Leo stroked her cheek gently with one finger. ‘You’re lovely.’

Alyse stared at him, ensnared by the heat of his gaze, the touch of his hand. She saw something hard in his gaze, something cynical in his smile, and still she couldn’t keep from wanting him.

‘I wonder,’ he mused softly, his finger still stroking her cheek, ‘how do you make something that’s been false, true? What’s fake, real?’

Her heart seemed to burst within her, as if fireworks had gone off in her soul. The very fact that he was even asking the question gave her a hope that was painful in its intensity.

‘I want to,’ she whispered, her heart beating so hard now that it hurt, the thuds slamming her chest. ‘I want this to be real, Leo.’

His lips twisted again, caught between a grimace and a smile. He bent his head, his lips a whisper away from hers.

‘This is real enough,’ he murmured, and then he kissed her.

THE DIOMEDI HEIRS

Who will become the next King of Maldinia?

To restore the reputation of the monarchy, darkly brooding Prince Leo has sacrificed everything.

His marriage might be for show, but the feelings his new bride Alyse evokes in him are threatening his iron-clad control.

Black sheep Prince Alessandro has returned home to claim the throne—and the woman he discarded years ago—but he meets his match in the woman Liana has now become!

The world’s media is waiting with bated breath for the estranged brothers to be reunited and the rightful King—with his chosen Queen—to be seated upon the throne!

The Prince She Never Knew

Kate Hewitt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon® romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older. She has written plays, short stories and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, travelling and learning to knit.

After marrying the man of her dreams—her older brother’s childhood friend—she lived in England for six years, and now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children and the possibility of one day getting a dog.

Kate loves to hear from readers—you can contact her through her website: www.kate-hewitt.com

Recent titles by the same author:

HIS BRAND OF PASSION

(The Bryants: Powerful & Proud) IN THE HEAT OF THE SPOTLIGHT (The Bryants: Powerful & Proud) BENEATH THE VEIL OF PARADISE (The Bryants: Powerful & Proud) THE HUSBAND SHE NEVER KNEW

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Maisey, Caitlin and Jennie, who first inspired me with the idea for this story! Love, K.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

TODAY WAS HER wedding day. Alyse Barras gazed at her pale, pinched face in the mirror and decided that not all brides were radiant. As it happened, she looked as if she were on the way to the gallows.

No, she amended, not the gallows; a quick and brutal end was not to be hers, but rather a long, drawn-out life sentence: a loveless marriage to a man whom she barely knew, despite their six-year engagement. Yet even so a small kernel of hope was determined to take root in her heart, to unfurl and grow in the shallowest and poorest of soils.

Maybe he’ll learn to love me...

Prince Leo Diomedi of Maldinia seemed unlikely to learn anything of the sort, yet still she hoped. She had to.

‘Miss Barras? Are you ready?’

Alyse turned from her reflection to face one of the wedding coordinator’s assistants who stood in the doorway of the room she’d been given in the vast royal palace in Averne, Maldinia’s capital city, nestled in the foothills of the Alps.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ she replied, trying to smile, but everything in her felt fragile, breakable, and the curve of her lips seemed as if it could crack her face. Split her apart.

The assistant Marina came forward, looking her over in the assessing and proprietary way Alyse had got used to in the three days since she’d arrived in Maldinia—or, really, the six years since she’d agreed to this engagement. She was a commodity to be bought, shaped, presented. An object of great value, to be sure, but still an object.

She’d learned to live with it, although on today of all days—her wedding day, the day most little girls dreamed about—she felt the falseness of her own role more, the sense that her life was simply something to be staged.

Marina twitched Alyse’s veil this way and that, until she gave a nod of satisfaction. It billowed gauzily over her shoulders, a gossamer web edged with three-hundred-year-old lace.

‘And now the dress,’ Marina said, and flicked her fingers to indicate that Alyse should turn around.

Alyse moved slowly in a circle as Marina examined the yards of white satin that billowed out behind her, the lace bodice that hugged her breasts and hips and had taken eight top-secret fittings over the last six months. The dress had been the source of intense media speculation, the subject of hundreds of articles in tabloids, gossip magazines, even respected newspapers, television and radio interviews, celebrity and gossip blogs and websites.

What kind of dress would the world’s real-life Cinderella—not a very creative way of typecasting her, but it had stuck—wear to marry her very own prince, her one true love?

Well, this. And Alyse had had no say in it at all. It was a beautiful dress, she allowed as she caught a glance of the billowing white satin in the full-length mirror. She could hardly complain. She might have chosen something just like it—if she’d been given a choice.

Marina’s walkie-talkie crackled and she spoke into it in rapid Italian, too fast for Alyse to understand, even though she’d been learning Italian ever since she’d become engaged to Leo. It was the native language of his country, and Maldinia’s queen-in-waiting should be able to speak it. Unfortunately no one spoke slowly enough for her to be able to understand.

‘They’re ready.’ Marina twitched the dress just as she had the veil and then rummaged on the vanity table for some blusher. ‘You look a bit pale,’ she explained, and brushed Alyse’s cheeks with blusher even though the make-up artist had already spent an hour on her face.

‘Thank you,’ Alyse murmured. She wished her mother were here, but the royal protocol was—and always had been, according to Queen Sophia—that the bride prepare by herself. Alyse wondered whether that was true. Queen Sophia tended to insist on doing things the way they’d ‘always been done’ when really it was simply the way she wanted them done. And even though Alyse’s mother, Natalie, was Queen Sophia’s best friend from their days together at a Swiss boarding school, she clearly didn’t want Natalie getting in the way on this most important and august of occasions.

Or so Alyse assumed. She was the bride, and she felt as if she were in the way.

She wondered if she would feel so as a wife.

No. She closed her eyes as Marina next dusted her face with loose powder. She couldn’t think like that, couldn’t give in to the despair, not on today of all days. She had once before, and it had led only to heartache and regret. Today she wanted to hope, to believe, or at least to try to. Today was meant to be a beginning, not an end.

But if Leo hasn’t learned to love me in the last six years, why should he now?

Two months ago, with media interest at a frenzied height, her mother had taken her on a weekend to Monaco. They’d sat in deck chairs and sipped frothy drinks and Alyse had felt herself just begin to relax when Natalie had said, ‘You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’

She’d tensed all over again, her drink halfway to her lips. ‘Do what?’

‘Marry him, Alyse. I know it’s all got completely out of hand with the media, and also with the Diomedis, to be frank. But you are still your own woman and I want to make sure you’re sure...’ Her mother had trailed off, her eyes clouded with anxiety, and Alyse had wondered what she’d guessed.

Did she have even an inkling of how little there was between her and Leo? Few people knew; the world believed they were madly in love, and had done ever since Leo had first kissed her cheek six years ago and the resulting photograph had captured the public’s imagination.

Leo’s mother Sophia knew, of course, as the pretense of their grand romance had been her idea, Alyse suspected, and of course Leo’s father, Alessandro, who had first broached the whole idea to her when she’d been just eighteen years old and starry-eyed over Leo. Perhaps Alexa—Leo’s sister, her fiery nature so different from his own sense of cool containment—had guessed.

