The Prince's Fake Fiancée

She sent him a tight smile, assuming he’d leave in a moment, and busied herself with locating Felicity’s suitcase.

She jumped when he spoke just as she opened one of the built-in cupboards. It seemed he hadn’t, in fact, gone anywhere.

‘This is not ideal.’

Jas couldn’t help but grin at that understatement. She knew exactly how much planning had gone into tonight.

‘I assumed you would just announce that your fiancée had a family emergency,’ Jas said. It was, after all, the only option he had.

Suitcase found, Jas grabbed it and turned—to find the Prince sitting on the edge of Felicity’s expansive bed.

The image of Prince Marko in—well, on—a bed had her momentarily transfixed.

It was the most innocent of poses—he literally just sat on it, fully clothed in suit trousers, and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck.

He wasn’t even looking at Jas, his attention, instead, on the dress that lay beside him. The fingers of one hand were absently twisting a fold of the delicate fabric.

And yet being alone in a room with the only man she could remember ever having...unsettled her—distracted her—the way he had just by looking at her was disconcerting.

Despite her personal pep talk only minutes ago, Jas certainly felt less than purely professional right now. She was spending far too long admiring how the breadth of his shoulders was emphasised by the cut of his shirt, and how its slim fit and the musculature it skimmed reminded Jas of his military day job. Again, she had the sense of something raw and hard in Prince Marko, a world away from the perfect Playboy Prince that she had imagined.

‘That won’t work,’ the Prince said, now looking at Jasmine.

The intensity of his gaze—or maybe that was just how he looked at everybody—once again knocked Jas off balance. She looked down, reminding herself of the empty suitcase in her hands, which she was gripping so hard her knuckles had turned white.

‘Oh?’ Jasmine said, not really following—instead refocusing her attention on her task. She needed to get this bag packed for Felicity, not worry about princes and beds.

‘No,’ said Marko, ‘I need a tangible princess-to-be, someone for the people of Vela Ada to fall in love with. Unfortunately I don’t have what my brother has, that innate—’

‘Kingliness?’ Jas prompted as she skirted the end of the bed to lay the suitcase beside the evening gown, and as far from Marko as she could manage. She had considered laying it on one of the couches, or on the floor, instead—before she’d told herself she was again being ridiculous.

Marko laughed out loud, the sound deep and rich and filling the room.

Jas’s head jerked upwards as she only belatedly realised what she’d actually said. What was it about this man that made her speak before she thought? ‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing for me to say—’

But he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s perfect. It’s exactly why I’m doing this. Vela Ada needs a king right now—but as Lukas isn’t available, it’s on me. But I’m not—how did you put it?—kingly enough and I know it. Put me in a war zone and I know what I’m doing. Put me in front of the population of Vela Ada...and I hate it. I hate the scrutiny of my personal life. I hate how carefully every word and sentence needs to be constructed. I hate balls and cutting ribbons at the opening of things and having to always be gracious and polite and shake everybody’s hand...and everyone knows it.’ Marko rubbed his temples, his gaze again on the fabric of the dress. ‘No one’s going to believe I suddenly have all this kingliness in me, unless they believe I’ve actually changed. That I’m no longer the Playboy Prince.’

And that was why he needed an actual, real-life, in-person fiancée.

She got that now. But...

‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked, confused. Her hands had stilled on the zip of the suitcase, packing once again forgotten.

He didn’t know her. Why would he reveal so much personal stuff to the head of his security detail? She and her team had only known enough of Marko’s plan to allow them to protect the Prince and Felicity effectively. Nothing more.

She watched as Marko pushed himself to his feet and then carefully lifted the emerald dress so that it hung from his fingertips before him. It was a stunning dress, with delicate cap sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and a slim gold belt at the waist. Beneath that, it fell in a full skirt to the floor, in waves of heavy, shimmering fabric.

A crazy possibility—the craziest possibility—tickled at the edge of Jas’s subconscious.

‘Do you think this would fit you?’ Prince Marko asked.

* * *

‘Pardon me?’

Jasmine’s eyes were wide in the shadowy lamplight.

But there was no need for Marko to spell it out—he knew Jasmine understood what he’d meant.

‘It’s the obvious solution,’ he said. It had been obvious to him the moment he’d walked into Felicity’s room and seen Jasmine there. ‘I need a fiancée tonight and no offence to Ivan, but you’re the only one who knows about any of this who will look good in this dress.’

He gave the dress a little shake for emphasis.

‘I’m not an actress, Your Highness,’ Jasmine said carefully, her shocked expression now completely erased. Instead she looked very calm, as if she intended to talk him out of this using common sense.

Of course, this whole idea was nonsensical right from the beginning—Marko knew that. But his impulsiveness was only equalled by his stubbornness—and his commitment to supporting his brother through his illness.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Marko said patiently. ‘You’ll be expected to be a little nervous at your first public event—it will be endearing. And, please, call me Marko.’

Jasmine shook her head, ignoring him. ‘Haven’t you shown a photo of Felicity to your brother? Told people she’s blonde? And even today—we arrived in daylight and I’m sure a few palace staff would’ve seen her?’

Marko shrugged. ‘She was my guest. Or your guest, even—easily explained. And fortunately I’ve told my brother very little. I don’t like lying to him.’

Jasmine raised her eyebrows at that contradiction, but Marko wasn’t about to explain. It was true though, he had told Lukas very little—partly for the reason he’d told Jasmine, but also because the week had been such a blur. Ivan had become responsible for the details.

‘This is ridiculous. I’m a bodyguard, not a princess. No one’s going to believe it.’

‘Of course they will,’ Marko said firmly. ‘If I introduce you as my fiancée, then you’re my fiancée.’

Jasmine was looking down again, fiddling restlessly with the zip of the suitcase. ‘But,’ she said. And now she met his gaze, back to the no-nonsense Jasmine he was already familiar with. ‘Let’s face it, I don’t look anything like one of your girlfriends.’

‘I’m not having a discussion about the appearance of the women you, or anyone else, thinks I date, Jasmine.’ He knew there was an edge to his tone, but it was unavoidable. ‘All I will say is that I enjoy the company of many types of women. I can see nothing unbelievable about me dating you.’

He was surprised to see Jasmine’s lips quirk upwards. ‘Many types...’ she repeated.

Marko narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes, many,’ he agreed. ‘I like the company of women. I’m not going to apologise for it.’

Not nearly as many women as Jasmine, or everyone else, seemed to think. But he wasn’t about to explain himself to her.

He could see Jasmine thinking. ‘Why not make up a reason why your fiancée is absent tonight, and then find a new actress? You found Felicity quickly. I’m sure you can do it again.’

Marko shook his head. ‘No. Tonight is important. Vela Ada just found out their King is seriously ill. Tonight is the night they need to meet my new fiancée.’

Jasmine chewed her lip, and he knew she was scrambling for a reason to get out of this. ‘And this fiancée would be me. Jasmine Gallagher, right? No fake name?’

Marko nodded. The press would be onto this—as with Felicity, it would’ve been too high risk to create a false identity, with the consequences of being found out catastrophic. So, it was the relationship that was fake, nothing more.

‘So—assuming everyone does believe that I am princess material, it’ll mean that my friends and family will think I’ve been hiding this from them for six months.’