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Crown Prince's Chosen Bride Page 10
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‘I did not know you,’ he said simply. ‘Now I do.’
Their lives were unimaginably different. Not just their country and their culture. He was royalty, for heaven’s sake.
‘I don’t have to call you your royal highness, do I?’ She couldn’t help the edge to her voice.
‘To you I am always Tristan.’
‘And my curtsying skills aren’t up to scratch.’
Pain tightened his face. ‘This is why I went incognito. You are already treating me differently now you know I am a prince. Next thing you’ll be backing away from me when you leave the room.’
‘Technically we’re on a beach, but I get your drift. I’m meant to back away from you across the sand?’
‘Not now. But when—’ he crossed himself rapidly ‘—when, God forbid, my father passes and I become king, then—’
‘I’d have to walk backwards from your presence.’
‘Yes. Only in public, of course.’
‘This is...this is kind of incomprehensible.’ It was all so unbelievable, and yet she found herself believing it. And no matter how she tried, she could not switch off her attraction to him.
A shadow crossed over his face. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And...and it gets worse.’
‘How can it get worse than having to back away out of the presence of a guy my own age? A guy I’ve made friends with? Sort of friends—considering I don’t generally make pals of people who lie to me.’
‘Only “friends”, Gemma?’ he said, his brows lifted above saddened eyes. ‘I think we both know it could be so much more than that.’
Tristan stepped forward to close the gap between them. This time she didn’t back away. He traced her face lightly with his fingers, across her cheekbones, down her nose, around her lips. She had the disconcerting feeling he was storing up the sight of her face to remember her.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I...I think I knew that from the get go.’
It was difficult to speak because of the little shivers of pleasure coursing through her at his touch.
‘I did also,’ he said. ‘I have never felt this way. It was...instant for me. That was why I had to see you again—no matter what I had to do to have you with me.’
‘I told you I could cast spells,’ she said with a shaky smile. ‘Seriously, I felt it too. Which is why I resisted you. Whether you’re a prince or just a regular guy, I don’t trust the “instant” thing.’
‘The coup de foudre? I did not believe it could happen either—certainly not to me.’
She frowned. ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’
‘The bolt of lightning. The instant attraction out of nowhere. I have had girlfriends, of course, but never before have I felt this...this intensity so quickly.’
She had felt it before—which was why she distrusted it. Why did it feel so different this time?
It was him. Tristan. He was quite unlike anyone she had ever met.
She braced her feet in the sand. ‘So how does it get worse?’
‘First I must apologise, Gemma, for luring you onto the boat.’
‘Apologise? There’s no need for that. I’m having a wonderful day...enjoying being with you. We could do it again tomorrow—I have vacation days due to me. Or I could take you to see kangaroos...maybe even a koala.’
‘You would want that?’
‘We could try and make this work.’ She tried to tone down the desperation in her voice, but she felt he was slipping away from her. ‘We live on different sides of the world—not different planets. Though I’m not so sure about how to handle the prince thing. That’s assuming you want to date me?’ She laughed—a nervous, shaky laugh that came out as more of a squeak. ‘I feel more like Cinderella than ever...’
Her voice trailed away as she read the bleak expression in his eyes. This was not going well.
‘Gemma, you are so special to me already. Of course I would like to date you—if it were possible. But before you plan to spend more time with me you need to hear this first,’ he said. ‘To know why I had no right to trick you. You said you would never hate me, but—’
‘So tell me,’ she said. ‘Rip the sticking plaster off in one go.’
‘I am not free to choose my own wife. The heir to the throne of Montovia must marry a woman of noble blood. It is forbidden for him to marry a commoner.’
His words hit her like blows. ‘A...a “commoner”? I’m not so sure I like being called a commoner. And we’re not talking marriage—we hardly know each other.’
‘Gemma, if the way I feel about you was allowed to develop, it would get serious. Very serious.’
He spoke with such conviction she could not help but find his words thrilling. The dangerous, impossible kind of thrilling.
‘I...I see,’ she said. Until now she hadn’t thought beyond today. ‘I believe it would get serious for me, too.’ If she allowed herself to get involved.
‘But it could not lead to marriage for us. Marriage for a crown prince is not about love. It is about tradition. My brother’s death changed everything. Brought with it an urgency to prepare me for the duties that face me. As crown prince I am expected to marry. I must announce my engagement on my thirtieth birthday. A suitable wife has been chosen for me.’
‘An arranged marriage? Surely not in this day and age?’
‘There is no compulsion for me to marry her. She has been deemed “suitable” if I cannot find an aristocratic wife on my own. And my time is running out.’
Pain seared through her at the thought of him with another woman. But one day together, a few kisses, gave her no claim on him.
‘When do you turn thirty?’
‘On the eighteenth of June.’
She forced her voice to sound even, impartial. ‘Three months. Will you go through with it? Marry a stranger?’