And, naturally, Leo knew. Leo knew he didn’t love her. He just didn’t know that for six years she’d been secretly, desperately, loving him.

‘I’m happy, Maman,’ Alyse had said quietly, and had reached over to squeeze her mother’s hand. ‘I admit, the media circus isn’t my favourite part, but...I love Leo.’ She had stumbled only slightly over this unfortunate truth.

‘I want for you what your father and I have had,’ Natalie had said, and Alyse had smiled wanly. Her parents’ romance was something out of a fairy tale: the American heiress who had captured the heart of a wealthy French financier. Alyse had heard the story many times, how her father had seen her mother across a crowded room—they’d both been attending some important dinner—and he had made his way over to her and said, ‘What are you doing with the rest of your life?’

She’d simply smiled and answered, ‘Spending it with you.’

Love at first sight. And not just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill love, but of the over-the-top, utterly consuming variety.

Of course her mother wanted that for her. And Alyse would never admit to her how little she actually had, even as she still clung stubbornly to the hope that one day it might become more.

‘I’m happy,’ she’d repeated, and her mother had looked relieved if not entirely convinced.

Marina’s walkie-talkie crackled again, and once again Alyse let the rapid-fire Italian assault her with incomprehension.

‘They’re waiting,’ Marina announced briskly, and Alyse wondered if she imagined that slightly accusing tone. She’d felt it since she’d arrived in Maldinia, mostly from Queen Sophia: you’re not precisely what we’d have chosen for our son and heir, but you’ll have to do. We have no choice, after all.

The media—the whole world—had made sure of that. There had been no going back from that moment captured by a photographer six years ago when Leo had come to her eighteenth birthday party and brushed his lips against her cheek in a congratulatory kiss. Alyse, instinctively and helplessly, had stood on her tiptoes and clasped her hand to his face.

If she could go back in time, would she change that moment? Would she have turned her face away and stopped all the speculation, the frenzy?

No, she wouldn’t have, and the knowledge was galling. At first it had been her love for Leo that had made her agree to their faked fairy tale, but as the years had passed and Leo had shown no interest in loving her—or love at all—she’d considered whether to cut her losses and break off the engagement.

She never had; she’d possessed neither the courage nor conviction to do something that would quite literally have rocked the world. And of course she’d clung to a hope that seemed naïve at best, more likely desperate: that he would learn to love her.

And yet...we get along. We’re friends, of a sort. Surely that’s a good foundation for marriage?

Always the hope.

‘This way, Miss Barras,’ Marina said, and ushered her out of the room she’d been getting dressed in and down a long, ornate corridor with marble walls and chandeliers glittering overhead every few feet.

The stiff satin folds of Alyse’s dress rustled against the parquet as she followed Marina down the hallway and towards the main entrance of the palace where a dozen liveried footmen stood to attention. She would make the walk to the cathedral across the street and then the far more important walk down the aisle by herself, another Maldinian tradition.

‘Wait.’ Marina held up a hand and Alyse paused in front of the gilt-panelled doors that led to the front courtyard of the palace where at least a hundred reporters and photographers, probably more, waited to capture this iconic moment. Alyse had had so many iconic moments in the last six years she felt as if her entire adult life had been catalogued in the glossy pages of gossip magazines.

Marina circled her the way Alyse imagined a lion or tiger circled its prey. She was being fanciful, she knew, but her nerves were stretched to breaking point. She’d been in Maldinia for three days and she hadn’t seen Leo outside of state functions once. Hadn’t spoken to him alone in over a year.

And she was marrying him in approximately three minutes.

Paula, the royal family’s press secretary, approached with a brisk click of heels. ‘Alyse? You’re ready?’ she asked in accented English.

She nodded back, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Excellent. Now, all you need to remember is to smile. You’re Cinderella and this is your glass slipper moment, yes?’ She twitched Alyse’s veil just as Sophia had done, and Alyse wondered how much more pointless primping she would have to endure. As soon as she stepped outside the veil would probably blow across her face anyway. At least she had enough hair spray in her hair to prevent a single strand from so much as stirring. She felt positively shellacked.

‘Cinderella,’ she repeated. ‘Right.’ She’d been acting like Cinderella for six years. She didn’t really need the reminder.

‘Everyone wants to be you,’ Paula continued. ‘Every girl, every woman, is dreaming of walking in your shoes right now. And every man wants to be the prince. Don’t forget to wave—this is about them as much as you. Include everyone in the fantasy, yes?’

‘Right. Yes.’ She knew that, had learned it over the years of public attention. And, truthfully, she didn’t mind the attention of the crowds, of people who rather incredibly took encouragement and hope from her and her alleged fairy tale of a life. All they wanted from her was friendliness, a smile, a word. All she needed to be was herself.

It was the paparazzi she had trouble with, the constant scrutiny and sense of invasion as rabid journalists and photographers looked for cracks in the fairy-tale image, ways to shatter it completely.

‘I’d better get out there before the clock strikes twelve,’ she joked, trying to smile, but her mouth was so dry her lips stuck to her teeth. Paula frowned, whipping a tissue from her pocket to blot Alyse’s lipstick.

‘We’re at thirty seconds,’ Marina intoned, and Paula positioned Alyse in front of the doors. ‘Twenty...’

Alyse knew she was supposed to emerge when the huge, ornate clock on one of the palace’s towers chimed the first of its eleven sonorous notes. She would walk sedately, head held high, towards the cathedral as the clock continued chiming and arrive at its doors when the last chime fell into silence.

It had all been choreographed and rehearsed several times, down to the last second. Everything arranged, orchestrated, managed.

‘Ten...’

Alyse took a deep breath, or as deep a breath as the tightly fitted bodice of her dress would allow. She felt dizzy, spots dancing before her eyes, although whether from lack of air or sheer nerves she didn’t know.

‘Five...’

Two footmen opened the doors to the courtyard with a flourish, and Alyse blinked in the sudden brilliance of the sun. The open doorway framed a dazzling blue sky, the two Gothic towers of the cathedral opposite and a huge throng of people.

‘Go,’ Paula whispered, and gave her a firm nudge in the small of her back.

Pushed by Paula, she moved forward, her dress snagging on her heel so she stumbled ever so slightly. Still it was enough for the paparazzi to notice, and dozens of cameras snapped frantically to capture the moment. Another iconic moment; Alyse could already picture the headlines: First Stumble on The Road to Happiness?

She steadied herself, lifted her head and gave the entire viewing world a brilliant smile. The answering cheer roared through the courtyard. Alyse could feel the sound reverberate through her chest, felt her spirits lift at their obvious excitement and approbation.

This was why she was marrying Leo, why the royal family of Maldinia had agreed to his engagement to a mere commoner: because everyone loved her.

Everyone but Leo.

Still smiling, raising one hand in a not-so-regal wave, Alyse started walking towards the cathedral. She heard a few snatched voices amidst the crowd, shouting her name, asking her to turn for a photo. She smiled, leaving the white carpet that had been laid from the palace to the cathedral to shake people’s hands, accept posies of flowers.

She was deviating from the remote, regal script she’d been given, but then she always did. She couldn’t help but respond to people’s warmth and friendliness; all too often it was what strengthened her to maintain this charade that wasn’t a charade at all—for her. For Leo, of course, it was.

