A Wish and a Wedding (16 page)

She shook her head and stepped back out of his arms. “I should never have started this. Like Prince Mikhail, you can't offer me anything better, and I can't humiliate my family.”

There lay their conflict in a nutshell. She'd said everything he wanted to ignore when he'd spoken of fate. “This
isn't
like Mikhail. I
respect
you. I want more than a few weeks in bed.” More like the next five decades—but he wouldn't say that until he was sure his feelings for her would last. He needed to feel enough to base a lifetime on—for all the wrong reasons as well as the right ones.

“You can't have it.” Her voice wobbled with sadness, but she spoke with the conviction of knowing she was right. “Charlie has changed the law for future kings and queens. Great-Uncle Kyri had a Grand Duchy to hand Toby in order for him to get his miracle. But even a duke isn't powerful enough to change the way things are in Persolis. Uncle Kyri started a civil war after disappearing with a commoner—and he had a title and power. I have nothing.” She stepped back. “I think we should remain separate until we reach Orakidis Harbour tomorrow.”

She was probably right, but angry at her fatalism, he snapped, “Why did you come here dressed like that if you won't take the next step and accept the consequences?”

She shook her head. “I thought I was courageous. I thought I could be your lover for tonight and be happy with the memories. But I'm afraid of hurting Charlie and Jazmine, Lia and Toby—not to mention my parents. I don't care if I'm a hypocrite. I'm traditional. I want an old-fashioned wedding with both families there and being happy for us.”

Her voice trembled, her eyes shimmered, and he wanted to see her cry even less than she wanted to be weak in front of him. “Go,” he said wearily. He didn't know what the future held, but he was hurt that Mari wasn't willing to risk everything for him. “I'll order a tray to your room, and the yacht to return to dock by morning. We're not far from Hellenia.”

She turned away and left the room in a soft swish of black silk. She looked like a dream of lost beauty, a sweet ghost floating through the doors, leaving his life.

And it was only as she walked away that he knew he couldn't bear to think of a day, an hour without her. He'd do whatever it took to hold her—even face the wrath of princes and kings.

All he had to do was convince her.

T
HERE
was a right royal welcoming committee waiting for them when they entered Orakidis Harbour the next morning.

Mari's heart sank when she saw the
big
royal yacht—at least twice the size of the magnificent one she now loved so much—sailing up beside them, with no less than three royal personages on deck: Charlie, Jazmine and Mikhail. All three of them were dressed casually, but looked grim. Charlie and Jazmine smiled at them as the yacht drew alongside, but Mikhail's handsome face was set in impenetrable lines. Though the sun was shining, and the sky was clear, Mari saw storm clouds ahead. She sidled up to Lysander; her hand crept into his. “Prince Mikhail wouldn't be here unless…”

He nodded, his face smoothing out to diplomatic neutrality. “I'll deal with this.” He squeezed her hand briefly before he stepped away. “We've done nothing, feel nothing we need to be ashamed of, Mari. Hold onto that when Mikhail starts.”

Knowing what she now knew, after ten minutes' research that first night, she knew what a sacrifice he was offering for her sake. “All right—thank you.”

Then three more people emerged from the enormous double doors leading inside the royal yacht…and she groaned inside. “My parents, and my brother… Dad's likely to insist on a wedding. I'm sorry—so sorry…”

Lysander sent her an oblique smile. “I don't think marrying
you would be my worst nightmare, Mari. I'd survive the ordeal of a shotgun wedding…even if your brother's pretty big and intense-looking. He didn't bring a shotgun with him from Australia, did he?”

Unbelievably, Mari heard laughter escape her lips. Envisaging a lifetime of diplomatic disasters leavened by laughter wasn't so hard at all right then—if Lysander was the one sharing with her the drama and the intimate jokes for two. “Of course he didn't—and if he has one now he's probably still aiming it at Mikhail.”

“That's a relief. Leave it to me,” he murmured with an infinitesimal wink.

She smiled and nodded, almost without movement. They moved towards the gangplank now connecting the two royal yachts.

 

Sander had felt the axe hovering over his head ever since Mari had discovered he wasn't a chauffeur, but like an idiot, he'd chosen to ignore it—to live the half-lie another day, another minute. Unable to stand seeing the admiration, the joy in his company fade from those lovely eyes, he hadn't been able to make himself do it.

And he was about to pay for it. Mikhail would make certain of that. So far he'd kept silent as those in precedence spoke—Charlie hugging her and Jazmine asking about her time away—but, his face taut and his eyes hard, Sander knew Mikhail was just biding his time.

