would be king and married by now if we hadn’t lost Celeste,’ his mother said, gentle but firm.
His teeth clenched at the unnecessary reminder. ‘I’m well aware of that.’ Just as he was well aware that his voice now echoed the chill weaving through his bloodstream. ‘But tell me, Mother, where exactly am I to conjure a bride from in three months?’
If he’d hoped to cow her with his caustic tone, he should have known better.
Without missing a beat she opened a tiny drawer directly in front of her chair and took out a single piece of paper. ‘The list of candidates we put together for you five years ago is still viable—save for one. She married a count and is already pregnant with her second child.’
The trace of wistfulness in her voice further aggravated Remi, but he kept his emotions on a tight leash, saved his verbal dexterity for the noose caressing his throat.
‘I didn’t stoop to plucking my future wife from a list put together by faceless advisers five years ago and I’m not about to do that now.’
Queen Isadora slapped the piece of paper down on the desk. ‘Well, that’s too bad. This time you don’t have the luxury of time or indulgence. Perhaps this is the best way forward. I married for love. You were about to marry the woman of your heart. Look where that got us both!’
Remi stiffened. His mother froze in her chair, her eyes widening in shock at her own outburst. Thick silence slammed between them as Remi examined her closer, noted the pallor beneath the make-up, the lines of stress bracketing her eyes.
He’d absorbed more of her duties this past year, but he could still see the strain of office on her face.
Heavy really was the head that wore the crown, temporary or not.
A crown that was soon to be placed upon his own head.
Before he could comment she gathered herself with regal poise, her spine ramrod straight as she speared him with a glare.
‘Let me be clear, Remirez. I will not sit by and watch all that I’ve painstakingly rebuilt these past ten years fall to ruin again because your sensibilities won’t allow it. You’ll go to London, separate your half-brother from this piece of bad news and bring him home. Then you’ll pick a bride and announce your betrothal one week before the Solstice Festival. At the festival we’ll give an official date for your wedding, which will be three months after your engagement. That gives you six months to get used to the idea of marriage. I’ll make myself available to help with preparations if you need me to. Otherwise, I look forward to being the lucky mother of the groom come September.’
She closed the folder and nudged it an extra inch towards him, before straightening the specially engraved pens which had belonged to his father.
When she was done, she looked him straight in the eye. ‘It’s time to take your true place as head of this kingdom. I know you won’t let me down.’
One minute later, Remi walked out. And, as he’d rightly predicted, everything had changed.
* * *
Five more weeks.
Maddie Myers resisted the urge to check her phone for the exact hour and minute before this nightmare was over.
She should never have agreed to this preposterous proposition. So far every second had been hellish.
But then her choices were severely limited. And when a Lamborghini sideswiping you compounded those woes by knocking the grocery shopping paid for with your last tenner out of your hands, you needed to take a moment to accept that things were truly awful.
With luck in very limited supply in her world, she’d thanked every star she could name for escaping that horrifying incident with just a few unpleasant-looking bruises, the occasional twinge in her ribs that made it difficult to take a full breath and a sore arm.
To be honest, Maddie was sure it was the shock of being nearly run over that had made her agree to Jules Montagne’s scheme in the first place. But by the time she’d downed that second restorative brandy she’d been in the darkest pit of despair, one that not even expensive booze could lift her from. So when the owner of the Lamborghini of Death had offered her a solution to her problems...
Truth be told, at that point she’d been seriously considering the logistics of how to sell one of her kidneys, so a rich assaulter with money to burn had seemed the answer to her prayers.
Nevertheless, it had taken her forty-eight hours to accept his deal. Probably because he’d been cagey about why he needed her in the first place. If Maddie had learned one thing in life, it was to look before she leapt. Blind trust was no longer a flaw that would tarnish her.
She’d trusted her mother to stay and help the family she’d helped break apart. She’d trusted her father every time he’d told her he had his addiction under control. And Greg... He’d been the worst culprit of all.
So when Jules had delivered that stony-faced ask no questions ultimatum her first instinct had been to walk out of the fancy wine bar he’d taken her to after nearly running her over, and never look back.
But no matter how many times she’d checked her meagre bank account, or riffled through her belongings in the hope of finding something pawn-worthy, the balance had fallen far too short.
With time running out for her father, she’d had no choice but to return Jules Montagne’s phone call.
Of course his help hadn’t come for free. Hence her being once again dressed like a high-class escort, listening to him hold court among his circle of trustfundistas and minor royals in another VIP lounge as they guzzled thousands of pounds’ worth of champagne.
She’d long since passed the life is so unfair and why me? stage. And after her mother’s shocking desertion Maddie had shrugged off there’s always hope too.
‘Hey, Maddie, smile! The way you’re staring into your glass, you’d think somebody’s died.’
She plastered on a fake smile while the urge to scream burned through her gullet. True, no one had died. But the man who’d once been a strong, supportive father—a man now sadly broken by his failures—most definitely would, unless she pulled off this performance successfully and collected the payment due to her.
Seventy-five thousand pounds.
The exact amount needed for her father’s private kidney operation and aftercare in France.
The exact amount Jules had agreed to pay her if she pretended to be his girlfriend for six weeks.
She raised her gaze from her glass and connected with the gunmetal eyes of her pretend boyfriend. The man who barely spoke to her once they were away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi who dogged his every movement.
‘Smile, cherie,’ he insisted, with a hard, fierce light in his eyes.
She tried again, aiming for authenticity this time. She must have succeeded. He gave a brisk nod and raised his glass to her before swinging back into whatever joke he’d interrupted himself in.
Maddie breathed in relief, winced as her ribs protested, then
