the urge to scream. She could have said no when her mother insisted she come to San Montico, but accepting the invitation had seemed like such a little thing to make her mother happy. Only now…
Christina would disappoint her parents. Again. She should have known no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to please them. But no, she’d gone against her better judgment and said yes. And embarrassed herself. Her family. Her country. Wait until her mother found out.
What if the ring didn’t come off? Christina flexed her hand. Surely they wouldn’t want to chop her finger off? She was an artist. She needed all her fingers. Time to give the soap another try.
Perhaps she was overreacting a little, but this was a small island in the Mediterranean ruled by a prince, not the U.S. government. San Montico might never have heard of due process of law. They might even follow another law—an eye for an eye, a hand for a hand. She lathered again.
Maybe her father could do something—open a factory, build a resort, pay off the national debt. Maybe the prince would understand. Maybe her life was over.
She added more soap, but the ring still wouldn’t budge.
As her stomach curled up and turned one somersault after another, she leaned against the marble counter and groaned. “What am I going to do?”
A man cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
In the mirror, Christina saw Prince Richard’s reflection. He stood with his arms folded across his chest and an unreadable expression on his face. He looked more like a pirate than a prince. A mean pirate. So much for him understanding.
“I knocked, but no one answered.”
Turning, Christina didn’t know what to say. His wide shoulders and six-foot-plus height made the bathroom seem smaller. “Your Highness, I—”
Didier walked into the bathroom, smiling. “The ring fits, Your Highness.”
Prince Richard’s nostrils flared. His full lips nearly disappeared as his mouth tightened. Angry, oh boy, was he angry. How was she going to get out of this one?
“I wouldn’t say it fits, Your Highness.” Christina hoped she wouldn’t cause another international incident. “It’s stuck. I’m probably retaining water. You know, PMS and all that stuff.”
“No, Miss Armstrong.” Prince Richard cocked an eyebrow. “I would not know.”
Why did she say that? He was a prince. She was an Armstrong. Heat rose in her cheeks. “Of course, you wouldn’t. I’m—”
“Let me see your hand.”
She showed him her soap-covered hand. “Maybe if I try some lotion or—”
“Quiet.”
The harsh tone of his voice silenced her. Christina swallowed hard. Prince Charming had disappeared. The classical lines of his face now seemed hard, not handsome. The set of his chin now seemed arrogant, not confident. If only she could turn back the clock and return to the ball…
Prince Richard removed his gloves. He pulled on the ring until tears welled in her eyes. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out.
“It fits, Your Highness,” Didier said with a smile.
“It does not fit.” The prince washed and dried his hands. “It is stuck, Didi. It is too small, that is all.”
“The legend says—”
“Wash your hands, Miss Armstrong,” he ordered before Didier could say another word.
“What legend?” Christina asked.
“Wash your hands,” the prince ordered. “I will not ask again.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Christina mumbled, feeling like a newly enlisted marine in boot camp. She scrubbed but couldn’t rinse all the soap out of the filigree band.
“Find Mr. Armstrong,” Prince Richard commanded. “I need to speak with him immediately.”
“Your Highness.” Didier stopped at the door. “Perhaps—”
“Not now, Didi.” As soon as the door closed behind Didier, Prince Richard handed her his white gloves. “Put these on.”
The left glove was at least two sizes too big. “It doesn’t fit, Your Highness.”
“This is not a fashion show, Miss Armstrong. You will wear them. I do not need to have my mother see you wearing the ring. Or the press.”
The press. Prince Richard had a good point. She put on the right glove.
He walked toward the door. “Come with me.”
Uncertain and a little frightened, Christina hesitated.
“Now.”
She tilted her chin, trying to gain a bit of courage. “Where are we going, Your Highness?”
“Some place private, where we will not be disturbed.”
The palace reminded her of a dream castle, but the evening was turning into a nightmare. Surely the palace didn’t have a dungeon with a torture chamber. She followed Prince Richard out of the bathroom to a narrow, dimly lit hallway. “Exactly where is that, Your Highness?”
“My bedroom.”
Chapter Two
Christina stood outside the double white-paneled doors, her heart pounding in her throat. The prince, the engagement ring, his bedroom.
Oh, man. His bedroom, the prince’s bedroom.
No one would believe this was happening. Well, maybe her family would, but no one else. She pinched her arm to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
Prince Richard stepped in front of her and opened one of the doors. “You will wait inside.”
“Your Highness,” she said, then hesitated.
His I’m-better-than-you stare made her feel unwelcome, emphasizing the fact she didn’t belong. “What is it, Miss Armstrong?”
Christina might not be royalty, but she was an Armstrong. She forced herself to look him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry for ruining your birthday.”
“Go on.” With his hand at the small of her back, he led her inside. It was obvious he could care less about her apology. “Do not touch anything and stay away from the windows.”
She almost asked if she should remove her shoes before stepping on the carpet but thought better of it. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“I must return to the party. I believe my uncle is going to have a heart attack.”
A what? Heart attack? She tried to speak, but no words would come. Prince Richard closed the door behind
