Not Fit for a King? (10 page)

“His Majesty thought you might enjoy breakfast in bed today,” Celine said, transforming the trolley into a table next to the bed, acting as if it was perfectly normal for Hannah to be in the king’s bed.

Hannah sat up. “All for me?”

“His Majesty said you’ve a long day of appointments, activities and meetings, starting with this morning’s portrait sitting, so you’ll need a good breakfast. And once you’ve eaten, we’ll return to the Queen’s Chambers and get you ready for your portrait sitting.”

Emmeline’s personal stylists were waiting for her as she emerged from her bathroom a half hour later, swaddled in a Turkish towel.

Camille had everything ready to do Hannah’s hair and it wasn’t long before Hannah was back in the dress she was wearing for her portrait, the pale shimmering gown clinging to her curves, the color highlighting her golden beauty, as Camille ran the flat iron over the ends of her hair making sure it was perfectly straight.

Teresa was passing time by sitting on a stool and flipping through a magazine, sometimes reading an article aloud. Suddenly she stopped flipping pages to stare at a photograph.

“There she is!” Teresa exclaimed. “That Hannah Smith, Your Highness, the American lookalike we told you about in Palm Beach.”

“The one you said helped organize the polo tournament?” Hannah answered vaguely.

Camille smoothed a strand of hair with the flat iron. “Yes,
and it’s a shame you didn’t meet her. Teresa and I were dying to see the two of you together … would have been fascinating.”

“Mmm.” Hannah feigned boredom. “You said she’s in the magazine?”

“Yes. This week’s issue.” Teresa drew the magazine closer to study the photo and caption. “They snapped her leaving a South Beach nightclub and she’s with someone who isn’t happy at all … oooh! Sheikh Makin Al-Koury. It looks like he’s dragging her out of the club.” Teresa glanced up at Hannah. “I wonder if that’s her boyfriend?”

Hannah’s brows flattened. “I thought she just worked for him?”

“I don’t know, but he looks really ticked off. He’s practically dragging her out of the club.” Teresa grinned. “Just like a jealous boyfriend.”

“What does the caption say?”

“Not much, just
Sheikh Al-Koury and unidentified friend leaving Lounge Mynt.”
Teresa looked up. “Although that is a really trendy club. Impossible to get into unless you’re a VIP.”

“I’m sure they’re not dating,” Hannah said firmly, staggered by the news that Emmeline and Makin Al-Koury were together. “Sheikhs do not date their secretaries.” Hannah impatiently held her hand out for the magazine. “Can I see?”

Teresa slid off the stool and carried the magazine to Hannah. “There,” she said, holding the magazine out to Hannah while Camille peeked over her shoulder for a look, too. “Doesn’t he look angry with her?”

Hannah couldn’t believe her eyes. It
was
Emmeline and Makin stepping out of a South Beach nightclub, which was all the more incredible because Sheikh Makin Al-Koury did not go to nightclubs, avoiding places celebs and paparazzi hung out. He was a very private man and never dated women who liked the limelight.

She glanced from Makin Al-Koury to Emmeline. Emmeline looked terrible. Gaunt. Frail. Eyes deeply shadowed. “She doesn’t look well,” Hannah said. “She’s too thin.”

Camille leaned closer to the photo. “She’s probably partying too much. Everyone does everything in South Beach.”

“Not Makin,” Hannah said under her breath, thinking Teresa was right. Makin looked absolutely livid in the photo. What was going on between them? What were they doing together? And when had Princess Emmeline met up with Hannah’s boss?

“What’s everyone looking at?” Zale asked from the doorway.

Hannah jumped and shoved the magazine back into Teresa’s hands. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he drawled, entering the dressing room. “Then why do all three of you look guilty?”

“Because we were all drooling over clothes. Expensive clothes. Something you’d never do,” Hannah answered with a laugh. “What brings you here, Your Majesty?”

“You.”

His rich voice and Raguvian accent made everything he said sound sinful. Sexy.

Heat swept through her. Her cheeks burned as she turned in her chair to face him. He was wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks and yet he looked incredibly fit, as though he’d just returned from a long run. “I’m honored.”

“How are the preparations coming for your sitting?”

“Good. Just need my makeup and I’m off.”

Camille and Teresa discreetly disappeared and Zale approached her carrying a large black velvet box.