But maybe, please God, it won’t always be...

‘Good luck, Alyse,’ one starry-eyed teen gushed, clasping her hands tightly. ‘You look so beautiful—you really are a princess!’

Alyse squeezed the girl’s hands. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘You look beautiful too, you know. You’re glowing more than I am!’

She realised the clock had stopped chiming; she was late. Queen Sophia would be furious, yet it was because of moments like these she was here at all. She didn’t stick to the royal family’s formalised script; she wrote her own lines without even meaning to and the public loved them.

Except she didn’t know what her lines would be once she was married. She had no idea what she would say to Leo when she finally faced him as his wife.

I love you.

Those were words she was afraid he’d never want to hear.

The cathedral doors loomed in front of her, the interior of the building dim and hushed. Alyse turned one last time towards the crowd and another roar went up, echoing through the ancient streets of Averne. She waved and blew them a kiss, and she heard another cheer. Perhaps the kiss was a bit over the top, but she felt in that moment strangely reckless, almost defiant. There was no going back now.

And then she turned back to the cathedral and her waiting groom.

* * *

Leo stood with his back to the doors of the cathedral, but he knew the moment when Alyse had entered. He heard the murmurs fall to an expectant hush, and the roar of approbation that she generated wherever she went had fallen to silence outside. He flexed his shoulders once and remained with his back to the door—and his bride. Maldinian princes did not turn around until the bride had reached the altar and Leo deviated from neither tradition nor duty.

The organ had started playing with sonorous grandeur, some kind of baroque march, and he knew Alyse was walking towards him. He felt a flicker of curiosity; he hadn’t seen her dress, had no idea what she looked like in it. Polished, poised and as perfect as usual, he presumed. The perfect bride. The perfect love story. And of course, the perfect marriage. All of it the perfect pretense.

Nothing more.

Finally he felt the folds of her dress whisper against his legs and he turned to face her. He barely noticed the dress. Her face was pale except for two spots of blusher high on her cheekbones. She looked surprisingly nervous, he thought. For the past six years she’d been handling the intense media scrutiny of their engagement with apparent effortless ease, and her attack of nerves now surprised him. Alarmed him a bit too.

She’d agreed to all of this. It was a little late for cold feet.

Conscious of the stares of the congregation—as well as the cameras televising the ceremony live to millions of people—he smiled and took her hand, which was icy and small in his. He squeezed her fingers, an encouragement if anyone saw, but also a warning. Neither of them could make a mistake now. Too much rode on this marriage, this masquerade. She knew that; so did he. They’d both sold their souls, and willingly.

Now he watched as Alyse lifted her chin, her wide grey eyes flashing with both comprehension and spirit. Her lips curved in a tiny smile and she squeezed his hand back. He felt a flicker of admiration for her courage and poise—as well as one of relief. Crisis averted.

She turned towards the archbishop who was performing the ceremony and he saw the gleam of chestnut hair beneath the lace of her veil, the soft glimmer of a pearl in the shell-like curve of her ear. He turned to face the man as well.

Fifteen minutes later it was done. They’d said their vows and Leo had brushed his lips against Alyse’s. He’d kissed her dozens, perhaps hundreds, of times during their engagement, always in front of a crowd. A camera.

He kissed her now as he always had, a firm press of lips that conveyed enthusiasm and even desire without actually feeling either. He didn’t want to feel either; he wasn’t about to complicate what had been a business arrangement by stirring up a hornet’s nest of emotions—either in her or himself.

Although now that they were married, now that they would actually consummate this marriage, he would certainly allow himself to feel attraction at least, a natural desire. All his life he’d controlled such contrary emotions, refused to let them dictate his behaviour as they had his parents’. Refused to let them ruin his life and wreck the monarchy, as they had with his parents.

No, he had more dignity, more self-control, than that. But he certainly intended to take full advantage of his marriage vows—and his marriage bed. It didn’t mean his emotions would actually be engaged.

Just his libido.

Leo lifted his head and gazed down at her, smiling slightly for the sake of their audience, and saw that Alyse was gazing at him with panic in her eyes. Her nerves clearly had not abated.

Suppressing his own annoyance, he gently wrapped his hands around hers—they were still icy—and pried them from his shoulders. ‘All right?’ he murmured.

She nodded, managed a rather sickly smile and turned towards the congregation for their recession down the aisle.

And now it begins, Leo thought. The rest of his life enacting this endless charade, started by a single moment six years ago.

Who could ever have known how a paparazzi photographer would catch that kiss? And not just his lips on her cheek but her hand clasped against his cheek, her face uplifted, eyes shining like silver stars.

That photo had been on the cover of every major publication in the western world. It had been named the third most influential photograph of the century, a fact which made Leo want to bark in cynical laughter. A single, stupid kiss influential? Important?

But it had become important, because the sight of the happiness shining from Alyse’s eyes had ignited a generation, fired their hearts with faith in love and hope for the future. Some economists credited the photograph with helping to kick-start Europe’s economy, a fact Leo thought entirely absurd.

Yet when the monarchy’s public relations department had realised the power of that photograph, they had harnessed it for themselves. For him, his father King Alessandro and all the future Diomedis that would reign over Maldinia.

Which had led, inevitably, to this engagement and now marriage, he all the while pretending to live up to what that photograph had promised—because for the public to realise it was nothing more than a fake would be a disaster.

Hand in hand with his bride, he walked down the aisle and into a lifetime of pretending.

* * *

She was breaking up, splitting apart, all the fragile, barely held parts of her shattering into pieces. She’d held herself together for so long and now...?

She wasn’t sure she could do it any more. And it was too late not to.

Somehow Alyse made it down the aisle, although everything around her—the people, the colours, the noise and light—was a blur. Everything but the look that had flashed in Leo’s eyes after he’d kissed her, something bordering on impatient annoyance at her obvious unease. Her panic.

She felt Leo’s arm like a band of iron beneath her hand. ‘Smile as we come out of the cathedral,’ he murmured, and then the crowds were upon them, their roar loud in their ears and, still feeling sick inside, she smiled for all she was worth.

The wordless roar turned into a rhythmic chant: bacialo! Bacialo!

The crowd wanted them to kiss. Wordlessly, Alyse turned to Leo, tilted her head up at him as he gazed down at her and stroked her cheek with a single fingertip and then, once again, brushed his lips against her in another emotionless kiss.

Even so that cool kiss touched Alyse’s soul, whispered its impossible hopes into her heart. She kept her lips mostly slack beneath his, knowing after six years of such kisses he didn’t want her to respond, never had. No hot, open-mouthed kisses of passion for them. Just these chaste displays of their mutual love and devotion.

He lifted his head and she smiled and waved to the crowd. It was done.

Still smiling, Leo led her to the waiting carriage, all gilt and scrollwork, like something out of a fairy tale. A Cinderella carriage for a Cinderella bride.

He helped her in and then sat next to her on the narrow leather seat, his thigh pressing against her hip, her dress billowing over his lap. The liveried coachman closed the door and they were off for a celebratory ride through the city, then back to the palace for the reception.

As soon as the door had closed, Leo’s smile, his mask, dropped. There was no need for it now; no one was watching. He turned to her, a frown appearing between his brows.

