territory. It’s not sporting.”
“Gabriella. Paulinha. Abril.” Ticking them off on his fingers, Will cocked his head. “I think there was another one, but her name escapes me.”
Revisionist history of the worst kind. “If I recall, Abril went home with you. Despite the fact that I saw her first.”
“But that’s my point. We’ve competed over women in the past. But you have never come to me first.” Will’s phone rang, but he ignored the shrill buzz. “We’ve always subscribed to the may-the-best-man-win philosophy. So obviously Bella is the one.”
Yeah, the one James wanted in his bed. That was it. Once they burned off the blinding attraction, they’d part amicably. “No way. You’re reading into this.”
An even worse thought occurred to him then. Did Bella think there was more going on here? Like maybe James wanted to take Will’s place in the diabolical bridal bargain their fathers had struck? Surely not. There’d been plenty of flirting, and lots of use of the word naked. But no one had said anything about being serious.
Will shook his head, a smile still tugging at his lips. “I don’t think so. Put your money where your mouth is.”
“A bet? Seriously?” All the long hours in the service of Patrick Rowling’s ego had obviously pickled his brother’s brain.
“As a heart attack.” Nodding at James’s wrist, he pursed his lips for a beat. “Grandfather’s watch. That’s how bad I think you’ve got it. If you propose to Bella before Gabriel Montoro takes the throne, you give it to me, free and clear.”
James laughed. “You are so on.”
What a stupid thing to ask for. Will knew how much James loved his grandfather’s watch. It was one of the few mementos from England that James had left, and Grandfather had given it to him on his eighteenth birthday. Losing it was not happening. Proposing to Bella was not happening, before the coronation or after.
Sucker’s bet. James rubbed his hands together gleefully. “If I don’t propose, then what? Make this worth my while.”
“I’ll come up with something.”
James and Will shook on it.
“So this means the arranged marriage is totally off, right?” No point in going through all of this just to find out Will was toying with him.
“Totally off.”
A glint in his brother’s eye caught his crossways. “You were never interested in her.”
“Never,” Will confirmed solemnly. “Bella’s got all the right parts and everything, and she would have opened up some interesting possibilities for Rowling. But she’s not my type. I’m fine with cancelling the whole agreement.”
Not his type. That was insane. How could Bella not be every red-blooded man’s type? “You’ll talk to Father?”
“Sure. It’s better coming from me anyway. Now get out so I can run this company.”
James got out. He had a naked princess in his future after all.
* * *
Bella’s eyes started to ache after thirty minutes of trying to read the tiny map print.
“I give up,” she muttered and switched off the lamp adorning her bedside table.
All of the words were in Spanish anyway. How was she supposed to use this map Alex Ramon’s assistant had given her to find the farmhouse Tía Isabella had mentioned?
When Bella had asked Rafael about it, he sent her to speak with Alex Ramon, Alma’s deputy prime minister of commerce. His assistant helped her scour the royal archives until they found one solitary mention of the abandoned farmhouse in a long list of Montoro holdings. But there was little to go on location-wise other than Aldeia Dormer, the name of a tiny village.
At least Mr. Ramon’s assistant had managed to find the key to the property tucked away in a filing cabinet, a real plus. Assuming the key still worked, that was.
Now she just had to find the farmhouse. Tía Isabella’s urgency had taken root, not to mention a healthy dose of curiosity about how an old farmhouse counted as part of a legacy. There was no way Bella would actually give up.
Plus, finding the farmhouse was a project, her gift to Isabella. Bella needed a local with plenty of time on his hands and access to a vehicle to help her scour the countryside for this farmhouse. And who didn’t mind ditching her babysitters-slash-security guys.
Her phone rang. She glanced at it and frowned at the unfamiliar number. That was the second time today and the first caller had been Will. Dare she hope this might be the brother she’d rather talk to? “Hello?”
“You haven’t been to the beach all day.” James’s smooth voice slid through her like silk.
“Was I supposed to be at the beach?” With a wide grin, she flipped over on her back to stare at the ceiling above her bed, completely uninterested in cryptic maps now that she had a much better distraction.
“How else am I supposed to run into you?” he pointed out. “You never gave me your phone number.”
Because he’d never asked. “Yet it appears I’m speaking to you on the phone at this very minute.”
“A bloke has to be resourceful around this island if he wants to ask a princess out on a date. Apparently.”
A little thrill burst through her midsection. After walking away from James at the party, she’d mentally prepared for any eventuality. A woman didn’t get between brothers, and James, for all his squawking about being a bad boy, wouldn’t have pursued her if Will had called dibs.
And then there was always the possibility James would grow weary of all the obstacles between them. She didn’t have any guarantees she’d even hear from him again.
“This is your idea of resourceful? What did you do, hit up Will for my phone number?”
James cleared his throat. “I talked to him. About us.”
That was pretty much an admission of how he’d gotten her number. “Yeah. He told me.”
“Well, half my battle is won. My day will be complete if you would kindly get your gorgeous rear down to the beach.”
Scrambling from the bed, Bella tore off her shorts as she dashed for the dresser and wedged the phone under her chin to pull out a bikini. “What if I’m busy?”
“Cancel. In fact, cancel everything for the rest of the day.”
The rest of the day with James? She was so on board with that plan, she could hardly keep the giddiness in check. But she couldn’t let him know how much she was into him. That was rule number one.
“You’ll have to give me more than that in order for me to clear my schedule.” She whipped her shirt off one-handed, knocking the phone to the floor. She cursed and dove for it. “I’m American. We invented high-maintenance dating.