“I have a gift,” he said. “Something I should have given you when you first arrived.”

She tipped her head back, looked him straight in the eyes, loving the heat in his amber gaze. “But you haven’t been sure about me.”

“That’s true.” He handed the velvet box to her. “But I’m sure now.”

Hannah opened the lid of the black box, revealing a tall, glittering tiara.

“It was my mother’s,” he said, “and my grandmother’s before that.”

It was stunning, beyond stunning, the delicate diamond arch sparkling, catching the light, reflecting it in every direction. It was classic and simple and breathtaking. “I can’t possibly accept this,” she whispered, “it’s far too valuable. It’s a family heirloom—”

“Of course you can. It’s mine to give,” he interrupted. “And I give it to you, just the first of many, Emmeline. Once you become my queen, you will be showered in jewels.”

The possessive light in his eyes made her breath catch. “You really intend to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“No doubts?”

“No. Once I made love to you, I committed myself. We’re as good as married. There’s no turning back.”

H
ANNAH
tried not to panic.

Zale said there was no turning back. They were as good as married. Which would be a huge problem if Emmeline failed to show up.

Emmeline had to show up.

What would Hannah do?

The wedding was a week away. The world expected a magnificent royal wedding, a wedding that was to be televised to the world. Emmeline couldn’t just bail on Zale at the last minute. It wouldn’t be right. Wasn’t fair. To string him along throughout their engagement and then to fail to show for the wedding.

Hannah needed to tell him the truth. But how would she tell him? How to break the news?

Hey, King Patek, I’m not actually your betrothed, but Hannah Smith from Bandera, Texas, and I am here to keep you occupied while your real fiancée sorts some things out in Palm Beach.

Sick at heart, stomach churning like mad, Hannah pressed her hands together, and tried to push the anxious thoughts out of her mind. Emmeline would come. Emmeline had said she’d come. Emmeline wouldn’t break her word.

A half hour later Celine helped Hannah change from the elegant evening gown into a pretty navy silk skirt and white blouse for Hannah’s palace tour with Krek. She wore fat pearls
at her throat, a pearl and diamond bracelet on her wrist and medium-heel shoes that would be comfortable to walk in.

“As you know, I am one of the most senior staff members,” Krek said, meeting her in the sitting room of the Queen’s Chambers. “I have served the Patek family for nearly thirty-five years now, starting as a footman to the late queen, before becoming butler for His Majesty. As head butler at the Patek Palace, I am responsible for all private and official entertaining both here and abroad. I organize and attend state banquets and receptions, ensuring that every detail is properly, professionally and elegantly handled.”

“That’s a great deal of responsibility,” Hannah answered.

“It is, Your Highness, but this is what I’ve done my whole life. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

They’d walked down the large corridor, descended the stairs and he opened the doors to a gorgeous light-filled room painted a vivid yellow contrasted by ornate white moldings.

“This was Queen Madeleine’s favorite room,” he said, leading her inside. The high ceiling of the room was painted sky-blue with white billowy clouds. “Yellow was Queen Madeleine’s favorite color as it reminded her of the sun and this was where she preferred to entertain.” He glanced at her. “Did you ever meet her? She was your grandmother’s first cousin.”

Hannah’s mouth opened and shut. “I … I don’t recall.”

“You would if you had met her. She was a lovely woman. We had quite a good relationship and I was very happy working for her, but when Princess Helena—His Majesty’s mother—arrived from Greece to marry His Majesty’s father, King Stephen IV, I was assigned to the newlyweds’ household.”

“Did you mind the switch?”

“Not at all. King Stephen and Princess Helena were a delight to work for. They, too, were an arranged marriage but soon after the wedding fell in love.”

“They had a happy marriage then?”

“The happiest.” It was Zale who’d answered and Hannah
inhaled sharply, his deep voice sinfully sexy. Zale had entered through a side door and he walked toward them now.

“The two of them were inseparable through thick and thin, and they certainly had their fair share of challenges.”

“Your Majesty,” Krek said with a formal bow as Zale joined them. “We haven’t made it very far yet.”

“Perhaps I can take over?” Zale suggested.

Krek bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He tipped his head in Hannah’s direction. “Your Highness.” And then he was gone, quietly, discreetly.

“Enjoying the tour?” Zale asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “But we really only just started.”

