The Prince's Fake Fiancée Page 5

  But it was Petra that she was feeling most uncomfortable about—more so than feeling awkward in front of hundreds of guests. Here was a woman dealing bravely with her husband’s cancer diagnosis, and Jas was—lying to her.

  Marko leant down to murmur in her ear, his breath a tickle against her skin. ‘Here we go.’

  Lukas gestured for Marko to step forward, and Jas stepped up right beside him.

  ‘And now,’ Lukas said, in English now, ‘I’d like to introduce the woman who will be accompanying Prince Marko as he takes on my royal commitments over the next three months—and who I am looking forward to welcoming into the Pavlovic family: his fiancée, Jasmine Gallagher.’

  The ballroom filled with polite applause, and Jasmine just smiled and tried not to look awkward.

  Marko then began to speak—again, in Slavic, and as he spoke—and he spoke well—Jasmine took the opportunity to simply watch him.

  He stood tall, and powerfully—his shoulders back, his stance firm—and there was definitely no fidgeting involved. He looked fantastic in his suit, but it did nothing to hide the strength of the man, the solid contour of his biceps and the width of his shoulders evident beneath the expensive fabric. His buzz-cut hair only further enhanced the impression of a man constructed of hard edges—there was no softness to this prince.

  She’d noted before that he wore his suit less comfortably than his brother, and she still thought that true. There was a tension to Marko’s posture, as if he was out of his native habitat. He’d said earlier that a royal title was just another job, and although she didn’t think it was that simple—there were some big perks to being a royal!—she understood his sentiment. And so—knowing he was a highly ranked military officer—she supposed it was army fatigues rather than a tuxedo that was his uniform of choice?

  And yet, despite his incongruity in a tuxedo, and despite the tension she sensed in him—and also whatever it was she’d glimpsed in his gaze earlier—he now commanded the ballroom. His ability to do so wasn’t unexpected—since she’d met Marko it had been impossible to ignore his magnetism—but before she’d met him, she wouldn’t have expected it.

  She had thought her company had been hired to protect a playboy prince—and the Playboy Prince she had expected was nothing like Marko at all.

  Of course she’d seen the photos of Marko in women’s magazines. And of course she’d looked him up on the Internet again when she’d first been approached to work for him. And the photos and articles were all the same: about a man who had eschewed a royal life to flit across Europe—and who had seemingly never been photographed with the same woman twice. There he’d been, on the list of World’s Most Eligible Bachelors or the World’s Hottest Royals or whatever.

  None of this had mattered to her, as it had no impact on the job she’d been hired to do.

  But she’d been curious.

  Even the whole fake fiancée ruse hadn’t really given her pause—she and her team had just signed the water-tight confidentiality agreement and been done with it. It wasn’t her job to judge the decisions of the rich and famous—no matter how odd or misguided they appeared to her.

  Of course, it had given her pause when Marko had asked her to take Felicity’s place.

  Suddenly Marko’s lie would be affecting her. And now Marko’s lie was her lie. She was no longer a bystander—she was part of this.

  Ever since her impulsive decision to be Marko’s fake fiancée, the weight of that lie had only grown heavier the more real it had become.

  And standing here right now, in front of hundreds of people as a man you barely knew announced you to his country as something you weren’t...well, lies didn’t get much bigger than that.

  What have I done?

  Were the pleas of a man who made her blood run hot enough of a reason to do something so far outside her moral compass?

  His reasons at the time had seemed so compelling, the lie so harmless...

  But now...

  Jas’s gaze flicked from Marko back to Lukas.

  As she watched he stepped back from where he’d stood beside Marko.

  Marko noticed—although to anyone in the crowd they’d never know.

  But Jas saw it. She saw the nearly imperceptible inclination of Lukas’s head towards Marko, and then Marko’s matching gesture back.

  Lukas took Petra’s hand—and Jas saw how tightly he gripped it. Then he closed his eyes, and released what she imagined was a long-held breath.

  Relief.

  Petra leant in close to kiss her husband’s cheek, and when she turned back to look again at Marko her eyes were glazed with unshed tears.

  ‘Jasmine?’

  Marko’s voice made her jump, and to her horror it also made the long-forgotten champagne glass dislodge from her fingertips.

  It shattered loudly at her feet, to a chorus of gasps from the crowd.

  And then—before her brain could catch up with all that it had been coping with today: fake princesses, and ball gowns, and curtseys, and unwell kings, and friendly queens and the way Marko’s voice and touch just did all sorts of things to her—she swore.

  Rather loudly.

  Chapter Five

  THE ENTIRE BALLROOM went absolutely silent, after a few bursts of laughter were quickly muffled.

  Jasmine’s expression as her gaze shifted from the shards of glass at her feet to meet with Marko’s own was of pure mortification.

  Her lovely mouth had dropped open, and her already pale complexion had turned completely white.

  ‘Marko—I am so sorry,’ she said, barely above a whisper. ‘I don’t even really swear that often, honestly, and then to say that, here... I don’t know what came over me. Oh, God, now I’ve embarrassed you, and your family, let alone myself and—’

  Her words were getting all jumbled—so he reached out, grabbed her hand, and tugged her close to his side. Her eyes widened, but she went silent.