“Can you do something about those poor donkeys?” Mari was asking Charlie, her gaze pleading. If she'd looked at him like that Sander would have agreed to standing on his head. He was totally besotted—and counting the seconds until he lost her. He'd planned on winning. If Mikhail hadn't come…

Charlie looked torn. “It's not my country, Mari—but I can try to work it into a speech somewhere,” he added hastily, as his cousin's eyes shimmered.

Mari threw her arms around the King of Hellenia. “You're the best cousin in the world—and I would have said it even if you weren't a king,” she added with impish generosity.

Charlie chuckled and lightly buffed her chin. “I know, Mariela. You've been saying it since I chased the dog off that bedraggled old cat you loved when you were six.”

“And I've always meant it.” She buried her face in Charlie's neck.

Sander watched, fascinated. The dynamics of an ordinary family wasn't something that had come his way. Seeing the common man inside the King of Hellenia made him respect Charlie more. He didn't pretend to be something he wasn't, and the innate strength of his background and family ties made him a monarch people could relate to and trust.

Sander saw the same half-hungry fascination in Mikhail's eyes, and the amused contempt he used to cover his true emotion. He realised Mikhail did care for Mari, but had no idea how to be honest with her, or how to play any part but the prince. His inner helplessness at failing to win her had made him just as angry at himself as at Mari, Charlie and Jazmine—

Mari smiled at him from her cousin's shoulder, sharing her joy with Sander over the hopeful salvation of those poor donkeys.

Drumroll, please…the guillotine blade was in place…

“So, are you going to marry my daughter after compromising her in this public fashion?” Mari's father demanded of Sander in a mild yet inflexible tone. “The press knows where you've both been—and alone.”

“Stop it, Dad,” Mari murmured, her tone as imperative as it was anguished. “Nothing happened.”

“You were alone with a single man for days, touring the islands—and at night,” her father replied, in a parental
this ends the argument
tone. “I
will
protect your reputation, Mariela—and the reputation of our family,” he added, flicking a glance at Charlie.

In answer, Mari looked to where Mikhail stood, furious and silent. The irony in her expression couldn't be clearer.

“They were hardly alone, Uncle Taki,” Charlie protested, just as mildly, his voice filled with respect for his uncle. “Jazmine and I made certain Mari was protected at all times.”

“But not from the spotlight of the media,” Mari's father retorted. “Charlie, you know by now that not even a king can stop rumour and speculation. There was enough about Prince Mikhail's
honourable
intentions.”

The slightest hint of irony in the stressed word made Sander want to smile. So that was where Mari got her flair for drama from—and it seemed Mikhail had shown his true intentions during the past few days.

“Nobody knows what His Grace's intentions are towards our girl.”

With a sense of fatalism, Sander recognised Mari's father's ambition for his daughter to become a duchess—but, over that, a hard thrill was running through him that had nothing to do with his duty. Thanks to her father, he now had a chance. He might not win her fairly, but he'd win her. Mari would be his—she'd be his wife, his love. His doubts fled. The simple truth was he'd never be happy without her.

“You're right to ask, sir,” he said, with the same quiet respect with which Charlie had spoken. “I care deeply for Mari, as she knows. It would be an honour and a privilege if you would allow me to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.”

Taki Mitsialos beamed at him, and moved forward to shake his hand. “Good boy, good boy,” he said heartily, pumping Sander's hand. “Charlie told me you were well brought up, but you never know with the upper classes if they are sincere or playing games, thinking we commoners are expendable.” A flicked glance at Mikhail showed Sander that they'd definitely discovered the Prince's true intentions some time in the past few days. “Our girl will be a duchess!”

“No, Dad, I won't.”

The inflexible tone, exactly like her father's, made everyone turn to Mari. She stood small and alone, a step away from her
royal cousin, her face pale and her hands clenched. “Thank you for asking, Your Grace, but the answer is no. You've done nothing to necessitate marriage. I won't have anyone believing you did. I won't trap a good man into marriage.”

Mikhail's face changed subtly at her calm declaration. From barely concealed fury to hunter. Sander saw the plans crossing Mikhail's mind.

In that moment Sander knew his diplomatic career was at an end. But he'd toss aside all consequences if it meant Mari would be safe from Mikhail's predatory clutches.

“It's no trap,” he said, over the protesting voices of her family. “I want to marry you, Mari. You know that. I told you last night how I feel.” And he smiled at her—the unfair smile that made her desire him.

Mari stared at him, her mouth open, and moistened her lower lip with her tongue. He saw the pulse beating hard in her throat. “No, you don't. Please stop lying for my sake, Your Grace. There's no need to protect me. I'm flying home—today, if that's all right?” She turned to Charlie and Jazmine, her gaze pleading. “I want to go home and forget any of this happened.” Her clear-eyed gaze, first at Mikhail and then at Lysander, told him how serious she was.

But he wasn't going down without a fight.

