in love with Mari.
“Weren’t you crowned Princess of the Festival four times running?” her dad had demanded the first time she’d tried to tell her parents that Mikhail’s intentions could never be honourable to her, a commoner.
“Princess of a Greek festival in Marrickville isn’t quite the title a real prince looks for in a wife, Dad,” Mari had sighed. “And the voting was rigged. Uncle Harry was the president, and Petros’s dad was on the board, too.”
The entire family knew Stavros’s best friend Petros still held a torch for Mari. He’d proposed every year at the Festival since Mari’s first win. Her parents had encouraged her to think about it.
At least until Mikhail came along. Even her mother seemed to have waved aside the lifelong belief that marrying a non-Greek was tantamount to heresy the moment she’d looked into Mikhail’s melting caramel eyes—or, more strictly, the moment she’d learned his title.
“What was Princess Mary of Denmark before Prince Frederik met her? A girl just like you! The world has changed. You are cousin to a king, Mari. Didn’t Great-Uncle Kyri teach you the language, customs and manners, just as he did Charlie and Lia?”
“You are worthy of a king … or a future king,” her father had said, ending the conversation with the firm tone that told Mari argument was futile.
“You look beautiful, Mari,” Mikhail whispered in her ear, holding her a few inches too close for propriety. “Your dress shimmers over your lovely body until you look like a star.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied with repellent demureness. As he pulled her against him, she froze so he had as little benefit as possible from the closeness.
“Still so cold?” he asked, with a mixture of the sulky boy and plaintive charmer she couldn’t find attractive. “Haven’t I given you enough gifts, spent enough time convincing you of my intentions towards you—only you, my sweet star?”
Intentions of what? she almost retorted, but what was the use? He’d only launch into enthusiastic rhetoric about how life would be for a royal lover: fame, wealth and a jet-setting lifestyle while it lasted, and a nice house in the place of her choosing when he ended it.
The look in those thick-lashed caramel eyes wasn’t caring; it was predatory. Though Mikhail was handsome, rich and royal, he didn’t like her; he enjoyed the chase, and the thrill of the win.
Though she’d told him at least ten times already, she said again, “I love my life in Sydney—and I’d rather be the bride of a common man than a royal mistress.” Mari said it with pride. She wasn’t asking him to marry her—God forbid! Mikhail’s wilful arrogance, spoiled tantrums and treating of the lower orders as if they were disposable had turned her off within two days of meeting him, and now all she felt was a weary revulsion.
Mikhail made a sound of indulgent contempt. “Of course you would. All women want to be a bride. Perhaps if you were titled, like your cousin …” He shrugged elegantly. “Face it, Mari, nobody but your parents expects you to be a virgin when you marry.” His eyes gleamed with predatory intent as his hand moved with intimate heat over her back, sliding down towards the curve of her bottom. “Being loved first by a prince will only enhance your chances of finding the right kind of man. Come to me, Mari,” he whispered in a voice like chocolate cream, layered with an exotic accent many women would find impossible to resist. “Your life will be blessed from your time with me.”
Mari looked at Mikhail and wondered why he still bothered. Even if Jazmine and Lia hadn’t told her—strictly on the QT, of course—about the way Mikhail treated any woman he didn’t consider his equal in station, and even if Charlie hadn’t also warned her that Mikhail refused to acknowledge any of his less important former lovers when they tried to pull the influence card, the simple truth was she didn’t feel anything for Mikhail, and that ended that.
“No,” she said, quiet but firm. “It’s not going to happen, Your Highness. Please try to find a more … agreeable woman.”
Mikhail’s face darkened. He’d taken her other rejections as a prelude, a challenge—but tonight this had to be her final answer. “You’re lying, Mari. I’ve seen the look in your eyes, heard the hesitation in your voice every time you’ve put me off.”
Mari stared at him in wonder. Only a man as self-assured as Mikhail could see her firm no just moments before as a “putting off”. What would it take to convince him?
After a struggle with his self-control, he went on with dark intimacy, “I can assure you that the King has no objections to my—”
Charlie didn’t object? That wasn’t what he’d told her …
The name made her turn her head. Charlie and Jazmine danced not far away, and she caught her cousin’s wife’s eye with a pleading glance.
Jazmine, who’d become the new Queen of Hellenia shortly after her marriage, whispered in her husband’s ear. Within seconds Charlie was saying, genially, “Mikhail, my friend, I know a wedding isn’t the best time for it, but your father called me this morning. He wishes us to speak on a matter of—” He glanced at Mari, and said apologetically, “Sorry, my beloved cousin, but it’s a matter of national security, and some delicacy.”
Filled with relief, Mari kissed Charlie’s cheek. “Of course. I’ll go speak with Jazmine.”
Even a prince had protocol to which he must bow. Commoner though he’d been all his life, Charlie was now a station above Mikhail; Hellenia had importance to his family in matters of state and trade in Europe. Mikhail forced a smile to his face. “Lead the way, Your Majesty,” he said formally, refusing to call him Charlie.
But perhaps Charlie hadn’t yet invited him to such friendly intimacy. For all his careless ways and Aussie upbringing, Charlie had walls and barriers of his own.
As Charlie led Mikhail out of the state banqueting room, Mari knew her freedom wouldn’t last long. She had five to ten minutes to escape before Mikhail or her family stopped her. She tossed Jazmine a grateful glance; the Queen winked at her, and tilted her head towards the royal exit. Mari’s eyes widened as Jazmine beckoned with a hand.
As she reached her, the Queen slipped her arm through Mari’s and led her to the royal exit. Once there she whispered, “Out through there, turn right and right again, and you’ll find a royal limousine waiting for you. Your things are packed and ready.” Jazmine pushed an envelope stamped with the royal insignia into Mari’s hand. “This note tells the driver—he’s waiting outside for you—to take you to the pier. Charlie’s arranged our smaller yacht for you to sail on for a few days—until Mikhail is safely under the parental thumb again.”
“What?” she gasped, too stunned to be polite.
“We might be new at the job, but we keep an eye on things,” Jazmine said softly, “and this situation has become rather delicate. I’ve known Mikhail too many years. There’s no way he’ll give up until you give him what he wants—or worse, he ends up creating a rupture between Hellenia and Chalnikan. It’s been difficult to keep him under control every time he’s come here before, but with Lia and me, our positions prevented him from going too far. Even Grandfather refused to think of him as a potential husband for either of us, prince of the blood though he is. I was hoping you could convince him it was useless, but obviously that isn’t going to happen.”
Mari found herself