  He leant close to her, and whispered roughly, ‘Can I kiss you?’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Let’s give them something else to remember about the first time they met Prince Marko’s fiancée.’

  She just blinked at him.

  ‘Jasmine?’

  ‘You want to kiss me? Right here, in front of hundreds of people?’

  He just smiled at her. And looked at her—right into those lovely hazel eyes.

  He supposed, in theory, it was a don’t-stress-about-it type kiss. At least—that was his intention.

  He was playing the role of the loving, supportive fiancé, after all.

  But also—yes, he wanted to kiss her. If he was honest with himself, he’d wanted to kiss her ever since she’d told him off in that briefing.

  She closed her eyes, and he watched as she took a deep breath.

  When she opened them, she nodded.

  And then—he kissed her.

  So it was a simple kiss—a straightforward kiss.

  His mouth pressing against hers briefly, nothing more.

  But then—when his mouth did touch hers—suddenly, it wasn’t brief. Suddenly—he lingered.

  Her lips were soft, and fleetingly cool beneath his own. They were chastely closed, of course—but they shifted against the pressure of his own mouth, as if she’d open her mouth for him if only he were to ask.

  It was shockingly, unexpectedly sexy—a simple kiss that felt like a promise of so much more. It wasn’t just about the touch of their lips or the mingling of their breathing—but of the subtle movement of their bodies, the way they leant towards each other while still only joined by their laced fingers.

  Marko was no longer aware of their audience, or of the ballroom, or even why he’d kissed her in the first place.

  All that mattered was the way her mouth fitted so perfectly against his.

  Something—maybe a cough
, or a sigh, or a laugh—dragged Marko backed to reality, and he ended the kiss. But he didn’t move far—instead he leant even closer, and in a low, gravelly, drawn-out whisper only she could hear he repeated the exact same curse Jasmine had so loudly exclaimed just minutes earlier.

  She laughed, breathily, as he turned back to the podium, and introduced Jasmine Gallagher to Vela Ada.

  * * *

  The evening breeze ruffled diaphanous curtains as Jasmine stepped through one of the several open French doors that led onto the palace terrace.

  The terrace was wide and paved with large flat stones, criss-crossed with decorative lines and swirls of cobblestones. With the sun now set the terrace was lit only by the ballroom behind her, and the many strings of fairy lights that decorated the castle architecture—wrapping around pillars and arches and outlining the notches in the crenelated wall that edged the terrace—and the palace.

  In daylight, Jasmine knew, she’d be able to see across the city of Vela Ada—across its undulating sea of red-roofed cottages and out to the pure white sand beaches and the Adriatic Sea.

  But tonight she could barely see the outlines of some of the giant trees that grew beside the palace—instead they were simply black shadows against a sparkling, starry sky.

  Jas shivered, even though it was a mild late summer evening.

  She was alone. And thanks to a quick word to her team, she would remain so.

  She took a long, deep breath in an attempt to slow her turbulent thoughts.

  She closed her eyes.

  No. That was a mistake.

  Closing her eyes only reminded her of how her eyes had slid shut as Marko’s lips had covered hers. Her eyes snapped open.

  A kiss. It was just a kiss.

  For show only.

  And as a show, it had been immediately effective. During the kiss itself—which could have taken place over five seconds or five minutes, Jasmine had no idea—she’d been oblivious to her surroundings. But after Marko had stepped away it had been immediately obvious that the mood of the room had shifted.

  From a mood that Jas had interpreted as a mix of censure, laughter and pity, the room had transformed into warm approval—as if Marko had beguiled the room as well as Jasmine.

  No.

  She wasn’t beguiled by Prince Marko.

  She was working for him.

  So what if he’d dealt with her clumsiness in the most perfect way, and then introduced her to his people as if he were truly in love with her—with pride and admiration that would’ve made Jas melt into a puddle of happiness should any of it actually have been real?

  That the Playboy Prince was charming was of no surprise to her.

  But that he was considerate, and, despite his reputation, clearly extremely loyal to both his brother and Vela Ada—this was a little unexpected.

  And that he was a fabulous kisser...

  Wait. No, that wasn’t surprising. That he’d kissed her. Yes—that was surprising.

  That was about the last thing she’d ever imagined would happen to her.

  Kissed by a prince.

  ‘Jasmine?’

  She turned at Marko’s voice. He stood across the terrace—a step or two down from the French doors, only his silhouette visible with the bright lights of the ballroom behind him.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to ask her team to keep Marko away. Mainly because it would’ve looked seriously weird if anyone had noticed, and partly because she did not want her team to realise how flustered she was by that kiss.

  She was a professional, after all.

  Even if she smashed champagne glasses and swore at the most regal and formal of events anyone could ever imagine...

  Mentally she gave herself a shake. It was done now. Time to move on.

  Even if she could’ve done with some more Marko-free time. Having him even this close to her had her all prickly and tingly with awareness. It was exceedingly distracting.