‘You’re too pale.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I’m tired.’

Leo’s frown deepened, and then it ironed out and he sighed and raked his hands through his hair. ‘It’s no wonder. The last few days have been exhausting. I expect it will be good to get away.’

They were leaving tomorrow for a ten-day honeymoon: first a week on a private Caribbean island and then a whistle-stop tour through London, Paris and Rome.

Alyse’s insides quaked as she thought of that first week. An entire week alone, without cameras or crowds, no one to perform for, no audience to entertain. A week completely by themselves.

She lived in both hope and fear of that week.

‘Yes,’ she said now, and thankfully her voice remained steady, strong. ‘I expect it will.’

Leo turned to the window and waved at the crowds lining the ancient cobbled streets of Averne, and Alyse turned to her own window and waved as well. Each flutter of her fingers drained her, as if she were lifting a huge weight. Her engagement ring, an enormous emerald surrounded by pearls and diamonds, sparkled in the sun.

She didn’t know why everything felt so much harder now. She’d been living this life for six years, after all. She’d come to enjoy her interactions with the public and had learned to live with the media’s attention.

Yet today, on her wedding day, with nearly the last words she’d spoken having been vows before the world, before God...

She felt the falseness of their masquerade more than ever. They’d only been married a few minutes and already she felt how difficult, how draining, this life of play-acting was going to be. She’d been moving towards that realisation for months as the weight had dropped off and her stomach had churned with nerves, as everything had steamrolled ahead with such frightening implacability that she had known she couldn’t call a halt to the proceedings even if she’d wanted to. The pretending.

And the terrible truth was, she still didn’t want to. She’d still rather hope.

‘Alyse?’

She turned from the window where she’d been blindly staring at the crowds, her hand rising and falling in a fluttering wave without even realising she was doing so. ‘Yes?’

‘You don’t look well,’ Leo said and he sounded concerned. ‘Do you need a few moments to rest before we go into the reception?’

Alyse knew what the reception would entail: hours of chatting, laughing and pretending to be in love. Of kissing Leo, squeezing his hand and laying her head on his shoulder. She’d done it all before, of course, but now it hurt more. It felt, absurdly perhaps, more fake.

‘I’m fine.’ She smiled and turned back to the window so he wouldn’t see how her smile trembled and almost slid right off her face. ‘I’m fine,’ she said again, this time for herself, because she needed to believe it. She was stronger than this. She had to be stronger, because she’d chosen this life, knowing how hard it would be.

At times it might have felt as if she had no choice, with the pressure of both the media and the monarchy urging her to agree, but if she’d really wanted to break off the engagement she surely could have. She would have found the strength to.

No, she’d chosen this life, and chosen Leo; she’d believed in the duty she was performing and she’d held out for love.

She still did. Today was a beginning, she reminded herself. Today was the start of her and Leo’s life together, days and nights spent with each other in a way neither of them had ever experienced before. Maybe, finally, Leo would fall in love with her.

* * *

Leo just wanted this day to be over. Although of course with its end would come a whole new, and rather interesting, complication: the night. Their wedding night.

He glanced again at Alyse; her face was turned away from him but he could still see how pale and wan she looked. And thin. The dress clung to her figure, which had already been slender but now looked rather waif-like. Clearly the strain of the heightened media attention had got to her over these last few months.

Just as it had got to him. He’d lived his life in the spotlight and he certainly should be used to it now. As a child, the play-acting for the media had confused him, but as he’d grown older he’d accepted it as the price he had to pay for the sake of his duty to the crown. At least this time, with Alyse, he’d chosen it. He’d entered this loveless marriage willingly, even happily.

Because wasn’t it better to know love was a sham from the beginning, than to live in desperate yearning for it—just as he had done for the whole of his confused and unhappy childhood?

At least he and Alyse agreed on that. She’d always known he didn’t love her, and he knew she didn’t love him. Really, it was the perfect foundation for a marriage: agreed and emotionless expectations.

Yet he’d found the last few months of intense media speculation and interest wearying. The charade of acting as if they were in love had started to wear thin. And he’d wondered, not for the first time, just why Alyse had agreed to this marriage.

He’d never asked her, had never wanted to know. It was enough that she’d agreed, and she’d gone along with it ever since. Just as he had.

Only, unlike him, she had no incentive to please the press, no duty to repair a badly damaged monarchy and increase the tourist revenue for a small and struggling country. No need to pretend to be wildly in love. So why had she agreed all those years ago? Why had she continued to agree?

He had to assume it was because, like him, she wanted this kind of marriage. Or maybe she just wanted this kind of life—the life of a princess and one day a queen. He didn’t fault her for it. She wouldn’t be the first person to have her head turned by wealth and fame. In any case, she’d approached their union with a practical acceptance he admired, and she’d embraced the public as much as they’d embraced her.

Really, she was perfect. So why did he wonder? Why did he now feel a new, creeping uncertainty? The questions—and the lack of answers—annoyed him. He liked certainty and precision; he prided himself on both.

He didn’t want to wonder about his bride on his wedding day. Didn’t want to worry about why she looked so pale and shaky, or why her smile seemed less assured. He wanted things to be simple, straightforward, as they had been for the last six years.

There was no reason for marriage to complicate matters, he told himself.

The carriage came to a stop in front of the palace and he turned to her with a faint smile, determined to banish his brooding thoughts and keep their relationship on the courteous yet impersonal footing they’d maintained for their entire engagement.

‘Shall we?’ he said, one eyebrow lifted, and Alyse managed just as faint a smile back as she took his hand and allowed him to help her out of the carriage.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY WERE ALONE. Every muscle in Alyse’s body ached with exhaustion, yet even so she could not keep a heart-stopping awareness of Leo from streaking through her as he closed the door behind them.

They’d retired to the tower suite, a sumptuous bedroom, bathroom and dressing-room all housed in one of the stone turrets of the ancient royal palace. A fire blazed in the hearth and a huge four-poster bed with silk coverings and sheets took up the main part of the room. Alyse stared at the white silk and lace negligee laid out on the bed and swallowed hard.

She and Leo had never talked about this.

They should have, she supposed, but then they had never really talked about anything. Their relationship—and she could only use that word loosely—had been little more than a long-term publicity stunt. Conversation had been limited to managing their appearances together.

And now they were married. It felt, at least to her, like a complete game-changer. Until now they’d only experienced manufactured moments lived in the public eye; but here, for the first time, they were alone with no need for pretence.

Would this moment be real?

‘Relax,’ Leo said, coming up behind her. Alyse felt his breath on the back of her neck and she suppressed a shiver of both anticipation and nervousness. ‘We’ve been waiting for six years; we don’t need to rush things.’

‘Right,’ she murmured, and then he moved past her to the window. The latticed shutters were thrown open to a starlit sky. Earlier in the evening there had been fireworks all over the city; the celebrations of their marriage had gone on all day.

It was only now that the city’s joy was finally subsiding, everyone heading back to his or her home—and Alyse and Leo to this honeymoon suite.

She watched as Leo loosened his black tie. He’d changed into a tuxedo for the evening party, and she into a designer gown chosen by the team of stylists hired to work on her. It was pale pink, strapless, with a frothy skirt. A Cinderella dress.

