style="font-size:15px;"> With another nudge to Thor, he sent the horse galloping toward the stable, only slowing the pace when they got close to the wide wooden barn door. He jumped off and tossed his riding crop to a servant girl milling about the building. Her faded blue jeans and T-shirt showed off a fantastic figure, but it was her dark hair and pale blue-gray eyes that made his hormones sit up and take notice.
Any other day, he’d flirt, itching to run his hands through the shiny black locks that probably reached her bottom when they weren’t hiked up in a ponytail. But, today, he was about to meet his future bride.
“Thor gets the star treatment,” he said, taking off the black helmet that matched his black leather boots and gloves. “Don’t think you can scrimp with brushing. I’ll be back this evening after tonight’s dinner party to make sure he’s been properly cared for.”
The woman looked at him in bewilderment.
He sighed. “I know. He’s an Arabian with four white boots. Bad luck if you want to breed him.”
“But I’m—”
“New. I get it.” And he didn’t want to stand around chatting. Especially not with a beautiful woman, who only reminded him of everything he was tossing away because of his family’s misplaced sense of duty. “Off with you, now. I have business.”
* * *
Princess Eva Latvaia looked at the riding crop in her hands, then Prince Alex Sancho’s back as he walked away from her. Sweat caused his white-and-tan polo shirt to stick to his skin, displaying unexpectedly toned muscles. He ran his fingers through his gorgeous, thick curly black hair.
At least their children would be getting good genes.
She shook her head and took Thor’s reins. “A fine name for you, sir. A child of the gods.”
The great horse whinnied.
Eva laughed. She said, “You’re a misfit,” but she stroked his nose to take the sting out of it. “So am I.”
Thor shook his head.
“How’d you end up in a palace?”
One of the stable employees raced out of the open double doors. He grabbed the reins in Eva’s hands. “I’m so sorry, Princess.” He bowed.
She straightened regally, aware of her position, but she also smiled. “This is what I get for taking a stroll when I should be getting ready for a party.”
The older gentleman chuckled and turned to walk Thor into the stable.
Eva had heard the Sancho household was different. She supposed having a new baby around was part of it. But she’d also heard that the woman who’d married Dominic, the prince Eva had been dreaming of since she was four, had brought a more relaxed attitude to the royal family.
And now Eva had to face Dom tonight—and his princess—the woman who’d basically stolen him from Eva. In a way, his marrying someone else was good. She was next in line for her throne. So was he. Theirs would have been a difficult life and a difficult marriage. Still, she’d been dreaming of Dom since she was old enough to watch Cinderella, in love with the idea of marrying a handsome prince and ruling their countries together. Her whole world had worked itself out in her head. And now—
Now, add losing Dom to what her father had done, and everything was off. Wrong. Almost unbearable.
Head high, she walked back to the palace. She rode the elevator to the fourth floor and the guest apartment she’d been given for her stay. She opened just one door of the elegant double-door entrance, and strode through the high-ceilinged foyer to the sitting room, where her mother picked a chocolate from the tray provided as a welcome gift from the king. It seemed she’d replaced crying with eating.
“You’re not going to fit into your mother-of-the-bride dress for the wedding if you keep eating those.”
Her mom, a short thin woman with hair as black as Eva’s, offered the candy to her. “They’re divine. You should try them.”
“Then both of us will need a bigger size dress.”
Eva’s mother dropped the chocolate back to the tray. “You’re right. I want to look nice. I want your derelict of a father to feel bad for leaving me. And I want to prove at least some of us take our royal duties to heart.”
Eva sat on the sofa. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Mom.”
“Running away with an aide.” She shook her head. “Seriously. Could he be any more cliché?”
“It’s not exactly cliché to give up your throne.” He hadn’t officially put down his crown, but a royal divorce came with consequences. Running away with another woman meant a divorce would soon follow, and her dad would no longer be king. Then she would be queen. At twenty-five years old, she’d have the weight of a country on her shoulders. She couldn’t believe her father had done this to her—and for a mistress.
She thanked God that the Sancho family had insisted they fulfill the terms of the treaty that promised her in marriage to one of King Ronaldo’s sons. At least she had this way of bringing herself into the good graces of their subjects before she took the crown. Even if she wasn’t getting the prized prince, the son who would be king, she would prove she would do her duty to her country even when things were crumbling around her, by upholding the terms of a treaty that ensured oil and safe passage for Grennady’s tankers.
“I wonder if he’s coming to the wedding.”
“Your dad?” Her mom winced. “Great. Thanks for reminding me that he might. Now I really do have to give up chocolates.” She tossed the candy tray to the coffee table. “While you were out, did you hear any palace gossip about when the wedding will occur?”
“Xaviera’s servants are a happy, obviously well-cared-for staff, and they are incredibly closemouthed.”
Her mom rose from the sofa. “I guess we’ll find out tonight.”
“I guess we will.”
As her mother turned and walked to her bedroom, Eva headed in the opposite direction to the second bedroom.
Having lived in America for seven years, she no longer had a maid draw her bath. She relished the simple pleasure of running water, adding scented oils and luxuriating—alone—for twenty minutes.
But remembering the way Alexandros had thought her a servant girl, she called for the palace hairdresser. She had housekeeping steam her gown to make sure there wasn’t a hint of a wrinkle.
That evening, when she stepped out of her room and into the apartment’s sitting area, her mom gasped. “Oh, Eva! Are you sure red is a good idea? And strapless? Showing your shoulders when you meet a king and your future husband? They could think you a tart.”
With a quick nod of approval for her mom’s sedate blue gown that showed off her thin figure and suited her black hair, she said, “Alexandros already mistook me for a servant girl.”
“What?”
“I ran into Alex when I took a walk to the stables. He
