The Prince's Fake Fiancée Page 12

  Whether he was teasing her into a laugh, or guiding her through a crowd with the lightest touch at her waist, or patiently translating conversations into English for her—around Marko, she just smiled.

  They’d fallen easily into a new normal pattern of behaviour post the ‘no kissing’ clause. Both wary of any sudden change notifying keen royal watchers of something being up, they were careful not to become dramatically more affectionate in public.

  But then, Jas thought Marko was seriously unlikely to ever be particularly affectionate in public.

  Jas knew that Marko never forgot the scrutiny they were under.

  With no further protests following the incarceration of the corrupt senator, and no further intel received from the police, Jas and her team—now expanded by two—simply continued their routine of royal engagements.

  This week they had another school visit—this time a secondary school—then a charity auction, and finally, on the weekend, they visited a winery that through its innovative viticulture and harvesting techniques—so Marko told her—was putting the wines of Vela Ada on the international stage.

  It was another warm day, and Jas’s heels sank slightly into the rich soil as she walked beside Marko between rows upon rows of grape vines. Just ahead of them, the winery owner was their tour guide, and a small group of palace-approved photographers, plus Marko’s bodyguards, followed behind.

  Their guide didn’t speak English, but Jas was taking the opportunity to just enjoy her surroundings. For almost four weeks now she’d spent all her time either at royal engagements, running her company or—for the last week—alone with Marko.

  It had all been a blur, really—and stressful at times, too.

  As she’d told Marko right from the beginning, she was no actress. And so acting in her fake-fiancée role had been far from easy for her. Even though she’d been playing a variation of herself, any question put to her about their relationship was an opportunity for her to accidentally expose Marko’s deception, and she’d felt the weight of that responsibility heavily on her shoulders.

  Plus, she was also responsible for Marko’s actual safety. So there was that, too.

  It was probably ridiculous that she felt more comfortable theoretically saving Marko’s life than mingling with the Vela Ada hoi polloi—but it was the truth.

  Although, now, she definitely did feel herself relaxing into the role. She and Marko knew their back story inside out, and her lies flowed far more easily. She’d also got a lot better at smiling for the cameras—and also much better at not looking herself up on the Internet. Nothing was gained from viewing the hundreds of photos taken every time she was out in public with Marko, and definitely not from reading any of the comments. Unsurprisingly, a lot of people weren’t super happy such an eligible bachelor was no longer—apparently—available, and she’d stumbled across some not-so-nice remarks.

  A brisk breeze whipped its way across the valley, ruffling the loose curls that her stylist had arranged her hair into this morning. Jas smoothed her hair back behind her ears as she looked out across the vines and the undulating hills, and breathed in the scent of damp soil and clean, crisp air.

  She might be more relaxed in her role, but it still didn’t feel any less crazy. If she stopped for a moment—like now—it just seemed even more fantastical. Right now she could hear the click of a photographer behind her, and of course she knew exactly where her team had positioned themselves to protect Marko—but they were also protecting her.

  Marko and the guide had stopped, just ahead. Marko was watching as he waited for her to catch up, his gaze sliding down the shape of her polka-dot sundress before returning to her face with an appreciative smile.

  He held out his hand for her as she approached, and then leant forward to press a kiss to her cheek.

  As his lips pressed against her skin—just for that moment—Jas allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy that her life had become:

  A princess with bodyguards, a hair stylist and a make-up artist, a bottomless closet of designer clothing and a constant schedule of glamorous events to attend...

  And her very own prince.

  Sort of.

  Just for a short while.

  Chapter Eleven

  JAS WOKE UP before Marko.

  He slept flat on his back, she’d discovered. With one arm hooked above his head, and the other hand either across his chest or—just the one time—flung out and laid over hers.

  Almost as if he wanted to hold her hand as she slept.

  Ha! Jas rolled her eyes as she studied him. Right. She was not one given to overly romantic notions, especially now.

  She sat perched on the edge of the bed as she watched his chest rise and fall. She was dressed in T-shirt and jeans, her feet bare and her hair still wet from a shower.

  She would much rather stay in bed with Marko. They’d had a late night following a formal dinner with visiting French diplomats and also—she really liked lying in bed with him. And just looking at him—even now, after ten mornings of waking up beside Marko, the novelty had not worn off.

  Ten mornings?

  Jas mentally recounted before confirming to herself that—yes—it had definitely been ten mornings since she’d last woken up in her own bed. At the moment, the adjacent suite was used more as a closet than a bedroom, and each evening it literally hadn’t even occurred to her to return to her own room.

  Should it?

  Her phone vibrated briefly on the bedside table, signalling she’d received a new email, and the sound was a welcome distraction.

  She had a conference call to attend with her team in Hong Kong, but she still had a few minutes before she needed to leave. So she picked up her phone and settled back against the velvet bedhead for a few minutes of email-checking and mindless internet checking.

  But the moment she saw the new email her stomach plummeted.

  The email wasn’t signed, and the address was one of those free ones, with a meaningless jumble of letters before the ‘@’.