‘Do you want to change?’ Leo asked as he undid the top few studs of his shirt. Standing there, framed by the window, the ends of his bow-tie dangling against the crisp whiteness of his shirt, he looked unbearably handsome. His hair was a glossy midnight-black, and rumpled from where he’d carelessly driven his fingers through it.

His eyes were dark too—once Alyse had thought they were black but she’d learned long ago from having had to gaze adoringly up into them so many times they were actually a very dark blue.

And his body... She might not have seen it in all of its bare glory, but he certainly wore a suit well. Broad shoulders, trim hips, long and powerful legs, every part of him declared he was wonderfully, potently male.

Would she see that body tonight? Would she caress and kiss it, give in to the passion she knew she could feel for him if he let her?

And what about him? Would he feel it?

In the course of six years, he’d always been solicitous, considerate, unfailingly polite. She couldn’t fault him, and yet she’d yearned for more. For emotion, passion and, yes, always love. She’d always been drawn to the intensity she felt pulsing latent beneath his coolness, the passion she wanted to believe could be unleashed if he ever freed himself from the bonds of duty and decorum. If he ever revealed himself to her.

Would he tonight, if just a little? Or would this part of their marriage be a masquerade as well?

‘I suppose I’ll change,’ she said, her gaze sliding inexorably to the negligee laid out for both their perusals.

‘You don’t need to wear that,’ Leo said, and he let out an abrupt laugh, the sound without humour. ‘There’s no point, really, is there?’

Wasn’t there? Alyse felt a needle of hurt burrow under her skin, into her soul. What did he want her to wear, if not that?

‘Why don’t you take a bath?’ he suggested. ‘Relax. It’s been a very long day.’ He turned away from her, yanking off his tie, and after a moment Alyse headed to the bathroom, telling herself she was grateful for the temporary reprieve. They could both, perhaps, use a little time apart.

We’ve basically had six years apart.

Swallowing hard, she turned on the taps.

There were no clothes in the bathroom, something she should have realised before she got in the tub. Two sumptuous terry-cloth robes hung on the door, and after soaking in the bath for a good half-hour Alyse slipped one on, the sleeves coming past her hands and the hem nearly skimming her ankles. She tied it securely, wondering what on earth would happen now. What she wanted to happen.

For Leo to gasp at the sight of me and sweep me into his arms, admit the feelings he’s been hiding all along...

Fantasies, pathetic fantasies, and she knew that. She wasn’t expecting a lightning bolt of love to strike Leo; she just wanted to start building something, something real. And that took time.

Tonight was a beginning.

Taking a deep breath, stealing herself for whatever lay ahead, she opened the door.

Leo had changed out of his tuxedo and now wore a pair of navy-blue silk draw-string pyjama bottoms and nothing else. He sat sprawled in a chair by the fire, a tumbler of whisky cradled in his hands, the amber liquid glinting in the firelight.

Alyse barely noticed any of that; her gaze was ensnared by the sight of his bare chest. She’d never seen it before, not in the flesh, although there had been several paparazzi photographs of him in swimming trunks while on holiday—though not with her. They’d never actually had a holiday together in six years’ engagement.

Seeing his chest now, up close and in the glorious flesh, was another thing entirely. His skin was bronzed, the fire casting long shadows on the taut flesh and sculpted muscle. She could see dark whorls of hair on his chest, veeing down to the loose waistband of his trousers slung low on his lean hips, and her heart felt as if it had flipped right over in her chest. He was just so beautiful.

He glanced up as she approached, and his lips twitched in sardonic amusement as he took in her huge robe. ‘I think that one’s mine.’

‘Oh.’ She blushed, and then as she imagined Leo attempting to wear the smaller, woman’s-sized robe, a sudden bubble of nervous laughter escaped her. He arched an eyebrow and she came forward to explain. ‘I was picturing you in the other robe. Mine, apparently.’

‘An interesting image.’ His lips twitched again in a tiny smile and her heart lightened ridiculously. All she needed was a smile. A single smile on which to build a world of dreams.

She sat in the chair opposite his and stretched her bare feet towards the fire. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, the only sound the comforting crackle and spit of the flames.

‘This is strange,’ Alyse finally said softly, her gaze still on the fire. She heard Leo shift in his seat.

‘It’s bound to be, I suppose.’

She glanced upwards and saw his face was half in darkness, the firelight casting flickering shadows over the other half. She could see the hard plane of one cheek, the dark glint of stubble on his jaw, the pouty fullness of his sculpted lips. He had the lips of a screen siren, yet he was unabashedly, arrogantly male.

She’d felt those lips on her own so many times, cool brushes of mouths when what she wanted, what she craved, was hot, mindless passion—tongues tangling, plunging, hands moving and groping...

She forced the images, and the resulting heat, away from her mind and body.

‘Do you realise,’ she said, trying to keep her tone light, and even teasing, although they’d never actually teased each other, ‘we haven’t actually been alone together in about a year?’

He shrugged one bare, powerful shoulder. ‘That’s not all that surprising, considering.’

She glanced back at the fire, tucking her now-warmed feet underneath the hem of her robe. ‘Considering what?’

‘Considering we’ve been living separate lives ever since we announced this sham of an engagement.’

Alyse swallowed. ‘I know that.’ Neither of them had been in a rush to get married. Leo certainly hadn’t, and Alyse had already accepted a place at Durham University. Her parents hadn’t wanted her to give it up for marriage at eighteen, and neither had she, although she suspected Queen Sophia could have bullied her into it.

She’d been so young then, so naïve and overwhelmed. She liked to think she’d changed, that she’d grown up, at least a bit. She hoped she had, but right now she felt as gauche as ever.

At any rate, a long engagement had fed the media frenzy, accomplishing the monarchy’s purposes of keeping them in positive press for over half a decade. For the last six years she’d been living in England, completing her BA and then her MA in European history—a subject the monarchy had considered acceptable for its future queen, since it could be relevant to her rule. Alyse just loved history.

She’d wanted to have some kind of normalcy in her life, some kind of separation from Leo and the feelings he stirred up in her; from the bizarre intensity of life in the media spotlight and under the monarchy’s critical eye.

University had thankfully given her a degree of that normalcy she’d craved. Out of respect, and perhaps even love for her, the paparazzi hadn’t followed her too closely.

She’d had a somewhat usual university experience—or as usual as it could be, considering the jaunts to royal functions every few weeks, her carefully choreographed appearances with Leo and the constant curiosity and speculation of the other students and even some of the tutors and lecturers.

Remembering it all now brought a sudden lump to her throat. No matter how normal her life had seemed on the surface, she’d still felt the loneliness of being different from the other students. Of knowing the paltry truth of her relationship with Leo.

It was a knowledge that had sometimes led to despair, and that had once led to a foolish choice and a heartache and shame that even now could bring her to a cringing blush.

She pushed the memory away. It had no place here and now, on her wedding night.

‘But we’re not going to live separate lives now,’ she said and Leo inclined his head in brief acknowledgement.

‘I suppose we need to decide how we want to conduct our marriage, now that we’ll be under the same roof.’ He paused to take a long swallow of whisky, and Alyse watched the movement of the corded muscles of his throat, felt a spasm of helpless longing. ‘I don’t see any real reason to change things too much,’ he continued. Her longing left her in a rush.