“Then let’s continue,” he answered, leading her to the adjoining room, the Crimson Room, which had been the favorite reception room for Zale’s grandfather, King Stephen Mikal. “In this room my grandfather, King Mikal, entertained the Tsar, a Sultan, two British kings, a dozen dukes, as well as a Pope.”

“Did you ever know him?”

“He died when I was fourteen months old, but apparently he spent a lot of time with Stephen and me. We have quite a few photos of us together.”

“Were you and Prince Stephen close growing up?”

“Yes. But that didn’t mean we always got along. We could be quite competitive.” Zale’s expression was rueful. “At least, I was.”

“You fought?”

“Fistfights? No. But every now and then we’d challenge each other to a race or a wrestling match and then it was a battle to end all battles.” Zale smiled. “Mind you, Stephen was two and a half years older than me, and I was scrawny until my mid-teens, but there was no way I’d let Stephen take me without a fight.”

Hannah couldn’t imagine Zale small. “Define scrawny.” “Skinny, lanky, short.” “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither could I. I hated it. But at least I had speed.”

Her pulse quickened. Zale appealed to her at every level. “So when did you grow? Because no one could call you scrawny now.”

“I shot up nearly six inches when I was seventeen. Grew another four inches at eighteen. And kept growing until I turned twenty. But it’s hard being taken seriously in football when you’re so small. Fortunately it forced me to work hard, harder than everyone around me, and my work ethic was born.”

“I admire your work ethic.”

“It helped make me who I am.”

Zale opened the doors to a bright, vast, high-ceiling hall lined with portraits. “We’re now entering the Royal Gallery. All the portraits of Raguva’s kings and queens hang here. Your portrait will join mine after it’s completed—”

“We’re really going to marry?”

“Yes. Sex sealed the deal, Emmeline. I told you it would. It’s in the prenup, part of our contract. By making love, you became mine.”

They were standing before a large portrait of a dark-haired, brown-eyed king that looked remarkably like Zale.

She shivered. His.

He reached out to tuck a pale blond tendril of hair behind her ear. “We can be happy.”

She felt lost in his eyes. “You really think so?” “Yes.”

Her eyes burned and her throat ached and she had to turn away so he wouldn’t see her cry. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I have strong feelings for you.”

His tone had been light, teasing and yet suddenly her chest constricted, air bottled in her lungs. If she were good.

But she was not good. Nor was Emmeline. Because they were both duplicitous. Both betraying him.

“I think we’ve seen enough,” he said. “Let’s go to lunch. I have something special planned.”

He led her downstairs, through a hall and then another, into
an old wing of the palace that looked more like a castle than a palace.

“The original fortress,” Zale said as soldiers before them opened a thick wooden door studded with metal that led to a narrow stairwell.

“This was the keep, built in the late fourteenth century and enlarged and strengthened in the 1500s,” he said, taking her hand as they walked up the winding staircase, which was cool and dimly lit. “For hundreds of years kings have made new additions to the castle, and modernized existing wings, turning the fortress into something more palatial, but this part remains as it was five hundred years ago.”

They climbed at least three floors until they reached the top of the tower and Zale pushed open another door, revealing blue sky and impossibly thick stone walls.

“The castle parapet,” Zale said. “My favorite place growing up.”

They were up high, in the tallest point of the castle and it was a gorgeous day with a blue sky and not a cloud in sight. The spring air was crisp and flags snapped below them in the wind, with the breeze carrying a hint of salt from the sea.

“I can see why you like it here,” she said, joining him at the thick wall and leaning against the weathered stone warmed from the sun. “A place a boy can escape to, and where a king can think.”

“That’s exactly it.” Zale leaned on the wall, too, his shoulders flexed, his weight resting on his forearms. “Here I have quiet and space. Perspective. I find perspective is essential. Far too easy sometimes to get caught up in emotions or the stress of a situation, whether real or imagined.”

She would have never guessed he could get caught up in emotions. He seemed far too levelheaded for that. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“We’re not done yet.” He extended his hand to her. “Come. Let’s eat.”

But instead of leading her back down the stairs, they continued
walking around the parapet to the other side where a round tower was in ruins, with just pieces of walls and without a roof. The stairwell had been cemented over and a new stone floor mortared into place.

