Royal Holiday Bride

“Are you all right, Your Highness?”

“Actually, I’m famished,” she responded to the butler’s question.

He smiled. “Cook has kept your plate warm. I’ll make sure it’s brought in right away.”

“Thank you, Edmond.” Marissa smiled back, then hurried to the dining room, now twelve minutes late.

Dante recognized her the moment she walked through the door.

Although they’d never met, she looked just like she did in the photos he’d uncovered—and very much a princess.

She wasn’t the type of woman who would ordinarily attract his attention, even in a crowd of one, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t just looking for a wife for himself but a queen for his country. And there was no doubt that Princess Marissa had all the grace and poise required of a woman in that position. She also had excellent bone structure, flawless skin and long, dark hair that he thought might be more flattering if it was left loose to frame her face rather than scraped back into a tight knot at the base of her neck.

And though he would never claim to be an expert on fashion, he felt her wardrobe could use some work, too. In every picture he’d seen of her, she was wearing some shade of beige. The dress she was wearing today was no different. It was stylish enough, he imagined, but the boxy cut gave no hint of any feminine curves and the beige-and-white combination was beyond bland, making him wonder if she had some kind of moral objection to color.

He tucked away the thought and pushed back his chair when she stepped into the room. The movement caught her attention, and her gaze shifted in his direction.

Their eyes locked, and Dante was surprised to realize that her eyes weren’t brown, as he’d believed, but the color of amber, fringed by long, dark lashes.

The second surprise was the tightening in his gut, raw and purely sexual, and an inexplicable sense of recognition.

“Your Majesty,” she said, dipping into an elegant curtsy. “I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting.”

He bowed. “No apology is necessary,” he assured her, though the disapproval in Elena’s gaze warned that she did not agree. “I’m just pleased that you are able to join us.”

The princess lowered herself into the chair that the butler held for her. As soon as she was seated, a server appeared with her plate.

“The king was telling me about the sights he’d like to see while he’s in Tesoro del Mar,” Elena said to her daughter.

Her intention might have been to simply make the princess aware of the topic of conversation, but the subtle edge in her voice gave Dante the impression that Elena was making a point about her daughter’s tardiness rather than the current discussion.

Marissa’s only response was to ask him, “Are you here on vacation, Your Majesty?”

“This trip is a combination of business and pleasure,” he told her. “Although I’m hoping it will be less of the former and more of the latter.”

“And are you enjoying yourself so far?” She picked up her knife and fork and sliced off the end of a crepe.

“Always,” he assured her. “It is a beautiful country—in many ways so much like my own, and in many ways different.”

“I’ve never been to Ardena,” the princess admitted.

“Then you should definitely visit,” he said. “And when you do, I’d be honored to have you stay at the palace as my guest.”

“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” the Princess Royal declared.

Marissa’s smile was much more tentative than her mother’s response.

“In the meantime,” Dante continued, “I was hoping you might have some time tomorrow afternoon to attend the hot-air-balloon festival at Falcon Ridge with me.”

“I appreciate the invitation,” the princess said graciously, “but I have plans with my niece tomorrow.”

Elena’s eyes were frigid when she looked across the table at her daughter. “King Dante has invited you to spend the day with him,” she admonished.

Marissa met her mother’s gaze evenly, suggesting to Dante that she might not be as docile and dutiful as the Princess Royal had implied—a possibility that intrigued him.

He’d never felt the need to surround himself with people who would agree with his every word and deed, and he’d never enjoyed being with a woman who couldn’t express her own thoughts and feelings. He was pleased by this evidence that the Princess Royal’s daughter would not be one of them.

“And I have a previous commitment,” Marissa pointed out to her mother.

“Which I wouldn’t expect you to break,” he assured her. “But maybe your niece would enjoy attending the festival with us.”

Marissa’s attention shifted back to him, revealing both surprise and suspicion. But when she spoke, her voice was carefully neutral. “That sounds like fun—if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind spending the afternoon with a five-year-old.”

“I’m sure it will be my pleasure,” he countered.

Apparently satisfied with the progress that had been made, the Princess Royal monopolized the rest of the conversation as they finished brunch. Marissa managed to eat a few bites of crepe and a couple of pieces of fruit, but her stomach was too tied up in knots to attempt any more than that. She didn’t doubt for a minute that her mother had been the one to set up this meeting with the sole purpose of putting Marissa on display in front of the king, but the fact that he was here, having brunch in Elena’s dining room, proved that he was at least considering the potential benefits of a union between their families.