She felt the way you did when you thought there was one more step in a staircase, the jolt going right through her bones to her soul. Had she actually thought things would change that much now they were married? That Leo would? It would mean more pretending, not less. Yet how could they pretend that much?

‘Things will have to change a bit, I imagine,’ she said, trying to speak lightly. ‘I mean...we’re married. It’s different.’

‘Assuredly, but it doesn’t mean we have to be different, does it?’ He glanced at her, eyebrows raised, cool smile in place. ‘The last six years have worked out quite well, don’t you think?’

No. No, no, no. Yet how could she disagree with him when she’d been acting like she’d agreed with him all along? Alyse swallowed. ‘I suppose, but now we have a chance to actually get to know each other...’ She trailed off uncertainly, wanting him to leap in and agree. When would she learn? He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t that kind of man.

Leo frowned, then turned back to the fire. ‘We’ve always had that chance,’ he answered after a moment. ‘We just chose not to take it.’

‘I suppose,’ Alyse managed. She tried not to let his words hurt her; he didn’t mean to be cruel; he simply had no idea of how she felt, never had. This wasn’t his fault, it was hers, for agreeing to pretend for so long. For never having been honest with him about how she really felt.

‘It might get a bit tedious,’ she ventured. ‘Pretending for so long. We’ll have to appear together more often, I mean.’

‘Oh, the media will get tired of us eventually,’ Leo said dismissively. He gave her a quick, cool smile, his eyes hard and glinting. ‘Especially once the next generation comes along.’

The next generation. Their children. Alyse felt her heart start to thud.

He put his glass down, raking both hands through his hair so Alyse’s gaze was drawn to the ripple of muscles in his arms and chest, the sculpted beauty of his body. Desire twisted and writhed inside her like some desperate, untamed creature seeking its freedom.

Leo dropped his hands and gave her a measured look. ‘I know tonight is bound to be awkward, at least at first.’ He nodded towards the huge bed looming behind them. ‘I think if we acknowledge that up front, it might be easier.’

Alyse’s mouth felt like sandpaper as she stared at him. ‘Yes, probably it will be.’ She tried for a light tone, or at least as matter-of-fact as his. She wasn’t sure she managed either. ‘Much better to be upfront and honest with each other from the start.’ She forced a smile, knowing her words for lies. ‘We pretend enough as it is.’

‘Exactly.’ Leo nodded in approval. ‘It’s one thing to pretend to the press, but I hope we can always be honest with each other.’

She nodded back mechanically. ‘That...would be good.’

‘Don’t look so terrified,’ Leo said dryly. He nodded once more towards the bed. ‘I hope we can find a little pleasure there at least.’

A little pleasure? His words stung. ‘I’m not terrified,’ she told him crisply. ‘It’s just— It’s a bit awkward, like you said; that’s all.’

‘Naturally. I’ll do my best to alleviate that awkwardness, of course.’

She heard a thread of amusement in his voice, saw it in his cool smile, and knew that being made love to by Leo wouldn’t be awkward at all. It would be wonderful.

Except it wouldn’t be making love. It would be cold, emotionless sex. A physical act, a soulless transaction. ‘A little pleasure’, indeed. She closed her eyes, hating the thought. Hating the fact that she had to pretend, would always have to pretend, not just with the press but with him. It would be so, so much harder now. Why hadn’t she realised that?

‘Alyse,’ Leo said, and she opened her eyes. He was leaning forward, his eyes narrowed in concern. ‘If you’d rather, we can wait. We don’t have to consummate our marriage tonight.’

‘A reprieve?’ she said, her voice sounding cynical even to her own ears.

‘It might be more pleasant when we’re not so tired and there are fewer expectations on us,’ Leo answered with a shrug. ‘And frankly, no matter what you’ve said, you do look terrified.’

Yes, she was, but not in the way he thought. She wasn’t afraid of sex. She was afraid of it being meaningless for Leo. Did he want her at all? Was this a bore for him, a chore?

‘I promise you, I’m not afraid,’ she said when she trusted herself to speak as neutrally as he had. ‘But I am tired, so perhaps this...aspect of our marriage can wait a little while.’

Leo shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way, and that hurt too. ‘Of course. But we should both sleep in the bed. Staff see everything, and even palace employees have been known to gossip.’

She nodded, trying not to imagine lying next to Leo, his nearly bare body so close to hers. It was a big bed, after all. And she needed to learn how to manage this kind of situation. They would, after all, be sleeping in the same bed for the next...

Except, no; perhaps they wouldn’t. Perhaps they would have separate bedrooms along with separate lives, coming together only for the cameras or to create an heir.

‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll just put some...’ She trailed off, because the only clothes in the room were her ballgown and the negligee. She didn’t like either option.

Leo glanced at the lace confection spread out on the bed. ‘It’s a big bed,’ he said dryly. ‘And I think I can control myself, even if you wear that bit of nonsense.’

Alyse swallowed, nodded. Even tried to smile, though every careless word he spoke felt like a dagger thrust to her heart. She didn’t want him to be able to control himself. She’d always known him to be cool, pragmatic, even ruthless. Yet she wanted him to be different with her, and she was honest enough to recognise that some stupid, schoolgirl part of her had secretly hoped things might change when they were finally alone.

‘Fine,’ she said and, rising from the chair, she went to the bed and swept the negligee from it before disappearing into the bathroom once more.

Leo stretched out on one side of the bed and waited for Alyse to emerge from the bathroom. He felt the conversation hadn’t gone as well as he would have liked. Alyse had seemed brittle, almost as if he’d hurt her feelings, a possibility which exasperated him. He’d thought she was as pragmatic as he was about their union, yet this new, unexpected awkwardness clearly unnerved her—as well as him.

When had he started caring about her feelings, whether she felt nervous, awkward or afraid? The whole point of this marriage, this pretence, was that he didn’t have to care. He didn’t have to engage emotions he’d purposely kept dormant for so long.

And while he might be weary of pretending—he’d done enough of it in his life, God only knew—at least this marriage, this pretence, had been his choice. His decision.

He still remembered the negotiation they’d gone through after that wretched photograph had gone viral. His father had asked to see them privately.

Alyse had flown to Maldinia a few weeks after her birthday party; her mother had accompanied her. And, when she’d walked into his father’s private study alone, Leo had been jolted by how young and vulnerable she looked, dressed simply in a plain skirt and schoolgirl’s blouse, her dark hair held back in a ponytail.

His father hadn’t minced words; he never did. Queen Sophia and her mother were friends, he told Alyse, and they’d considered a match between her and Leo. Leo knew that hadn’t exactly been true; his mother had wanted someone with slightly bluer blood than Alyse’s to marry her son. Leo had gone to that birthday party with only a vague and passing knowledge of Alyse’s existence and it was the media hype that had turned it into something else entirely.

‘In an ideal world,’ King Alessandro had said with a geniality Leo knew his father did not remotely possess, ‘you would have got to know each other, courted. Seen if you suited. But it’s not an ideal world.’

Alyse had simply stared.

