with the black of his coat. He must be blond, or his hair must be the lightest shade of brown.
He was tall too, Ana realised. She was wearing flat-heeled boots, but she was still slightly above average height for a woman, and yet she only came up to his shoulder. He was easily an inch or two over six foot. And broad. His winter clothing added breadth, but those shoulders weren’t just the result of good tailoring.
She sensed him taking in her appearance: her camel-coloured coat, her chequered scarf, her jeans, her boots. And her dishevelled dark brown hair. Her messed-up make-up.
Maybe it was her embarrassment at the state she was in that made her snap a question at him:
‘Who are you?’
He blinked. ‘Žao mi je, ne govorim hrvatski,’ he said carefully, and in a foreign accent.
I’m sorry, I don’t speak Croatian.
Vela Ada’s native language was actually a unique Slavic dialect, but it borrowed heavily from neighbouring Croatia.
Usually she would’ve appreciated the effort to speak her language, but tonight she was just too tired—emotionally and physically exhausted—and too sensitive to the bored judgment she could still see in the man’s gaze.
‘Who…’ she said in English, in the most regal tone she could muster, ‘are…’ a long, pointed pause ‘…you?’
PRINCESS ANA WAS glaring at him. Her hands were on her hips, her eyes were narrowed and her full lips were in a perfectly straight impatient line.
It was quite late, but Rhys could see well enough in the muted light to acknowledge that Princess Ana was rather more attractive than he’d expected. Oh, he’d known she was pretty—but in person she was just…more. More vivid, somehow. More striking. Striking enough that he’d grinned at her like a moron for who knew how long—until he’d remembered he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have a princess about to move in with him.
If anyone but Prince Marko had asked, he would never have agreed to it. He liked his privacy—he needed it, in fact. And he quite literally guaranteed it, with the most cutting-edge security system he’d designed protecting the perimeter of his property.
He never had guests.
He also didn’t need the money the palace had offered. North Security was doing well. Extremely well, actually. This wasn’t a financial decision.
But he had agreed. Because Marko wasn’t one for asking favours. For Marko to call him so unexpectedly, Rhys knew this must be important to his friend. And when Marko had said it was Ana he was trying to help, Rhys hadn’t been surprised.
Rhys remembered the scandal when Prince Goran had died last year, and Marko’s subsequent guilt. His friend had been convinced he should have known he had a long-lost cousin, despite Rhys pointing out that the original saga—and Goran’s denial of paternity—had all taken place well before Marko had turned ten.
But, regardless, Marko had a soft spot for Ana, and so when his new cousin had needed a place to escape to he had called the person best equipped to provide an absolutely secure, absolutely private location far from Vela Ada.
And because it was Marko who’d asked him—and because of that terrible night in the middle of the desert five years earlier—Rhys figured that a favour was the least he could do for the man who’d been there for him at his absolute worst.
Princess Ana gave a little huff of frustration. It was cold enough that it was accompanied by a tiny cloud of condensation.
‘We should go inside,’ he said, suddenly realising how cold he was. How cold they all must be.
The Princess’s two guards were rugged up in black coats and beanies, but rather than encouraging their charge into the warm home they were clearly waiting for direction from Rhys. He had specified to Marko that he must be in charge of all security on the property should Ana come and stay with him, but this was ridiculous. No level of security was much use should they all freeze to death.
He turned on his heel and headed up the stairs. ‘Follow me,’ he said.
He heard the Princess grumbling behind him, but she could clearly see the wisdom in continuing their conversation indoors. She didn’t meet his gaze again until they were inside. One of her guards had helped her shrug off her coat and scarf, and she was now sitting on the low, L-shaped fabric sofa in his living room.
She sat with excellent posture primly on the edge of the seat. She wasn’t meeting his gaze any more. Instead her attention flitted about the small space, not that there was a lot to see. He kept things pretty minimal, and the place was as tidy and streamlined as his interior designer had left it when he’d moved in almost five years ago.
Except for the treadmill and bike parked near the dining table, of course.
Rhys stood in front of her, now in T-shirt and jeans, after discarding his coat on the stand near the front door. ‘My name’s Rhys,’ he said. ‘Rhys North. I’m mates with Marko. We met when he took part in a training exercise with the Australian Special Forces about eight years ago. I’ve now left the regiment and I own a security company. Marko thinks you’ll be safe here, and you will be. Does that answer your question?’
Ana’s gaze met his again and she nodded.
‘I assumed you’d been briefed, Your Highness,’ Rhys said, belatedly remembering to address her correctly.
Ana looked at her guards, who stood there, ultra-professional, in standard bodyguard pose, their hands clasped in front of them. The two guards shared a quick glance.
‘We did provide a briefing, Mr North… Your Highness,’ one of them said, a moment later. ‘However, it has been a very long and trying day—’
‘Oh, God!’ Ana exclaimed suddenly, cutting him off. ‘Really? I’m so sorry.’
She sighed and twisted her fingers in a thick strand of dark brown hair that had fallen loose from what even Rhys could recognise as a wedding hairstyle.
‘I honestly don’t remember much since I left the church. Thank you for so politely excusing the fact that I’ve obviously totally ignored everything you’ve said to me. I’ve just been a joy today, haven’t I? Jilting one man, ignoring others…’ She buried her head in her hands.
Rhys interrupted her self-flagellation. ‘Drink?’ he asked.
Her dark head popped up instantly. ‘Yes, please,’ she said.
Then she flopped back onto his couch, resting her head on the back, her gaze trained on the ceiling.
A few minutes later—after directing the guards to the kitchen to help themselves to a drink and his limited selection of food—Rhys stood before her, drink in hand.
‘Your Highness…?’ he prompted.
Slowly she pushed herself
