about her and they were able to ask anything.
The first question was harmless enough. ‘You speak Greek?’
‘Yes.’
‘Queen Mia didn’t.’
She sighed as if vaguely irritated but not much. ‘Mia and I were raised by different parents. My father taught me Greek. My maternal relatives were Greek and they taught me boatbuilding. My boss is Greek and I like learning. Okay?’
‘Are you really Mia’s sister?’
She didn’t answer straight away. Instead, she crawled around to the other side of the boat where the hole was a gaping mass of shattered timber. She touched the fragments of timber as a doctor might touch a fractured arm—with all the care in the world.
‘Of course I am,’ she said at last, without looking up.
‘And the baby… He’s really yours?’
‘Michales really is mine,’ she agreed. ‘Prince Alexandros has proved it. Who wants to know?’
‘Just about all the world.’
‘So how did you feel when you discovered the Queen had stolen your baby?’ one of the reporters asked and Alex stopped thinking about language. How could she answer this?
But she didn’t even have to think about it. ‘There’s no need to be melodramatic.’ She was using her hands to measure the width of the hole. ‘Mia didn’t steal him. I was ill and she cared for him.’
‘And passed him off as her own.’
‘I know nothing about that,’ she said. ‘Mia cared for my little boy, and when I was well enough I came here to fetch him. Alex supports me. So what else do you want to know?’
She’d said it as if what had happened was an everyday occurrence. As if there was no controversy at all.
‘Prince Alex says he didn’t know he was your baby’s father.’ The younger man had lowered his camera and was holding out a voice recorder. Alex thought about objecting, but then thought why? Maybe Lily’s calm pragmatism was just what was called for.
What the country needed?
What he needed.
She didn’t seem to be aware that she looked… dowdy.
No, he thought. Dowdy was the wrong word. A woman as cute as Lily could never look dowdy. Her swimsuit must have been bought before her illness—it was too big for her. Her nose was turning pink from the sun. Her scarf was slipping backwards, and her curls were twisting in damp tendrils across her forehead.
Cute? More. She was gorgeous. He was starting to feel…
‘Yes, I was dumb enough not to tell him,’ she said to the reporters. She might have been discussing the weather.
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I had my reasons.’ She sounded a bit irritated. But then she seemed to think about it. She sat back on her heels and gazed up at Alex, as if assessing him and rethinking her answer.
‘You know, the first time I met Prince Alex I thought he was wonderful,’ she admitted. ‘But I was ill and on medication and maybe I wasn’t myself. Alex didn’t know I was ill—or pregnant—only a rat would have taken advantage of me and you must know by now that the Prince is an honourable man. Now that Alex knows the truth, he’s made me an honest woman. I intend to stay here with my son and my husband, build boats and live happily ever after. I’ll start with repairing this one. Is that okay with you?’
What were the reporters supposed to say to that? They were staring at her, open-mouthed. It was so obviously not a rehearsed speech that she’d taken their breath away.
She’d taken his breath away.
She’d been ill.
She’d downplayed it, but suddenly he thought, how ill? She’d said it before, but it had been brushed aside. She’d implied she’d had a minor operation. Maybe she’d had morning sickness as well.
But… ill when she’d conceived?
And… she’d made their marriage sound ordinary.
He wouldn’t have minded if she’d looked up and smiled at him, formed some sort of connection to make these guys think that their initial attraction still held.
To make him think that initial attraction still held.
Hell, what was he thinking? One part of him wanted a marriage of convenience. The rest of him wanted to claim this woman as his.
Which was ridiculous. What had changed to make him trust her?
‘Do you have any more questions?’ she asked, rising and wiping sand from her hands on the sides of her bathing suit. ‘Michales has been in the sun for long enough. I need to take him up to the house.’ She lifted Michales from Alex’s grasp and waited—politely—for the reporters to leave.
‘Are you in love with Prince Alex?’ the older reporter asked and Alex drew in his breath. Of all the impertinences…
But Lily didn’t seem perturbed.
‘I’d imagine half the hot-blooded women in the western world are in love with His Highness,’ she said and she grinned. ‘Ask your readers.’
‘But your marriage… ’
‘The Prince is an honourable man,’ she said again, flatly. ‘He’s my husband and he’s doing right by me and my son. I think he’s wonderful. You should all be very proud of him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must go. I’ll leave you with Prince Alexandros—he can answer any more questions you might think of. Good evening.’
‘Can we have a photograph of the three of you together?’ the cameraman pleaded. ‘One?’
‘Okay.’
Alex was too bemused to protest. Mia would never have agreed to a photograph like this, he thought, but Lily seemed unperturbed. How many photographs had been taken of her today? Obviously one more wasn’t going to do any harm.
She turned and stood beside him, holding her son. She smiled.
‘Can you lift Prince Michales a little higher?’ the cameraman called and Alex thought, damn this, he was going to be part of this photograph, too.
He took Michales from Lily’s arms and he held him between them.
Michales gave an indignant squeal, twisted and grabbed for his mother.
He caught the tail of her scarf. And pulled.
Maybe if her hair hadn’t been wet he wouldn’t have seen. But her hair was tugged upward with the scarf.
For a moment, before the curls fell again, he saw a scar.
A huge scar—from behind her ear almost