Leo, of course, had known where this was going all along. He’d talked to his parents already, had received the assignment from on high. You must marry her, Leo. The public adores her. Think of what it will do for your country, your kingship.

He’d known what they really meant: what it would do for them. They’d done enough damage to Maldinia’s monarchy with their lies, affairs and careless spending. He was the only one left to clean up the mess.

He’d understood all that, but Alyse hadn’t. She’d just looked thunderstruck. She’d barely spoken for that whole meeting, just listened as the King went on about the benefits of a ‘decided’ marriage—a much more innocuous term than arranged, Leo had thought cynically. Or commanded.

She’d only spoken when she’d begun to perceive, dimly, just what kind of charade they would be perpetuating and for how long. ‘You mean,’ she’d said in a voice only a little above a whisper, ‘we have to...to pretend we’re in love?’

‘Feelings come in time, don’t they?’ Alessandro had answered with that same false joviality, and Leo had looked away. No, they didn’t. If Alessandro held up his own marriage, his own family, as an example, it showed they never came. And you couldn’t trust them anyway.

But Alyse had nodded slowly, accepting, and their engagement had been announced the next day along with them posing for requisite photos.

And the rest, Leo thought now, lacing his arms above his head, was history. Repeating itself over and over again.

The door to the bathroom opened and Alyse emerged, wearing the woman’s robe. Leo wondered if she’d try to sleep in that bulky thing. He supposed a little virginal shyness was natural.

He watched as she skirted the bed and then hesitated on the far side, her fingers playing with the sash of her robe. Leo reached for his bedside lamp.

‘Shall I turn out the light?’

‘If you like.’

Actually, he didn’t like. He was suddenly rather curious as to what Alyse looked like in the skimpy negligee. He’d seen her in plenty of designer dresses and well-coordinated outfits, hair and make-up immaculately styled, always primped to perfection.

But he’d never seen her like this—wearing a bridal nightgown, her chestnut hair loose about her shoulders, grey eyes wide, about to climb into his bed. He felt an insistent stirring of arousal; it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. A very long time.

He switched the light off, but the moon spilling through the open windows was enough to see by anyway, and as he lay back against the pillows he saw her slip the bulky robe from her body. Dressed as she was in only the slinky negligee, the moon gilded her slender curves in silver.

He could see the shadowy vee between her breasts, the dip of her waist, the hidden juncture of her thighs. Then she slid hurriedly under the covers and lay there, rigid and unmoving.

Leo had never felt so far from sleep and, judging by how she lay there like a board, he suspected Alyse was the same. Perhaps they should have agreed to consummate their marriage tonight. At least it would have given them something to do.

He considered talking to her, but after six years of enacting this parody of love he had nothing of consequence to say, and he didn’t think she had either. Which was how he’d wanted it.

Yet in the darkness and silence of that moment he felt a sudden, surprising need for conversation, even connection. Something he’d taught himself never to crave.

And he had no idea how to go about creating it now.

‘Goodnight,’ he finally said, his voice coming out gruffer than he’d meant it to, and he felt Alyse tense even more next to him.

‘Goodnight,’ she answered back, her voice so soft and sad that Leo felt caught between remorse and exasperation at her obvious emotion—and his.

With a barely suppressed sigh, he rolled onto his side, his back to Alyse, and willed himself to sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

ALYSE AWOKE GRITTY-EYED and still feeling exhausted. Lying next to Leo, she hadn’t slept well, conscious of his hard, powerful form just inches away from her even when she’d been falling into a restless doze.

Now as sunlight streamed through the windows she wondered what the day would bring. They were meant to fly to St Cristos, a private island in the Caribbean, that morning to begin their honeymoon. A week completely alone, without the distractions of television, telephones, computers or any other people at all. A week, she still hoped, when they could get to know one another properly, or even at all.

A knock sounded at the door and before Alyse could say or even think anything Leo was snaking his arm around her waist, drawing her close against the seductive heat of his body. Shock turned her rigid as she felt the hard contours of his chest and thigh against her backside—and then the unmistakable press of his erection against her bottom.

‘Vieni,’ he called and then murmured against her hair, ‘Sorry, but the staff will gossip.’

Alyse barely took in his words. She’d never been so close to him, every part of her body in exquisite contact with his. The crisp hair on his chest tickled her bare shoulders, and the feel of his arousal pressing insistently against her bottom sent sizzling darts of sensation shooting through her.

She shifted instinctively, although whether she was drawing away or closer to him she didn’t even know. She felt a new, dizzying need spiral up inside her as his own hips flexed instinctively back. Leo groaned under his breath and his arm came even more firmly around her. ‘Stop wriggling,’ he whispered, ‘Or I might embarrass myself. I’m only human, you know.’

It took a few seconds for his meaning to penetrate the fog of her dazed mind, and by that time two young serving women were wheeling in a breakfast tray, the smell of fresh coffee and breakfast rolls on the air.

Embarrass himself? Was he actually implying that he wanted her that much? That a mere wriggle of hips could send him over the edge?

Leo let go of her, straightening in bed as he adjusted the duvet over himself. ‘Grazie,’ he said and the two women giggled and blushed as they left the room, casting covert looks at the two of them in bed. Alyse realised the strap of her negligee had fallen off one shoulder, and her hair was a tangled mass about her face. Did she look like a woman who had been pleasured and loved? She felt like a mess.

She tucked her tangled hair behind her ears and willed her heart rate to slow. Despite the obvious evidence of his arousal, Leo now looked completely unfazed and indifferent as he slid out of bed and went to the breakfast tray to pour them both coffee.

‘Sorry about that. Basic bodily function, at least for a man in the morning. I think we convinced the staff, at any rate.’

Disappointment crashed through her. Basic bodily function. So, no, it had had nothing to do with her in particular. Of course it didn’t. ‘It’s fine,’ Alyse murmured. She took a steadying breath and forced herself to meet his wry gaze. ‘We’re married, after all.’

‘So we are.’ He handed her a cup of coffee and sipped his own, his expression turning preoccupied over the rim of the porcelain cup. ‘But I imagine all this pretending will get tiresome for both of us after a while.’

Alyse stared into the fragrant depths of her coffee. ‘Like you said, the press will get bored of us now that we’re married. As long as we seem happy in public, they won’t really care.’ It hurt to say it, to imply that that was what she wanted.

‘Perhaps.’ Leo nodded slowly, and Alyse imagined he was wondering just how soon he could return to his simple, solitary life.

And when he did what would she do? Over the last few months she’d bolstered her flagging spirits by reminding herself that, just like Leo, she had a duty. A role. As princess and later Queen of Maldinia she would encourage and love her people. She would involve herself in her country, its charities and industry, and in doing so bring hope to a nation.

She tried to hold onto that idea now, but it seemed like so much airy, arrogant nonsense when she considered how the majority of her days were likely to be spent: in loneliness and isolation, separated from a husband who was perfectly happy with their business arrangement.

‘When do we leave for St Cristos?’ she asked, not wanting either of them to dwell on the bleak future they both clearly envisioned.

‘We leave the palace at eleven o’clock for a public appearance in the front courtyard. Photo opportunity and all that.’ He smiled and Alyse saw the cynicism in the twist of his lips, the flatness in his navy eyes. He never used to be so cynical, she thought. Pragmatic, yes, and even cold, but he’d approached their engagement with a brisk and accepting efficiency she’d tried to match, rather than this jaded resentment.

