At His Majesty's Request

Jessica nodded. “Yes. All of the women I’m working with have come to me, seeking out husbands that are suitable to their backgrounds and financial level, just the same as you.”

“I see. So invariably my future wife will be after a title and wealth—” he looked at the photo of the blonde again “—just as I am.”

“Fair is fair. You both know just what you’re getting into. No false expectations. Not if I can help it.”

“No false expectations? Then can I assume you’re including a list of my faults in the file you’ll be sending on to the women involved?”

“Only if they make it past a certain point in the process. Discretion,” she said.

“Of course.” He looked at her face, illuminated and washed gold by the afternoon sun. She was beautiful. Not due to perfection of features, or from the expertly applied makeup, though. Her features were beautiful, and her makeup was expertly done. But it was something more. Something deeper.

She was captivating. Different.

Sexy.

His stomach tightened. “And the first wave of the process begins at my sister’s wedding.”

“That’s right. Is that okay? Or do you feel it will detract from—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. It was strange to think of Evangelina married. To think of her as a woman rather than a little girl. “My sister is in love,” he said.

“That’s good. Since she’s getting married.”

He gave her a look. “But you know that’s not really how things work around here. Not necessarily.”

“True.”

“She was meant to marry for the good of Kyonos. She is marrying her bodyguard instead.”

“Are you angry about it?” she asked, her eyes meeting his, the glittering green light in them far too perceptive.

“Not in the least. Anger is a completely unproductive emotion.” As were most emotions. He’s witnessed it firsthand. He made sure he didn’t have time for them.

“But that leaves only you.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I can do it.”

“And your brother …”

“Might as well be dead. He doesn’t care for his country. He doesn’t care for his family, his people. He might as well have died with our mother.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue and he wished he had some ouzo to wash it out with. Bitterness wasn’t helpful, either.

As if on command, a waiter appeared with a tray, laden with food and drinks, and set them down on their table. Stavros took the drink first, while Jessica picked up a stuffed grape leaf and turned it in her fingers.

He took a quick hit of the strong alcohol. “I’m happy for Eva. And her husband does bring a lot to the country in terms of assets and security. Mak is a billionaire several times over. She’s hardly marrying beneath herself, even if he isn’t royalty.”

Beneath Stavros’s casual manner, Jessica could sense his dark mood. He was very good at playing smooth, very good at coming across as the genial prince. Ready to smile for a photograph. Never caught scowling by a scandal-hungry public, who would latch onto the salacious headline declaring one grumpy expression proof of some sort of national crisis.

And yet, she could feel that something wasn’t right. That there was something beneath it.

He was the last man standing. The anchor. How could he not feel it? Of course he would. His sister had abandoned her duty for love, his brother had abandoned it for selfish, personal pleasure. It was only Stavros now.

She felt added pressure. She couldn’t imagine that he didn’t.

“Well, we’ll find you a royal bride who suits the needs of Kyonos, and you, perfectly,” she said, injecting a confidence and enthusiasm into her voice she wasn’t sure she felt.

A half smile curved his lips, a shaft of sunlight hitting his face, that single moment displaying the breathtaking quality he possessed to its very best effect.

She certainly felt as if her breath had been taken. Ripped straight from her lungs. Why did he have to be so hot? More to the point, why did she have to suddenly care how hot he was?

She looked back down at her iPad, at the picture of Victoria Calder. And for the first time ever, she felt her stomach curl in with jealousy in connection with a client.

It was the first and last time it would happen. She couldn’t afford it. Not financially, and most especially not emotionally.

She’d already had everything drained from her in that department. She would never put herself through it again.

CHAPTER THREE

JESSICA tried not to die of despair as she watched one of her favorite potential brides, Dominique Lanphier, standing by the buffet table looking like a deer in the headlights. She was sort of fidgeting, looking as if she was ready to dart away from the table at a moment’s notice and grab Stavros from Corinthia, the petite redhead he was currently engaging in approved conversation with.

This wasn’t her best idea. She could see that now. It was just a pity she was realizing it far too late to change anything. Her prospective brides, normally so well-behaved, were a bit giddy over the chance to compete for a prince and all of the good manners that had been bred into them seemed to have been knocked from their heads the moment they’d entered the palace.

Jessica was sweating. Actually sweating. And trying not to look like anything more than a guest. Which, in the grand ballroom, filled to maximum capacity with nearly one thousand people, shouldn’t be too hard.

Victoria, her best hope for Stavros, had been unavailable for the wedding, which had forced her to bring in Dominique as a last-minute replacement. Something she was bitterly regretting.

“Just stay there,” she whispered, begging Dominique to go with the program, hoping the other woman would absorb the command from across the room.

It just seemed to be getting hotter in the ballroom now, and she could swear the sweetheart neckline of her flirty cocktail dress was about to slip and go from sexy to burlesque. And that would draw far more attention to herself than she wanted.

She gripped the sides of the bodice and tugged at it slightly. Feeling, for a moment, every inch the unsophisticated North Dakota girl she was on the inside. Feeling her persona start to slip.

No. You are not unsophisticated. You are a businesswoman. You are in a castle. Own your inner princess!

Yes. Inner princess. She was sure she had one of those.

She took a deep breath and felt a bit of her anxiety ease as Stavros checked his watch and disengaged Corinthia right on time. Any longer and there would be speculation. And now, he would go to the buffet and it would be Dominique’s turn.

This sort of brief, public meeting, was, in her experience, the perfect way to open. To see people interact in a social situation, to prevent a feeling of enhanced intimacy too quickly.

She had to remind herself of all the reasons it was a good idea now, since she was on the verge of panicking and eating her weight in wedding cake to try and stave off the anxiety. This was what she did. This was her one area of confidence, of expertise. And watching it go very much not according to plan was crazy-making.

The transition went smoothly and she watched Stavros engage Dominique in conversation. So casual it could have been accidental. He was good.

She watched as he leaned in, his body language indicating interest, the smile on his face warm. Genuine. Her throat tightened a bit, and cut off the flow of air entirely when he brushed Dominique’s arm with his hand.

Such a brief touch. And yet, it spoke of attraction.

He hadn’t touched her. Not more than a handshake. And that brief touch at the restaurant. She shouldn’t have a list of the times his skin had made contact with hers. It shouldn’t matter that he was touching someone else.