and radiation treatments.
For three years Stephen fought hard. For three years he endured horrific pain in hopes that the debilitating treatments would knock the leukemia into remission.
Zale had felt helpless. There was nothing he could do. Not for Stephen. Or his parents. And so he poured himself into his sport, needing a focus, a fight of his own. His self-imposed training regime had been grueling—three, four hours a day—running, weight training, sit-ups, push-ups, sprints, drills. He pushed himself to breaking point each day. He worked to muscle failure. It was the least he could do. Stephen was fighting for his life. Zale should struggle, too.
After passing his exams, Zale made the decision to follow his brother to Oxford, where in his first year he made the university’s football club’s first team, the Blues.
In his second year he carried the Blues to Oxford’s newly created Premier League where they finished top.
Stephen was there for the last big game of their season. He’d insisted on attending and their father, Raguva’s king, pushed frail Stephen into the stadium in a wheelchair and no one cheered louder than Stephen during the game.
A week after the game, Stephen had died. Zale blamed himself. The day at the stadium had been too much for Stephen. He shouldn’t have gone.
Zale remembered nothing of his final year at Oxford. It was a blur shaped by grief. The only time he felt present in his skin was on the pitch. By the time he graduated, four different football clubs competed to sign him to their team.
He’d signed with a top Spanish club despite his parents disapproval. They had wanted him to return to Raguva—he was the Crown Prince now—but Zale didn’t want to be king. He had a love, a passion, a dream. It was football.
Football, Zale silently repeated, entering his suite of four rooms, which had served every Raguvian king for the past five hundred years.
His valet was waiting for him in his dressing room, the King’s Dressing Room, where the sumptuous curtains had been drawn across the wall of leaded windows, shutting out the night.
“Was it a good evening, Your Majesty?” his valet asked, assisting Zale out of his formal jacket.
“It was, Armand, thank you.” Zale’s jaw tightened as he began unbuttoning his vest and dress shirt.
No, he’d never wanted to be king, had no desire to rule, but when his parents’ plane had crashed on landing, of course he came home. And he turned his tremendous discipline and drive to his reign.
He’d be a great king.
He owed it to his people, his parents and most of all, Stephen.
Hannah slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning in her ornate bed in her sumptuous bedroom, dreaming of Zale, dreaming of leaving, dreaming of finding Emmeline only to lose her again.
She woke repeatedly during the night to check the clock, anxious about the time, anxious about getting to the airport in the morning. At three she climbed out of bed to push the heavy drapes open, exposing the window with the night sky and quarter moon.
But finally it was dawn and pink and yellow light pierced the horizon. For a moment Hannah lay in bed watching the sun slowly rise, the yellow and pink sky deepening to gold and coral.
It would be a beautiful morning. Not a cloud in sight. There was nothing but soaring green mountains behind the walled city and the Adriatic Sea stretching before.
Hannah left the bed to stand at the window wanting to remember everything.
The rugged mountains. The pale stone houses and walls. The red tile roofs. Church spires and castle turrets. The sparkle of the sun on the water.
This morning Raguva’s capital looked magical, as if it had been plucked from a fairy tale.
She felt a tug on her heart and that tug was enough to make her turn away.
She wasn’t going to think today. Wasn’t going to feel, either. There would be no remembering last night, not even guilt over that kiss in the corridor.
She was going home. Back to her work and world. Back to a life where she excelled and could make a difference.
But first she’d need to shower, and then she’d dress and pack the few personal things she’d brought with her into an elegant shopping bag she’d found a few days ago.
The shopping bag was part of her “escape” plan. It was really quite a simple plan, too.
She’d make arrangements to go out shopping this morning. A driver could take her to an upscale fashion boutique where she’d window-shop and wait for Emmeline’s call. Once Emmeline phoned, Hannah would head to the airport where she and Emmeline would meet in the ladies’ room, change into each other’s clothes and swap places. Easy.
Once bathed, Hannah searched for a dress in Emmeline’s wardrobe that would fit both she and Emmeline. Hannah settled on a plum dress with a jewel neckline and cutout cap sleeves that could be worn with an optional gold belt. Hannah would leave the belt off but take it in her purse so that Emmeline, who was at least ten pounds lighter, could cinch the belt around her waist to keep the dress from looking baggy on her more slender frame.
