It is very short notice, and I apologise, but Torelli is to sing Turandot—and I recall from last summer that you hold her in some admiration.’
‘Turandot!’ exclaimed the Grand Duchess promptly. She bestowed her gracious smile upon Leon. ‘How very kind. It will help to divert my daughter at this distressing time—will it not, Marika?’
The princess managed a smile, albeit a wan one.
‘Then I will make the arrangements,’ Leon said.
He would hardly get Princess Marika to himself, but it would be a start, and being seen conspicuously in public with the Karylyan royal family would begin the process of associating himself with them. And, of course, he added cynically, them with him.
Satisfied, he took his leave. Only as he headed back towards the elevator did he find himself wondering, yet again, just who that breathtaking blonde had been. And trying not to wonder whether he would ever see her again. Trying not to want to see her again...
Sternly he admonished himself.
I’m here to marry a princess—not have my head turned by another woman!
Like it or not, he had better remember that.
Ellie was hurrying again—this time into the foyer of Covent Garden’s Royal Opera House. It was difficult in high heels and a full-length gown. Unlike her mother, who relished no longer having to meet the formal dress codes required of her when she had been Grand Duchess, Ellie’s stepmother had insisted on evening dress tonight.
‘It was quite bad enough you arriving the way you did, dressed like some sort of servant! It’s out of the question that you should not remember your position from now on. Especially now.’
The Grand Duchess had said no more, but Ellie had got the message.
Especially now that her father had been deposed and sent into exile...
Well, she’d done her best this evening, but her couture wardrobe had not made it out of Karylya with her father, and all she’d had on hand at Malcolm’s London flat was the outfit she’d worn to the last TV awards bash she’d attended with her mother and stepfather.
Much to Ellie’s relief, her father had agreed she could stay there, since the suite at the Viscari was already crowded, and it would have required taking yet another room, running up yet another hefty bill.
The pale blue evening gown was perfectly respectable, but it was not couture, and since her Karylyan jewellery had also not made it out of the duchy and into exile, she was wearing only a pearl necklace of her mother’s. She’d dressed her hair simply, applied her make-up likewise, and she knew perfectly well that no one would take her for a princess just by looking at her.
No more than that man did in the penthouse lobby.
She pushed the memory out of her head. Pointless to remember it—pointless to think about the man. Even more pointless to remember her inability to tear her eyes from him... No, it was far more important to focus on this evening.
Marika’s text had elaborated on her stepmother’s summons.
Lisi—you must come! Leon Dukaris will be there. Please, please, please try and keep him away from me!
Ellie’s expression grew grimmer as she gained the almost deserted lobby. The performance was about to begin. She would do her very best to keep Marika’s unwanted suitor from her, but her thoughts were troubled all the same as she was hurriedly shown up to the Dress Circle. For all that the man her sister had fallen in love with was someone utterly impossible for her to marry, Ellie had nothing but sympathy for Marika.
Of course Marika wanted only to marry for love!
Just as I do—and always have done!
In this day and age, after all, even a princess was allowed to believe in marrying for love...
Her face clouded. It was all very well believing that, and all very well trying to protect her sister from an unwanted suitor—but this unknown billionaire was all that stood between her father and penury. It was a sobering and unwelcome thought...
The house lights were already dimming as she was shown into the box reserved for them, and as they dimmed she made out the regal figures of her father and stepmother, already seated, another masculine figure silhouetted beside them, and beside him the slight figure of her sister.
Marika turned a grateful glance on Ellie as she hurriedly sketched a cursory curtsy to the Grand Duchess, who had thrown her an admonitory stare at her late arrival, before sitting down on the nearest chair, just behind her sister.
Busying herself with easing her skirts as she sat down, she dipped her head to smooth the fabric, missing the turning of the head of the masculine figure beside her sister until she raised her eyes, just as the conductor lifted his baton and the curtain rose on the opening scene of Turandot. But as she did so Ellie froze. The breath stilled in her lungs and her lips parted in shock.
The man who’d turned his head to see who was arriving so late was the same man who’d been crossing the penthouse suite lobby that afternoon. The man she had not been able to tear her eyes from.
She gave an audible gasp—she was sure of it—and for the slightest second it seemed she met that dark gaze again, head-on. Then, still in shock, she twisted her head so that her eyes were doggedly on the stage below. But she was sure that colour had run up into her cheeks and her heartbeat had grown ragged—and not just from the rush of getting here!
This was the unknown Greek—the nouveau riche billionaire bankrolling her father and setting his sights on her sister?
Her own words to Marika that morning replayed in her head now, as the opening scene of the opera got underway below her.
Old, fat and piggy-eyed...
She wanted to give a semi-hysterical choke—dear Lord, she couldn’t have been further from the truth!
What had Marika said? She racked her brain to recall her sister’s reply to her dismayed exclamation.
‘Not exactly...’
The hysterical flutter came again—no, definitely ‘not exactly’!
In fact, he was whatever was the total and absolute opposite of her scathing description.
She felt a rush go through her that was nothing to do with her hurried arrival and everything to do with the man sitting just in front of her. Her heart thumping in her chest, she thanked heaven she had the duration of the first act of the opera to recover her composure. Time, more importantly, to dwell on what Marika had told her.
It doesn’t matter that he’s like every woman’s fantasy male—he can’t seriously think he can marry Marika just like that! She must be imagining it—she must!
But then why was Leon Dukaris bothering to pick up the sky-high tab for her father’s hotel bill? What did he think was in it for
