had no idea what Isabel was talking about. He knew who the actress was, but couldn’t connect to the reference. He looked at Jovan for an explanation.
“The Princess Diaries,” Jovan explained quietly. “A series of books and movies about an American who discovers she’s a princess.”
Niko had never heard of any such Princess Diaries, but at least he understood the context now.
“My mother is the queen,” he said to Isabel. “Though she would be thrilled to be a grandmother, I can assure you she looks and sounds nothing like Mary Poppins.”
Isabel didn’t crack a smile.
So much for his attempt to lighten the mood.
She shook her head. “I just don’t see how any of this can be true.”
“The truth is not always clear, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
As she studied the translated document, two lines formed above the bridge of Isabel’s nose. He found the trait surprisingly endearing. It made her seem less in control and more open to possibility.
“Let’s say my mother was married to this prince, and he’s my father,” Isabel said. “Why would she give birth to me in America?”
“She didn’t,” Niko said. “You were born in Vernonia.”
“My birth certificate says I was born in the United States. I have a copy.” Isabel pursed her lips. “One of the documents is fake. I’m guessing it’s yours.”
“Guess all you would like, but yours is the fake,” he said. “Given the political unrest in Vernonia when you were born, I wouldn’t be surprised if your parents had another birth certificate made omitting both Vernonia and Prince Aleksander’s name.”
“You sound as if you believe all this.” Disbelief dripped from each of her words. “That Prince Aleksander was my father.”
“Yes,” Niko said firmly. “I believe you are Princess Isabel Poussard Zvonimir Kresimir.”
She scrunched her nose. “Do I look like a princess?”
“You look like a car mechanic, but that doesn’t change the facts. You are a princess of Vernonia and my wife.”
Isabel stared at the marriage certificate. “Then how did I wind up here?”
“That’s what we’d all like to know,” Niko admitted. “My father’s staff have been trying to figure that out.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Where did they think I was?”
He didn’t answer.
“Where?” she pressed.
“Buried in your family’s cemetery.”
She gasped. “You thought I was dead?”
“Not me. I was too young to remember you, but all of Vernonia believed you were killed with your parents in a car bombing a month after our wedding.”
Isabel lowered the papers. “A car bombing?”
“By a splinter faction of Loyalists who were nothing more than terrorists.” The way her eyes clouded bothered him. “It was a … troubled time, with two groups aligned to different royal bloodlines. That is in the past now.”
The two little lines above the bridge of her nose returned.
Good, Niko thought. Isabel was thinking about all that he’d told her. She would see she had to believe—
“Look. I get that you’re somebody. Otherwise you wouldn’t have the limo, lawyer aide guy, documents or a police escort. You know my mother’s name, but you have the wrong person. The Evangeline Poussard who was my mother never went to Europe. She never married. She never would have married off her baby. And she died due to complications with childbirth, not in a terrorist attack.”
“What about the box?” Niko asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe there are identical boxes. Yours and hers.” Isabel shoved the papers at him. “I don’t have time to deal with this. I have work to do.”
With her head held high as if she were the Queen of England and not a lowly mechanic, Isabel turned away from him and marched toward the garage.
Niko’s fingers crumpled the edges of the papers. He tried to remember the last person besides his father who had dismissed him so readily. “Isabel.”
She didn’t glance back.
What an infuriating woman. He wanted to slip into the limousine and forget he’d ever heard the name Isabel Poussard, except he couldn’t. They were tied together. Legally. He needed to undo what had been done without their consent. “Wait.”
She quickened her step. Most women ran toward him not away, but he had a feeling Isabel was different from the women he knew.
“Please,” he added.
She stopped, but didn’t turn around.
He forced himself not to clench his jaw. “Before you go, please look at the photograph.”
Isabel glanced over her shoulder. “What photograph?”
She made him feel more like a peasant than a prince. Likening a wife to a ball and chain suddenly made sense to him if said wife happened to be a strong-willed woman like Isabel Zvonimir.
He removed the picture from the pouch. “The wedding photo.”
She didn’t come closer. “Look, I’m on the clock right now. My boss is watching. I can’t afford to have my pay docked so you can pull a prank.”
“This isn’t a prank.” The old garage needed a new roof and paint job. Niko wondered if Isabel’s financial circumstances were similar to those of her place of employment. “I’ll give you one hundred dollars for five minutes of your time.”
She straightened. “Seriously?”
Now he had her attention. With the pouch and picture tucked between his arm and side, he removed his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and held it up. “Quite serious.”
She hurried toward him with her gaze fixed on the bill.
“You really are crazy, but for that kind of money you can have seven minutes.” Isabel snatched the money from him and shoved it in her coverall pocket. “Hand over the picture.”
Niko gave her the photograph. He didn’t need to look at it again. After examining the picture so many times during the flight to Charlotte he had memorized everything about the twelve people in it. “You are the baby in the white gown with the tiara. Your mother is holding you. Your father is standing on the right of you. Your paternal grandparents are the two next to him.”
Isabel held the photo with both hands. Niko watched her face for some sign of recognition of her mother,