Hannah pinned her hair up in a casually chic French twist, and added classic gold earrings as her only other accessory. The less she had to put on and off the better.
Once dressed and packed, the only thing Hannah could do was wait. She called for coffee and a footman arrived with coffee and croissants.
Hannah nibbled on a croissant while waiting for Emmeline to call.
A half hour became an hour, and then two and soon it was nine o’clock and Lady Andrea arrived to cover the day’s schedule with her.
“It’s going to be a very busy day,” Lady Andrea said, taking a seat in the suite’s sitting room and pulling out her leather calendar to flip to the proper page. “At ten this morning you have an appointment with His Majesty, and the lawyers in His Majesty’s chamber, and then at eleven you’ll have your hair and makeup done for the first sitting for your official portrait. Later, if there’s time after tea, Mr. Krek, the Head Butler, will take you on a tour of the palace. Tonight you’ll have a private dinner with His Majesty and a few guests.”
Lady Andrea drew a breath and looked up at Hannah. “Any questions?”
A half dozen questions came to mind, but nothing as pressing as the meeting with Zale in just under an hour. “What is the purpose for the meeting with His Majesty and the lawyers?”
Lady Andrea closed the leather appointment book. “You’re meeting to sign paperwork, I believe.”
Hannah felt an icy rush of panic. “What paperwork?”
“The prenuptial agreement, Your Highness, spelling out division of assets, as well as custodial arrangements, in the event of the dissolution of the marriage.”
Hannah’s mouth opened and closed. Of course Zale and Emmeline would have a prenup, but Hannah couldn’t, wouldn’t sign a legal document in Emmeline’s name.
Thank God Emmeline was on her way. Only problem was, Hannah didn’t know when the princess would arrive.
Hannah stole a quick glance at her watch. Nine-fifteen. The meeting with Zale and the lawyers was only forty minutes from now and even if Emmeline landed right now, it would still be impossible for Emmeline and Hannah to switch places by then.
She’d have to stall. Have to get the meeting postponed until later.
“Could you please send word to His Majesty that I’d like to push back this morning’s meeting to this afternoon, or even tomorrow morning?” Hannah said. “I’d like time to review the documents before I sign anything.”
Lady Andrea hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, Your Highness, I’ll send word to His Majesty’s secretary and see if we can’t get this morning’s meeting rescheduled. I’ll also request copies of the documents be sent to you immediately.”
As soon as Lady Andrea left, Hannah checked her phone to see if she’d missed a call or text. Nothing.
But why nothing? Hannah pressed two fingers to her temple trying to ease the pressure building in her head. Where was Emmeline?
Hannah sent her yet another text. What’s happening? Where are you? When will you arrive?
Phone tightly clutched in her hand, Hannah paced her suite, desperate for a response. Call, call, call, she silently chanted, anxious beyond belief. But minutes crawled by without a word from Emmeline. Five, ten, twenty. And each minute made Hannah more nervous.
Lady Andrea returned, flustered. “Your Highness, His Majesty can’t reschedule this morning’s meeting. He asked that I remind you that you just approved the document and its contents two weeks ago—”
“I understand,” Hannah interrupted, panic sharpening her tone, “but I’m not feeling well enough to meet him—much less sign anything—right now. Please send my apologies—” Hannah broke off as her phone suddenly buzzed. She glanced at her phone. Emmeline.
Thank God. She must have just landed. Everything would be okay. Hannah would just postpone the signing for an hour or two to allow Emmeline to arrive at the palace.
Hannah glanced at Lady Andrea, and smiled weakly. “Please see if we can’t reschedule for after lunch. I’m sure my headache will be gone by then.”
Hannah didn’t even wait for the door to close behind Lady Andrea before reading the Emmeline’s text message.
Couldn’t get flight plan approved last night—
What? No. No!
Tiny spots danced before Hannah’s eyes. She swayed on her feet, shocked, sickened. Emmeline hadn’t even left Florida yet?
Hannah read the rest of the message with tears of frustration burning her eyes. Trying to get permission now. Don’t panic. Will be there soon! xxx Emme
Don’t panic? She nearly threw her phone across the room. How could she not panic?
“No!” Hannah choked, blinking tears, adrenaline making her heart race. “No, no, no!”
She was so furious and frustrated she missed the knock on the outer door, as well as the fact that it had opened.
Hannah might not have heard anyone enter but she felt it immediately, her nape tingling and goose bumps covered her arms. She wasn’t alone anymore. Even the energy in the room felt different.