Was he feeling as she did, that marriage had changed something between them, made it worse? Pretending after the vows had been said seemed a greater travesty than before, something she’d never considered as Leo’s fiancée. She didn’t think Leo had considered it either.

‘I’ll leave you to get dressed,’ he said, putting down his coffee cup. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer a few minutes before eleven.’

Wordlessly Alyse nodded, seeing the practicality of it yet feeling a needling disappointment anyway. Was every interaction going to involve a way to avoid each other? Would her life consist of endless awkward exchanges without any real intimacy or emotion, ever? Something would have to change. She couldn’t live like this; she wouldn’t.

Maybe, she thought with no more than a flicker of weary hope, it would change on St Cristos.

Several hours later they boarded the royal jet and Leo disappeared into a study in the rear of the plane. Alyse had been on the jet before when she’d flown between England and Maldinia, yet the opulent luxury always amazed her. Her own family was wealthy and privileged—her father had built a financial empire and her mother had been an heiress—but they weren’t this kind of rich. They weren’t royal.

You are now.

It still felt unreal. If she didn’t actually feel like Leo’s wife, how would she ever feel like a princess? Like a queen?

Pushing the thought aside, she made herself comfortable on one of the leather sofas in the main cabin of the plane. Just as planned, she and Leo had made their appearance outside the palace doors. A crowd had surrounded the palace; posies and bouquets of flowers had been piled up by the gates. Alyse had spent a few minutes chatting, smiling and laughing, while Leo had looked on, his smile faint and a little bit wooden. While the people loved the handsome, enigmatic prince, he didn’t engage the crowds the way she did, and never had. This, she knew, was why Maldinia’s monarchy needed her. Why Leo needed her.

Nothing else.

Now, with the crowds and reporters gone, she wondered just how she and Leo would spend their time alone. Judging by the way he’d disappeared into the jet’s study, alone was the operative word.

She felt a sudden stab of annoyance, which at least felt stronger than the misery that had been swamping her since their marriage. No matter how fake their relationship was, Leo’s determined ignoring of her was just plain rude.

Fuelled by her outrage, Alyse rose from the sofa and went to find Leo in the study. He sat at a desk, his dark head bent over a sheaf of papers. He was dressed for travel in a crisp blue button-down shirt and dark trousers, but he still looked magnificent, his muscles taut and powerful underneath the starched cotton of his shirt. He glanced up as she approached, his dark brows snapping together.

‘What is it?’

‘I just wondered if you intended to spend the entire time in your study,’ she said, her voice coming out close to a snap, and Leo looked at her in something close to bewilderment.

‘Does it matter?’

Impatience warred with hurt. ‘A bit, Leo. I understand you don’t want things to change between us, but a little conversation could be nice. Or are we going to spend the next week trying to avoid each other?’

He still looked flummoxed, and now also a bit annoyed. ‘I’m not trying to avoid you.’

‘It just comes naturally, then?’

‘We’ve been on this plane for ten minutes,’ he replied, his voice becoming so very even. ‘Don’t you think you can entertain yourself for a little while longer?’

Alyse shook her head impatiently. She could see how Leo might think she was being unreasonable, but it was so much more than this one journey. ‘I can entertain myself just fine,’ she said. ‘But I don’t particularly enjoy living in isolation.’

Leo’s mouth thinned into a hard line. ‘The plane will take off in a few minutes. I’ll join you in the cabin before it does.’

His words seemed so grudgingly given, yet Alyse knew at this point it was better simply to accept them at face value. Now was not the time to force a confrontation, to confess that she didn’t think she could live like this for so much as a morning, much less a lifetime. This was, after all, what she’d agreed to all those years ago when King Alessandro had spelled it out so plainly.

Feelings come in time, don’t they? She’d built her hopes on that one throwaway remark, clearly meant only to appease her. She’d lived for six years believing it could be true. She might as well have built castles in the air.

Leo had already turned back to his papers, so after a second’s uneasy pause Alyse turned around and went to the cabin.

He didn’t come out for take-off. Her annoyance turned to a simmering anger as the staff served her sparkling water instead of the champagne left chilling in a bucket, clearly meant for the two of them to toast their marriage.

She avoided their eyes and reached for her e-reader, bitterly glad she’d filled it with newly purchased books before she’d left. Clearly she’d be getting a lot of reading done on her honeymoon.

A few hours into the flight Leo finally made an appearance. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, sitting across from her. ‘I had a bit of work to catch up on before we go off the grid.’

Despite his casually made apology, Alyse couldn’t let go of her anger. ‘If you don’t want your staff to gossip, perhaps you should be a bit more attentive to your bride,’ she answered tartly. ‘We’ve only been married for one day, you know.’

Leo stared at her, nonplussed. ‘Even couples wildly in love have work to do.’

‘Even on their honeymoon?’

He narrowed his gaze. ‘I have a duty to my country—’

‘This whole marriage is about duty.’ She cut him off and realised too late how shrewish and hurt she sounded. How ridiculous, considering the nature of their relationship.

‘Careful,’ he said softly, glancing at the closed cabin doors.

‘Our whole life is going to be about being careful,’ she retorted before she could stop herself. She hated how her hurt was spilling out of her. She’d kept it hidden for so long, why was she weakening now?

‘And you always knew that.’ The glance he gave her was repressive. ‘I think we should save this conversation for another, more private time.’

‘At least I have a conversation to look forward to, then.’ Leo just stared at her, and Alyse looked away, trying to reclaim some of the cool composure she’d cloaked herself with during the last few years. She’d never lit into him like this, never showed him how much his indifference hurt her or how much more she wanted from him.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked after a moment and he sounded both curious and exasperated. ‘You’ve never acted like this before.’

‘We’ve never been alone like this before,’ she answered, her face still averted. ‘I just don’t want you to ignore or avoid me for the entire week. I’ll go crazy.’

Leo was silent for a long moment. ‘I don’t mean to ignore or avoid you,’ he said finally. ‘I’m just acting as we always have. I thought you accepted the nature of our relationship—preferred it, as I do.’

Alyse struggled to keep her face composed, her voice even, but his words hurt so much. Too much. ‘I’ve accepted it,’ she said carefully. ‘But it feels different now. We’re married, after all, and we’re going to spend more time together. Time alone. It would be nice if we could enjoy it, at least.’

That was so much less than she wanted, but at least it was a start—if Leo agreed.

He didn’t answer, just reached for the champagne and poured two flutes, the bubbles fizzing and bursting against the crystal sides. ‘I suppose that’s not an unreasonable request,’ he said eventually, and Alyse didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his grudging tone.

‘I’m glad you think so,’ she answered, and accepted a glass of champagne.

He eyed her evenly. ‘I suppose we should have discussed our expectations of what our married life would look like beforehand.’

‘Would it have made any difference?’

‘Not to me, perhaps.’ He raised his glass. ‘To what shall we toast?’

Alyse couldn’t think of a single thing. ‘To the future,’ she finally said, and heard the bleakness in her voice. ‘Whatever it may hold.’

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