  But its intent was clear. Jas didn’t need to open the attachments to know exactly what they contained.

  And know exactly what this faceless person would do with them if she didn’t do what he or she wanted.

  ‘Jas?’

  Marko had woken, and he’d propped himself up on one elbow.

  But for once all those acres of gorgeous olive-toned skin were no distraction. Jas’s brain simply raced around in every direction, desperately trying to form a coherent thought, let alone a coherent action.

  What was she going to do?

  ‘Jas,’ Marko said, more firmly now. ‘What’s going on?’

  He sat up, and she could see concern in his gaze.

  It was really tempting to just blurt it out—to tell him about the email, and the piece of her past that it represented. To share her panic with him and have him help her work out what on earth her next steps might be.

  She almost did—she could feel the words, all ready to go, right on the tip of her tongue: A few years ago I dated a guy I thought was perfect, but...

  But to reveal something so personal, so embarrassing, so painful...

  To dump all this on Marko...

  Why would she do that? He wasn’t her partner; he wasn’t her boyfriend.

  Their relationship, such as it was, was not based on anything beyond laughter, sex and their fake engagement. Since that afternoon at the beach they had not shared anything personal with each other.

  It had been about fun, and mutual attraction.

  And that was the way it needed to stay.

  If anything, this email simply underlined that. She did not want to ever confuse sex for something it wasn’t, ever, ever again.

  She remembered how her mum had asked if she’d told Marko about her past, and she’d lied so easily.

  Well—here
she was. It was actually happening. It was the stuff of her nightmares, and Marko would need to be told now, but he didn’t need to know right this instant. And he definitely didn’t need all the messy, emotional details.

  On the phone to her mum that day, she’d told herself how he’d react if she did—how he’d judge her. Back then, she’d wavered—but based on what? Why on earth would Marko be different from everyone else?

  She looked at him now, and it was so tempting to tell herself that he would be different. That if she told him now she wouldn’t be left awash with shame and regret.

  But that was as silly a romantic notion as Marko holding her hand as she slept.

  ‘Nothing’s going on,’ she said brightly. Then smiled.

  It was a fake smile, though. The first fake smile between them.

  Did Marko realise that?

  For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

  But then, maybe he came to the same conclusion Jas had.

  Their relationship wasn’t about intimacy beyond the physical, and it certainly wasn’t about sharing secrets.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Good.’ He sat up, and swung his legs onto the floor. ‘I’m going to go get some breakfast.’

  Jas nodded. ‘Enjoy!’ she said, with that same false breeziness.

  Then she got out of bed, put on her sandals, and left Marko’s room.

  * * *

  After breakfast Marko went for a run.

  Quite a long run, and with his security detail shadowing him, so it was no surprise that by the end of it he was being tailed by a news station van and a paparazzo on a bicycle.

  But honestly, today, he didn’t really care.

  Maybe this was how Lukas dealt with all the attention and intrusion—by just immersing himself within it, rather than fighting it?

  If someone really wanted to buy a magazine, or visit a website, that had a photo of him drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, then let them. He didn’t care.

  Marko’s lips quirked upwards. He knew that tomorrow he would definitely care again, just today he couldn’t be bothered.

  Last night, just before dinner, Lukas had called.

  They’d been speaking regularly, but for the first time Lukas had sounded different. Tired.

  Really tired.

  And he’d told Marko about the ulcers in his mouth, and how they were actually worse than the hours of being hooked up to the cocktail of chemicals that would—Marko desperately hoped—save Lukas’s life. He’d joked about his hair loss too, about how for the first time he was the one moulting all over the bathroom, rather than Petra with her mane of golden blonde hair.

  Lukas had been deliberately upbeat, and so had Marko.

  And it wasn’t as if Lukas’s fatigue were a surprise. Cancer treatment was exhausting, and Lukas being tired didn’t necessarily mean that anything was wrong.

  None of what Lukas was experiencing indicated that anything was going wrong.

  But still, Marko worried.

  Back at the palace, Marko had a shower.

  As he grabbed the soap out of the niche in the wall that held his toiletries, he knocked over Jas’s little bottle of face scrub. As he righted it he remembered Jas’s expression from earlier, as she’d stared, white as a ghost, at her phone.

  Something had been wrong; it had been obvious in every tense line of her body, and in her parody of a smile.

  But she hadn’t wanted to talk to him about it.

  Just as he’d decided not to talk to Jas about his concerns for Lukas last night.

  Last night he’d told himself that he could handle it. What value was there in confiding in Jas? Of confiding in anyone? He’d managed well enough this far into his adult life without doing so.

  Except for that day at the beach—but then, he had no plans to repeat that.

  So he could hardly challenge Jas for doing the same—for handling things on her own.

  And if there was anyone who could handle anything life threw at her, it was Jasmine Gallagher.

  He raised his face into the firm spray of water, squeezing his eyes shut as water sluiced over his body.

  But, even as he instinctively knew that she probably wouldn’t want or appreciate his concern, he couldn’t just switch it off.