‘Gemma, I have been brought up believing that my first duty is to my country—above my own desires. As second in line to the throne I might have tried to defy it. I even told my family I would not marry if I could not choose my own bride. But as crown prince, stepping into the shoes of my revered brother, who married the daughter of a duke when he was twenty-six and had a son by the time he was twenty-eight, I have no choice but to marry.’
‘But not...never...to someone like me...’ Her voice trailed away as the full impact of what he was saying hit her. She looked down to where she scuffed the sand with her bare toes. She had humiliated herself by suggesting a long-distance relationship.
Tristan placed a gentle finger under her chin so she had to look up at him. ‘I am sorry, Gemma. That is the way it has always been in Montovia. Much as I would wish it otherwise.’ His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Until I met you I was prepared to accept my fate with grace. Now it will be that much harder.’
‘Aren’t princess brides a bit short on the ground these days?’
‘To be from an aristocratic family is all that is required—she does not need to be actual royalty. In the past it was about political alliances and dowries...’
Nausea brewed deep in the pit of her stomach. Why hadn’t he told her this before he’d kissed her? Before she’d let herself start to spin dreams? Dreams as fragile as her finest meringue and as easily smashed.
Sincere as he appeared now, Tristan had deceived her. She would never have allowed herself to let down her guard if she’d known all this.
Like Alistair, he had presented himself as a person different from what he really was. And she, despite all best intentions, had let down her guard and exposed her heart. Tristan had started something he knew he could not continue with. That had been dishonest and unfair.
She could not let him know how much he had hurt her. Had to carry away from this some remaining shreds of dignity. For all his apologies, for all his blue blood, he was no better than any oth
er man who had lied to her.
‘I’m sorry, too, Tristan,’ she said. ‘I...I also felt the coupe de foudre. But it was just...physical.’ She shrugged in a show of nonchalance. ‘We’ve done nothing to regret. Just...just a few kisses.’
What were a few kisses to a prince? He probably had gorgeous women by the hundred, lining up in the hope of a kiss from him.
‘Those kisses meant something to me, Gemma,’ he said, his mouth a tight line.
She could not deny his mouth possessing hers had felt both tender and exciting. But... ‘The fact is, we’ve spent not even a day in each other’s company. I’m sure we’ll both get over it and just remember a...a lovely time on the harbour.’
The breeze that had teased the drying tendrils of her hair had dropped, and the sun beat down hot on her bare shoulders. Yet she started to shiver.
‘We should be getting back to the boat,’ she said.
She turned and splashed into the water before he could see the tears of disappointment and loss that threatened. She swam her hardest to get to the boat first, not knowing or caring if Tristan was behind her.
* * *
Tristan stood on the shore and watched Gemma swim away from him in a froth of white water, her pale arms slicing through the water, her vigorous kicks making very clear her intention to get as far away from him as quickly as possible.
He picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it into the bush with such force that a flock of parrots soared out of a tree, their raucous cries admonishing him for his lack of control. He cursed loud and long. He had lost Gemma.
She was halfway to the boat already. He wished he could cast a wide net into the sea and bring her back to him, but he doubted she wanted more of his deceitful company.
In Montovian mythology, when a cunning hunter tried to capture a water nymph and keep her for himself, he’d drag back his net to find it contained not the beautiful woman he coveted but a huge, angry catfish, with rows of razor-sharp teeth, that would set upon him.
The water nymphs held all the cards.
* * *
An hour later Gemma had showered and dressed and was sitting opposite Tristan at the stylishly laid table on the sheltered deck of the Argus. She pushed the poached lobster salad around her plate with her fork. Usually she felt ravenous after a swim, but her appetite had completely deserted her.
Tristan was just going through the motions of eating, too. His eyes had dulled to a flat shade of blue, and there were lines of strain around his mouth she hadn’t noticed before. All the easy camaraderie between them had disintegrated into stilted politeness.
Yet she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him. He seemed as miserable as she was. Even through the depths of her shock and disappointment she knew he had only deceived her because he’d liked her and wanted her to like him for himself. Neither of them had expected the intensity of feeling that had resulted.
She still found it difficult to get her head around his real identity. For heaven’s sake, she was having lunch with a prince. A prince from a kingdom still run on medieval rules. He was royalty—she was a commoner. Deemed not worthy of him. Gemma had grown up in an egalitarian society. The inequality of it grated. She did not believe herself to be less.
She made another attempt to eat, but felt self-conscious as she raised her fork to her mouth. Did Tristan’s bodyguards have a long-distance lens trained on her?
She slid her plate away from her, pushed her chair back and got up from the table.
‘I’m sorry, Tristan, I can’t do this.’
With his impeccable manners, he immediately got up, too. ‘You don’t like the food?’ he said. But his eyes told her he knew exactly what she meant.
‘You. Me. What could have been. What can never be. Remember what I said about the sticking plaster?’
‘You don’t want to prolong the pain,’ he said slowly.
Of course he understood. In spite of their differences in status and language and upbringing, he already got her.
This was heartbreaking. He was a real-life Prince Charming who wanted her but couldn’t have her—not in any honourable way. And she, as Cinderella, had to return to her place in the kitchen.