Hannah lifted her head, her fingers stilling about the phone’s tiny keypad. Zale.
And he was upset.
She saw his expression and it took her by surprise.
Why was he so angry? Was it because she had pushed back this morning’s signing? But that didn’t make sense. Why would rescheduling the meeting upset him so much?
“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking a step back.
“What is this about?” he demanded imperiously, approaching her, his handsome features grim, his amber gaze holding hers, commanding her attention.
She sucked in a nervous breath, overwhelmed by his intensity. Zale Patek hadn’t just entered her room, he owned it, dominated it and in turn, dominated her.
Was this the same man who’d kissed her senseless last night?
Was this the man she couldn’t bear to leave?
“I don’t understand,” she said, taking another step back.
Zale kept walking toward her, tension radiating from him in waves. “Neither do I.” His tone was clipped, hard. “Explain to me why you’ve canceled the meeting.”
She bumped up against the delicate coffee table between the pink silk sofa and armchairs and had no more room to run. “I woke up with a headache and it’s just gotten worse.”
“I’m sure you could suffer through for a thirty-minute signing.”
“But I can’t. The pain’s so bad I can’t even read right now.” “I’ll read it to you, then.”
His sarcasm stung. Why was he being awful? Was it necessary to be rude? Necessary to be so inflexible? “I’m sure we can reschedule—”
“No.”
“And why not?” she demanded, just as curtly.
He tipped his head, studying her, his short crisp hair dark, but definitely not black, just as his eyes were neither brown nor gold but a shade somewhere in between. This morning he wore a black suit with a white dress shirt open at the collar. His throat was the same bronze tone as his face. She could almost see him in the sun, his lean, chiseled features glazed by light.
Gladiator. Warrior.
King.
“Because,” he said slowly, clearly, “the lawyers are here, the paperwork is ready and the agreement is to be signed now.” “Even if I don’t feel well?”
His features tightened, his mouth compressing. “I should have known the games weren’t over.”
Her hands knotted. “I’m not playing games—”
“What do you want now? How do you intend to up the stakes? Are you holding out for ten million for each child?
What is it this time?” “That’s insane!”
“It is, isn’t it? But that’s how you play, Emmeline—”
“No. You couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not changing anything or asking for anything other than a postponement so I can take some medicine and lie down and try to feel better.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I told you. I have a headache.”
“Is that so?” His deep voice mocked her even as his gaze examined her, slowly scrutinizing her appearance from the top of her head down to her toes.
Hannah could see herself in his eyes—her perfectly coiffed French twist, the rich plum of her dress and the expensive designer shoes. She’d dressed smartly, elegantly, knowing that when she left the palace this morning she needed to look every inch the royal princess.
“Yes,” she answered, lifting her chin, staring him in the eye, daring him to call her a liar. She’d been raised by a tough man. Her father didn’t tolerate fools, either, but her father had also taught her that men were to be gentlemen. Men were to treat women properly—which meant with kindness and respect. And Zale Patek was definitely not treating her with respect right now. “But if you don’t believe me, would you like to call a doctor? Have him examine me? Would that reassure you, Your Majesty?”
“That’s not necessary,” he said stiffly.
“But I think it is. Clearly you doubt my sincerity. You’ve questioned my integrity—”
“I haven’t.”
“You have. You’ve been rude. Why? For what? A prenup?”
Heat flared in his amber eyes, making them gold. “Your father was the one that wanted the contract. It was drawn up at his insistence and at great expense, so don’t put that one on me.”
Hannah blanched. The contract had been Emmeline’s father’s idea? What kind of father was this King William of Brabant? He certainly didn’t sound supportive or loving.
“Everyone is here because of you,” Zale added tersely. “Five lawyers, Emmeline. Two of whom flew in from your country, and one from overseas, and now I am to tell them to go to their rooms and twiddle their thumbs until the morning?”
He had a point. But what was she to do? Sign as Emmeline? Impossible. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s exactly what you do when your future queen is ill and unable to make the meeting.”
Zale drew a slow breath. He exhaled. A small muscle pulled in his jaw.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” he said from between clenched teeth, color darkening the high slash of cheekbone.
“I did not mean to appear insensitive. Your health is of course my first concern. Everything else can and will wait.” Then with a brief, icy bow, he walked out.
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