In the center of the ruined tower was a small round table with two chairs. The table was covered in a pale rose linen cloth with a loose floral arrangement of roses, freesias and lilies in the middle. There were two place settings, with sterling cutlery, gold-rimmed china topped with silver covers and tall, delicate stemware adding sparkle to the table.

“Your Royal Highness,” Zale said, drawing a chair out from the round table for her. “If you’d please.”

“Thank you.”

He helped scoot her chair in, the legs scraping against the stone. “I enjoyed our picnic on the beach so much I thought we should have another meal where it was just you and me. I rather like not having staff waiting on us. It’s more relaxed.”

“And more fun,” she added, thinking that while she’d enjoyed the picnic on his island, this was the most gorgeous, romantic setting she could imagine. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he answered, sitting opposite her and drawing a bottle of white wine from an impressive silver bucket where it’d been chilling. He opened the bottle and filled each of their goblets. “To you, to me, and our future together,” he said, his gaze holding hers and lifting his glass in a toast.

Her eyes burned hotter and she had to smile to keep the tears back. “To our future,” she echoed, clinking the rim of her glass to his.

He searched her eyes, looking for something, but what, she didn’t know.

“Cheers,” he said.

They clinked glasses again and then drank and Hannah had never been so grateful for the warmth of the wine as it slipped down her throat and heated her stomach. She was cold on the inside, cold and scared.

This was going to end badly. So badly.

And then to cover the almost unbearable pain, she leaned forward to smell one of the sweetly scented roses. “They smell like real roses. Thank goodness.”

He looked at her, mildly amused. “When did roses stop smelling like roses?”

“A number of years back when someone got the idea to make them more hardy and disease resistant. The flowers grew bigger but the fragrance disappeared.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a section on rose horticulture in your how-to-be-a-king manual.”

“Regrettably there isn’t such a manual. I could have used one.”

“Why?”

“The first few years were hard. Every day I wished I’d spent time with my father learning about my responsibilities before he died. There’s so much he could have taught me, so much I needed to know.”

“But that would have meant giving up your career sooner.”

“I know. I wasn’t ready to give up football. I probably would never have been ready. But then they died and their accident forced me to grow up.”

She was silent a moment. “Is that how you really view it?”

“I was the Crown Prince. I should have been here, learning from my father.”

“But football was your passion. You loved it since you were a boy.”

His broad shoulders shifted. “Boys become men.”

She reached out, covered his hand with hers. “It’s none of my business, but I’m glad you were able to do what you loved to do. So many people are miserable. They hate their jobs, hate their lives. It’s not the way I want to live.”

“You’re happy then?”

“I love my work. I’m lucky I get to do what I do.” He smiled at her then and his smile transformed his face from handsome to absolutely gorgeous.

If only she could tell him the truth. She needed him to know. Her eyes burned and she took a quick sip of her wine to hide her pain.

Zale reached out and brushed a long pale strand of hair back from her cheek. “You keep tearing up today. What’s wrong?

What have I done?”

“Nothing. I’m just thinking about the past and the future and our families.”

“There’s been a lot of pressure from our families, hasn’t there?”

She nodded.

“You know my father was the one that wanted us to marry. He picked you for me when I was fifteen.” His lips twisted. “You were five. And chubby. I was horrified.”

Hannah smiled crookedly. “I would have been horrified, too.”

“My father assured me that you’d grow up, and once you did, you’d be a rare beauty. He was right. You … fit me.” “I’m glad.” “Are you?” “Very much so.” “So no regrets about last night?”

“None at all. I love—” She broke off, aware that she’d come so close to telling him how she felt. Because she did. “I loved every moment of it.”

“We should probably get the prenup signed. Your father calls me every day, sometimes twice a day, to ask why we haven’t done it yet.”

“And what do you tell him?”

“That we’ll sign it when we’re ready.”

“I can’t imagine he likes that.”

“No. But this is between you and me now, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Do we need the prenup then? Can’t we just get married without it?”

Zale studied her from across the table. “You’d marry me without any financial agreement in place?” “I trust you.”

“You should. I’d never betray you.” Guilt flooded her. Guilt and grief. But even as she battled her conscience, she told herself to remember it all. Every word. Every smile. Every detail.

She wanted to remember it all so that even when she was gone she’d have at least the memories to hold, memories of lunch with Zale in the crumbling tower overlooking the walled city nestled between mountains and sea.