‘I’m going to ask the skipper to take me to the wharf at Manly and drop me off.’
‘How will you get home?’
‘Bus. Ferry. Taxi. Please don’t worry about me. I’m very good at looking after myself.’
She turned away from him and carried with her the stricken expression on his face to haunt her dreams.
CHAPTER TEN
GEMMA STRUGGLED TO hear what Andie was saying to her over the rise and fall of chatter, the clink of glasses, the odd burst of laughter—the soundtrack to another successful Party Queens function. The Friday night cocktail party at the swish Parkview Hotel was in full swing—the reception being held to mark the official visit of Tristan, crown prince of Montovia, to Sydney.
Gemma had explained to her business partners what had happened on the Argus and had excluded herself from any further dealings with him. Tristan had finalised the guest list with Eliza on Thursday.
Tristan’s guests included business leaders with connections to the Montovian finance industry, the importers and top retailers of the principality’s fine chocolate and cheese, senior politicians—both state and federal—even the governor of the state.
If she didn’t have to be here to ensure that the food service went as it should for such an important function, she wouldn’t have attended.
Her antennae twitched. Okay, so she was lying to herself. How could she resist the chance to see him again? On a strictly ‘look, don’t touch’ basis. Because no matter how often she told herself that she’d had a lucky escape to get out after only a day, before she got emotionally attached, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.
Not that it had been an issue. Tristan was being the ideal host and was much in demand from his guests. He hadn’t come anywhere near her, either, since the initial formal briefing between Party Queens and its client. She shouldn’t have felt hurt, but she did—a deep, private ache to see that after all that angst on the Argus it seemed he’d been able to put her behind him so easily.
The secret of his identity was now well and truly out. There was nothing the media loved more than the idea of a handsome young European prince visiting Australia. Especially when he was reported to be ‘one of the world’s most eligible bachelors.’ She knew there were photographers swarming outside the hotel to catch the money shot of Prince Charming.
‘What did you say, Andie?’ she asked her friend again.
Tall, blonde Andie leaned closer. ‘I said you’re being very brave. Eliza and I are both proud of you. It must be difficult for you, seeing him like this.’
‘Yeah. It is. I’m determined to stay away from him. After all it was only one day—it meant nothing.’ One day that had quite possibly been one of the happiest days of her life—until that conversation on Store Beach. ‘No big deal, really—unless I make it a big deal.’
‘He lied to you. Just remember that,’ said Andie.
‘But he—’ It was on the tip of her tongue to defend Tristan by saying he hadn’t out-and-out lied, just skirted around the truth. But it was the same thing. Lying by omission. And she wasn’t going to fall back into bad old ways by making excuses for a man who had misled her.
But she couldn’t help being aware of Tristan. Just knowing he was here had her on edge. He was on the other side of the room, talking to two older men. He looked every inch the prince in an immaculately tailored tuxedo worn with a blue, gold-edged sash across his chest. Heaven knew what the rows of medals pinned to his shoulder signified—but there were a lot of them. He was the handsome prince from all the fairytales she had loved when she was a kid.
Never had that sense of other been
stronger.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Andie. ‘Eliza and I are going to make darn sure you’re never alone with him.’
‘Good,’ said Gemma, though her craven heart longed to be alone with him.
‘You didn’t do all that work on yourself over six months to throw it away on an impossible crush. What would Dr B think?’
The good thing about having worked on a women’s magazine was that the staff had had access to the magazine’s agony aunt. Still did. ‘Dr B’ was a practising clinical psychologist and—pushed along by her friends—Gemma had trooped along to her rooms for a series of consultations. In return for a staff discount, she hadn’t minded seeing her heavily disguised questions appearing on the agony aunt’s advice page in her new magazine.
Dear Dr B,
I keep falling for love rats who turn out to be not what they said they were—yet I put up with their bad behaviour. How can I break this pattern?
It was Dr B who had helped Gemma identify how her unbalanced relationship with her stepfather had given her an excessive need for approval from men. It was Dr B who had showed her how to develop her own instincts, trust her antennae. And given her coping strategies for when it all got too hard.
‘I can deal with this,’ she said to Andie. ‘You just watch me.’
‘While you watch Tristan?’
Gemma started guiltily. ‘Is it that obvious? He’s just so gorgeous, Andie.’
‘That he is,’ said Andie. ‘But he’s not for you. If you start to weaken, just think of all that stuff you dug up on the internet about Montovia’s Playboy Prince.’
‘How could I forget it?’
Gemma sighed. She’d been shocked to the core at discovering his reputation. Yet couldn’t reconcile it with the Tristan she knew.
Was she just kidding herself?
She must not slide back into bad old habits. People had warned her about Alistair, but she’d wanted to believe his denials about drugs and other women. Until she’d been proved wrong in the most shockingly painful way.
Andie glanced at her watch. ‘I need to call Dominic and check on Hugo,’ she said. ‘He had a sniffle today and I want to make sure he’s okay.’