Amid the loud protests of her parents and her brother, and the cautious silence of the others, Sander knew this would be the fight of his life. “Mari, if we could talk privately, I think I could convince you of just how much I want you to be my wife,” he said. And his smile grew.

Her eyes widened a little; a delectable flush filled her throat and her breathing quickened. He felt that hard thrill chasing along his nerve-endings—she wanted him so much she couldn't hide it, even in front of Mikhail—but then she backed away, a hand lifted in denial.

“Really, there's no need for it, Y-Your Grace. You have your life, I have mine, and the two aren't compatible. You can't
become a commoner, and I don't want to be a duchess. We've had a lovely few days—and I hope we can remain friends—but we hardly know each other. We only met six days ago. The very thought of marriage is ridiculous.”

Her father and mother burst into indignant speech; Stavros made a helpless gesture at Charlie. The young King's face reflected a weary fatalism: his family was ignorant of the intense pressure of international politics. The threat of an Orakis coup if the new Marandis dynasty showed too much nepotism was real. He couldn't press for more law changes for their sakes, or even for Mari—his favourite cousin.

Jazmine, her face calm, moved to hold Mari's hand. “I propose we stop here. Obviously we've come here with expectations that aren't reflecting the truth, and we're only distressing Mari. Aunt Maria, why don't we take Mari somewhere quiet to talk?”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but this isn't a matter for you or the King,” Sander said, with a mixture of respect and inflexibility. “This is between Mari and me, without interference.”

A look of surprise crossed Jazmine's face. “You're right, Sander. I beg your pardon—Mari as well.” With a soft kiss to Mari's cheek, she moved aside.

Sander kept his gaze wholly on Mari. “This doesn't belong to anyone but us, Mari—not your parents, not kings or princes—just us.”

Mari blinked, her pretty face covered in confusion that he was still even here, let alone still trying to win her.

He took her hand in his. “I understand what you're saying, and why—but you can't deny there's something between us, no matter how short a time we've known each other.” He saw the blush creep up her cheeks, and with a smile he held out a hand to her. “Will you please give me an hour, Mari?”

He saw it, saw her eyes soften and her sweet mouth give that tiny half-pout that meant she was thinking…she was tempted…she was giving in…

“Loath as I am to interrupt this magical moment between
lovers, I have appointments to keep—and I have a few words to say. You're fired, Sander. I don't keep disloyal employees—and don't bother asking for a reference. Your time in Chalnikan—and with the Diplomatic Corps, if I have anything to say about it—is done.”

Sander held the groan inside. Mikhail was going down swinging. He still wanted Mari—and, more, he didn't want Sander to win. Now Mari knew it all. He moved to take her hand, to force an hour in private, to explain—

But Mari, her face amused, had turned to Mikhail. “If that was meant as a revelation, Your Highness, you're a few days too late. I've known for days that Lysander worked for you—or, more accurately, for your father the King. And not only does it not bother me, your firing him for following the orders of your father, as well as his king and queen, doesn't make your proposition to me more attractive. Once and for all, Your Highness, I will
never
want you.”

Mari's family gasped at her bluntness; Jazmine and Charlie kept their faces impassive, as did Sander—though it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do when he was dying to swing her into his arms and kiss her senseless—but all gazes swung to the young, spoiled Prince who'd never had to take no for an answer from a woman, and never in public.

Mikhail's cheeks whitened, but after a moment he sneered. “I withdrew that particular offer days ago, Miss Mitsialos. I care nothing for what you do, or who you choose to sleep with. I came only to fire a disloyal employee.”

“Liar,” she said calmly, smiling at him as his cheeks changed from pale to mottled dark red with fury at a term no one had ever dared throw at him before. “Your face gives away everything you think and feel. You know, looking at yourself honestly—and accepting defeat now and then—will make you a better king when your time comes, Mikhail. You should take lessons from my cousin. He puts others before himself. That's what a good king does.”

Without a word, Mikhail turned and strode down the gangplank to the other yacht.

“Well, that's a relief. Back to family,” Charlie said—but his face changed in moments when his wife gave a tiny shake of her head. “Um…right. Uncle Taki, Aunt Maria, Stavros—I think we should leave Mari and Lysander alone to talk.”

The family vanished before either of them could speak.

“Traitors,” he heard Mari mutter, and he held in a chuckle. The thought of a lifetime laughing with her was so very appealing.

“So how did you know about my position in Chalnikan?” he asked quietly as he led her out of the hot sunshine into a solar, seating her on a chaise.

She shrugged as she made herself comfortable. “You said you were a diplomat, but not where. So I did a Google search on you. Sit down, Lysander. I don't like being at a disadvantage.”

He mock-groaned, but sat beside her. “You did a
Google
search on me? I feel violated. I wish I'd never told you we had net access here.”