  ‘I think it’s definitely time you just called me Jas,’ she said, and was pleased that she sounded satisfactorily relaxed and normal. Professional.

  ‘Jas,’ he said, as if testing it out on his tongue. With Marko’s accent, her name sounded about as exotic as it ever, possibly could.

  He crossed the terrace, and as he drew near Jas was able to make out his features in the moonlight—the sharp shape of his nose, the strength of his jaw, and the outline of the mouth she’d kissed just minutes ago.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said abruptly, needing to halt her wayward thoughts. ‘About the glass. And the swearing.’

  ‘I know you are,’ Marko said. ‘But it doesn’t matter. That entire room now believes we’re in love, and that’s all that matters. That is—’ he’d stopped now, close enough that if she reached out she could touch the expensive wool of his suit ‘—if you’ve decided if you’re going to continue in this role or not.’

  Jas blinked, surprised. ‘You think that’s why I came out here?’

  She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing at the wave of goose pimples that dotted her skin.

  ‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re having second thoughts.’ A statement.

  She nodded, because he was right. Or almost right. ‘I am,’ she said. Then swallowed. ‘I mean—I was.’

  Something shifted in Marko’s posture—a silent exhalation of relief?

  ‘It’s all the lying,’ Jas said. ‘I was worried about lying to my friends and family, but I hadn’t thought about how I’d feel about lying to people face to face. Especially people who are close to you, like Lukas and Petra. I feel terrible about it, especially given what they’re going through.’

  Now Marko nodded, but made no comment.

  ‘But then I saw the way Lukas responded when you took the microphone tonight. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. And that’s when I got why you’re doing this—it’s all for Lukas. Not Vela Ada, but Lukas.’

  ‘It’s the weight of Vela Ada he has on his shoulders,’ Marko corrected her. ‘He’s been carrying it alone for a very long time.’

  His gaze flickered away from Jas’s as he spoke, and she wondered at his last sentence. But before she could say or ask anything, he continued.

  ‘And yes—you’re correct. This is all about Lukas. I couldn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks of my reputation, but it does matter to me when Lukas believes it. He sees me as self-indulgent and unreliable. An outsider from the royal family who has shunned all my princely responsibilities.’

  ‘But your stellar military career—’

  ‘Doesn’t hide the fact I’ve avoided anything to do with the palace for as long as I, or anyone else, can remember,’ he finished for her. ‘I’m not going to sugar coat it, Jas—I’ve left it all to my big brother to deal with. Lukas knows it—everyone knows it. My army career doesn’t cancel that out.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. It was about all she could think of to say. She couldn’t really comprehend the idea of having to bear such responsibilities purely due to the circumstances of your birth.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘thank you—once again—for doing this for me. With you, I appear a changed man. And that’s exactly my goal.’

  He smiled at her—a gorgeous, grateful and, as always, sexy smile—and not for the first time this evening, Jas was losing herself in his eyes.

  Then, Jas watched as Marko quickly undid a single button of his jacket. In the darkness his black waistcoat seemed to blend into his jacket, and his shirt was as white as the moon.

  It took her a moment to realise that he was holding his lapel to show her the lining of his jacket. Part of a white envelope poked out of an inside pocket.

  ‘I’ve had Ivan write up a new contract—based on Felicity’s, and it contains the contract terms and your remuneration details.’

  A contract. Mon
ey. Of course.

  What else had she thought Marko was doing?

  She mentally gave herself a little shake—clearly it had been too long since she’d had a date if a man unbuttoning his suit jacket made butterflies flutter inside her.

  ‘The confidentiality statement is a little more comprehensive than the one you’ve already signed, and it also outlines your role in more detail than what we’ve discussed.’

  Jas nodded, but she was trying to remember when her last date was. Surely it wasn’t that long ago? It had been in London, at the end of a short four-day job with an international cellist. She’d had a really nice dinner—a rack of lamb with this amazing rosemary breadcrumb crust and...what was his name again?

  It was probably not great that she’d remembered her meal but not the name of her date. Although that was probably also unsurprising as she’d just realised that it had been over a year ago. Fourteen months, to be exact.

  Marko was still explaining the contract, and she knew she should be paying attention. But she’d read it later anyway before she signed it, and right now she needed to reassure herself that it was simply logical that one kiss from a prince had her all starry eyed—just through the lack of any form of romantic male contact in so long.

  It wasn’t anything about Marko, especially.

  ‘It details all the responsibilities of the role, including, of course, the kissing policy, amongst other things—’

  It was important to Jas that Marko’s kiss wasn’t special, because she’d already learnt the hard way how badly professional life and relationships could conflict. Plus, while—

  Wait. Kissing policy?

  ‘Pardon me?’

  Marko’s teeth were a perfect white as he smiled. ‘Just seeing if you were paying attention.’

  ‘So there isn’t a kissing policy?’ Something else occurred to her, and she added more stridently, ‘Or an anything else policy?’

  Marko had long ago let his jacket fall closed, and now he raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘I assure you there is not. I would never ask you to do anything that you didn’t want to do.’