him two children, providing him with the customary heir and a spare to the throne. He didn’t have to marry again—and he probably never would.
“We hardly see you lately,” Max chided. “You haven’t been to Sunday breakfast in weeks.” It was a family tradition: Sunday breakfast in the sovereign’s private apartments at the palace. She and her siblings were grown now, but they all tried to show up for the Sunday-morning meal whenever they were in Montedoro.
“I’ve been busy with my horses.”
“Of course you have.” Max leaned closer. “You did nothing wrong. Don’t ever let them crush your spirit.”
She knew whom he meant by them: the paparazzi and the tabloid journos. “Oh, Max...”
“You are confident and curious. You like to get out and mix it up. It’s who you are. We all love you as you are and we know it was only in fun.”
“I’m not so sure about Mother.”
“She’s on your side and she never judges. You know that.”
“What I know is that I’ve finally managed to embarrass her.” It wasn’t so much that she’d French-kissed a girl. It was the pictures. They came off so tacky, like something out of Girls Gone Wild.
“I think you’re wrong. Mother is not embarrassed. And she loves you unconditionally.”
Alice didn’t have the heart to argue about it, to insist that their mother was embarrassed; she’d said so. Instead, she leaned close to him and whispered, “Thank you.”
He smiled his sad smile. “Dance?” Though Max would never marry again, women were constantly trying to snare him. They all wanted to console the widower prince who would someday rule Montedoro. So he tried to steer clear of them. At balls, he danced with his mother and his sisters and then retired early.
“I would love to dance with you.” She pulled him out onto the floor and they danced through the rest of that number and the next one.
Before they parted, he asked her directly to come to the family breakfast that Sunday. “Please. Say you’ll be here. We miss you.”
She gave in and promised she would come, and then she walked with him to where their youngest sister, Rory, chatted with Lani Vasquez. Small, dark-haired and curvy, Lani was an American, an aspiring author of historical novels set in Montedoro. She’d come from America with Sydney O’Shea when Sydney had married Rule, the second-born of Alice’s brothers.
Alice had assumed Max would dance next with Rory. But he took Lani’s hand instead. The music started up again and Max led the pretty American onto the floor.
Rory said, “Well, well.”
“My, my,” Alice murmured in agreement. For a moment the two sisters watched in amazement as their tragically widowed eldest brother danced with someone who wasn’t his sister.
Then a girlfriend of Rory’s appeared out of the crowd. She grabbed Rory’s hand and towed her toward the open doors to the balcony. Alice considered following them. It was a lovely night. She could lean on the stone railing and gaze out over the harbor, admire the lights of the casino and the luxury shops and hotels that surrounded it.
“Alice. Dance with me.”
The deep, thrilling voice came from directly behind her and affected her just as it had when they were alone in the stables. It seemed to slip beneath her skin, to shiver its way along the bumps of her spine, to create a warm pool of longing down in the deepest core of her.
She didn’t turn. Instead, she stared blindly toward the open doors to the balcony. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge him. She would start walking and she wouldn’t look back.
If he dared to come after her, she would cut him dead.
But really, what would that prove? That she was afraid to deal with him? That she didn’t have the stones to stand her ground and face him, to find out from his own mouth what kind of game he was playing with her? That Max had been right and the tacky tabloid reporters, the shameless paparazzi, really had done it? They’d broken her spirit, made her into someone unwilling to face a challenge head-on.
Oh, no. No way.
She whirled on him and glared into his too-blue eyes. “It is you.”
He nodded. He held out his hand. “Let me explain. Give me that chance.”
She kept her arm at her side. “I don’t trust you.”
“I know.” He didn’t lower his hand. The man had nerves of steel.
And she couldn’t bear it, to let him stand there with his hand offered and untaken. She laid her fingers into his palm. Heat radiated up her arm just from that first contact. Her breath caught and tangled in her chest.
How absurd. Breathe.
With slow care, she sucked in a breath and then let it out as he turned and led her onto the floor. She went into his arms. They danced.
He had the good sense to hold her lightly. For a few endless minutes, neither of them spoke, which was just as well as far as Alice was concerned. She longed to wave her arms about and shriek accusations at him. Unfortunately, shrieking and waving her arms would attract attention, and that would no doubt land her on the front pages of the tabloids again.
She caught a hint of his aftershave. Evergreen and citrus, the same as before. It was all too disorienting. She’d thought he was one person and now here he was, someone else altogether. She felt shy. Tongue-tied. Young.
And at a definite disadvantage. She needed to take back the upper hand here. She had questions for him. And he’d better have good answers.
The next song began, a fast one. Couples separated and danced facing each other, moving to the beat but not touching. Noah didn’t let her go, just picked up the rhythm a bit and danced them out of the way of the others.
“You’re angry,” he said at last.
“What happened to your two girlfriends?”
“What girlfriends?”
“That sexy redhead and the stunning blonde.”
“They’re not my girlfriends.” He kept his voice low, but he did pull her fractionally closer. She allowed that in order to hear him over the music. “They were seated on either side of me at dinner, that’s all.”
“They seemed very friendly.” She spoke quietly, too. She didn’t want anyone overhearing, broadcasting their conversation, starting new rumors about her.
He held her even closer and whispered much too tenderly, “Is that somehow my fault?”
She fumed in silence, refusing to answer. Finally, she demanded, “Who are you, really?”
“I’m who I said I was.”
“Noah.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have