  He got out of the shower, towelled himself dry, and made a decision.

  He didn’t need to know the details—but he needed to go find her.

  Right now. And make sure she was okay.

  * * *

  After her conference call with her team, Jas organised for Ivan to come meet her in the small salon—as the palace staff referred to the small reception room where Jas had been working over the past few weeks—to discuss the email.

  She sat on a brocade single armchair with spindly legs, the small coffee table before her holding her now-closed laptop, her printer and a small mountain of printed plans, maps and schedules.

  Her makeshift office was quite incongruent with the room full of antique furniture and the oil paintings of—Jas assumed—Pavlovic ancestors, all with identical severe expressions.

  Ivan sat across from her, in a matching armchair, and listened as she explained her situation, and her suggestions as to what they should do next.

  Fortunately, Ivan agreed with her approach, but there were others within the palace that would need to be consulted—there were protocols and procedures to be followed and expert advice to be canvassed.

  But first, they needed to tell Marko.

  As if reading their minds Marko materialised at the doorway.

  ‘Jas,’ he said. ‘I was—’

  But then his gaze drifted to Ivan, and he went silent.

  Ivan stood, immediately. ‘I’ll leave you to discuss this with His Highness,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ Jas said, more sharply then she’d intended. ‘I think it’s best that you stay.’

  Ivan barely raised his eyebrows as he resettled in his chair. He was good at his job, Jas had to give him that. The epitome of discretion.

  She stood, straightened her shoulders, and said to Marko: ‘Please, take a seat.’

  She was being deliberately formal. They had a situation to deal with, so it made sense to be so, she’d decided.

  Marko just nodded. She’d become used to him kissing her, or at least touching her, whenever they were in close proximity.

  He did neither now. She didn’t want him to, right now, of course. But still, she definitely noticed that he didn’t.

  Marko took a seat on the two-seater armchair between Ivan and Jas, but he turned his body to face her, and not the valet.

  ‘Jas,’ he said firmly as she took her own seat. ‘Are you okay?’

  She nodded, equally firmly. ‘Of course. We have a situation I need to brief you about.’

  His expression was unreadable. ‘Okay.’

  Jas took a deep breath.

  ‘This morning I received an email from an anonymous sender who is trying to blackmail me,’ she began, ensuring her tone was matter-of-fact. ‘He has some photos of me.’ She swallowed. ‘Uh, naked photos of me, that he will release to the press if I don’t meet his demands. Which are basically for me to pay him a lot of money.’

  Marko simply nodded.

  Jas desperately searched his gaze for his reaction, for the glint of something.

  Shock. Disappointment. Disgust.

  But she saw nothing.

  ‘Fortunately the photos are relatively tasteful. I took them myself, actually, selfies...’ She swallowed again. ‘Anyway. While I definitely wouldn’t have chosen for the photos to be seen by anybody, and I’d actually hoped to never see them again—Ivan and I agreed that the best thing to do is to defuse the situation by issuing a press release about their existence. If I’m lucky, this person will then just disappear. Or mayb
e he’ll publish the photos, or sell them—I don’t know. But at least we get to start the narrative, rather than respond to it.’

  ‘Ensure any media organisation who publishes the photos is blacklisted by the palace,’ Marko said in a clipped, authoritative tone. He still held her gaze, but Jas could still read nothing in it.

  ‘Of course,’ Ivan said.

  ‘Plus explore any legal options we have.’

  For the next few minutes, Ivan discussed next steps with them both, but Jas barely participated.

  What was Marko thinking?

  Right now, needing to know what Marko thought was killing her—more than the photos, more than anything.

  Ivan stood up and exited the room.

  Marko’s gaze had barely moved from hers, either. It was excruciating.

  But then, the moment Ivan left them alone, something in his eyes shifted.

  Jas squeezed her own eyes shut, and let out a long, slow breath as her stupid, naïve bubble of hope that Marko would be different painfully deflated.

  ‘You must think I’m such an idiot,’ she said, eyes still closed. ‘Naïve, right? Stupid? Thoughtless?’

  All the words she’d heard before echoed in her brain.

  ‘I should’ve thought to tell you earlier, but I was so sure the photos had been deleted. And that my ex would never—’ She stopped. No. Marko didn’t care about the details. He was just like the rest of them. Was it too much to ask that just one person wouldn’t blame her?

  No, not just one person. Marko.

  She’d so badly wanted him to be different. The realisation that he wasn’t shocked her as much as the arrival of that awful email.

  ‘I’m sorry—’ she began.

  ‘Jas,’ he said firmly. ‘Stop. You have nothing to apologise for.’

  Jas shook her head, eyes still closed.

  She was being ridiculous, even within this ridiculous situation. But she couldn’t bear to see the judgment in his eyes.

  He was saying the right thing, but he didn’t really mean it.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said, louder now. Demanding. Then more softly. ‘Jas, please.’

  Finally, she did.

  It was still there, in his gaze. What she’d seen.