The Prince's Fake Fiancée Read online

  For the first time, Marko realised there was a small welcoming party—who he knew must be the school principal and local government officials—and about twice as many photographers only a few metres away.

  He’d been so focused on Jas, he hadn’t even noticed them.

  He glanced down at Jasmine, who was still smiling. ‘They probably think we were being all lovey-dovey,’ she whispered.

  He smiled back at her, but he knew he’d never been lovey-dovey in his life.

  * * *

  The school visit was going well, Jas thought.

  As far as she could tell, given she could barely understand a word anyone was saying. The kids had seemed really excited to meet Prince Marko, anyway, and Marko himself had seemed pretty relaxed. Certainly more so than at the ball—last night she’d noted the tension in his shoulders and jaw, and today it was barely noticeable. In fact, aside from when one of the journalists had asked a question about the King, rather than the literacy programme, he’d seemed positively content—even laughing along with the kids as he read to a half-circle of nine-year-olds a book illustrated with zoo animals.

  Jas didn’t feel quite so relaxed. She had no official role—neither had Felicity at any of these events—and so subsequently she simply got to hover near Marko and look...she didn’t know. Supportive? Fiancée-like? In love?

  Surely Felicity would’ve been fine, looking effortlessly natural in any surroundings.

  Instead, Jas had found herself standing as if she were on a job—legs just slightly apart, her hands loosely linked in front of her. Her gaze scanned the crowd in the classroom—from Marko and the children and their teachers through to the small bank of invited journalists and photographers huddled at one end of the room.

  As always, she was looking at faces and hands, faces and hands, searching for something impossible to define, the slightest sign of something not quite right...

  Wait. Stop.

  She unlinked her hands and gave them a little shake. She shifted her weight and moved her feet closer together.

  Her team had the room under control. Today, that wasn’t her job.

  Her job was to stand still and look elegant. Or something like that.

  Chapter Seven

  JAS WAS STANDING beside Marko in the school’s entry foyer, preparing to leave, when Ivan approached and murmured something to Marko in Slavic.

  Instantly, Jas felt Marko tense.

  ‘No. Not today,’ he said. Firmly.

  Ivan replied in an urgent whisper, but all Jas could make out was paparazzi.

  But Marko didn’t even reply. Everything in his expression still said no.

  Ivan might have sighed, but he was too professional to reveal too much in his expression. But Jas would guess he was annoyed. Very annoyed.

  A moment later Ivan had had a word with Heather from Jas’s team—who was leading the team today—but Jas knew what was going on. They were going to be using their alternative exit.

  She nodded as Heather explained that paparazzi now congregated outside the school, and how they would reach their new pick-up point, although of course Jas was familiar with it. No matter how low the risk, you always had more than one way in and out.

  Of course, none of this was unusual. Principals went off-script all the time, and dealing with it was part of her job. And yet...

  Why hadn’t Marko said something to her?

  With Ivan sent out the front to answer a few questions—and act as a distraction—Jas and Marko were led by their protection team out of the school building, once Simon had reported back that the way was clear.

  Marko didn’t make eye contact with her as they walked.

  Which didn’t matter, of course. Why should he? He didn’t owe her an explanation.

  She shouldn’t expect one.

  But before, outside the school, she’d felt a camaraderie between them. A closeness...

  Wait. Stop.

  If anything she should be annoyed as the head of his protection detail. Not as his fake fiancée.

  Although she shouldn’t be annoyed, because it was her job not to be.

  Jas gritted her teeth. She was being ridiculous.

  Outside, the school was nothing like a typical school back home in Australia. Rather than being surrounded by acres of lush green playing fields, this school was right in the middle of the town, with houses either side in the familiar cream brick, red-roofed style seen throughout the island. Out the back, there was a bitumen-paved play area, painted with lines in overlapping colours to allow for a variety of sports and lunchtime games. Trees lined the tall brick boundary, providing privacy as they walked briskly and silently—but for the tense click of Jasmine’s heels.

  Through a rear access gate, and down a narrow, cobblestoned laneway—they avoided the most direct route to the street parallel to the school entrance. Instead they continued onwards, behind several terraced cottages, before emerging onto a quiet street perpendicular to the main road—and a moment later their car with its blackest black tinted windows rolled to a stop before them.

  They were inside the car, and on their way before it would’ve even occurred to a single paparazzo that Marko and his new fiancée were taking rather a long time to exit the school.

  This was partly because the milling paparazzi didn’t expect Prince Marko and his new fiancée to avoid them.

  After all, although this particular event had not been publicly announced ahead of time, and school staff and students had been sworn to secrecy, the moment royalty turned up anywhere word was going to get out. And the palace had expected there would be substantial interest in Marko’s princess-to-be.

  So, while the media inside the school had been palace-selected, and all photographs and content related to the literacy programme would be palace-approved—a relief to Jasmine, given her bodyguard-like behaviour at times—today’s schedule had allowed for brief questions from any waiting paparazzi. It was, after all, in Marko’s best interests to endear himself to the media given his role was to reassure the people of Vela Ada that all was well, despite Lukas’s illness. He needed to be portrayed as competent, approachable...kingly, really.

  Marko had certainly known this.

  And yet here they were—already out of the town and amongst paddocks full of vineyards or dotted with goats.

  No one had said a word since they’d left the school building.

  Jas desperately wanted to say something now.

  But to say what, exactly?

  That he should’ve told her his plans to...well, escape really.

  Ideally, yes. He should’ve. But that was something to debrief him about in private later, not to snap at him now as their car raced through the countryside.

  Especially as—and only now, as she observed Marko, did she acknowledge it—Marko still radiated tension.

  Mentally, Jas took a step back. This wasn’t about her—certainly not about her affront due to not having been informed of what she suspected had been Marko’s split-second decision to leave.

  It was strange, this sudden escape. As was Marko’s reaction to Ivan earlier.

  That tension she’d first felt when she’d been standing beside him in the school foyer had definitely not dissipated. Here in the confines of the car, it felt amplified.

  None of Marko’s body language invited conversation.

  But even so, words danced on the tip of Jas’s tongue. Different words now—not to lambaste him, but instead to ask him what was wrong.

  She felt they’d made progress today: they’d very clearly outlined the ground rules of their business relationship following that somewhat of a hiccup at the ball. And they’d had a good chat this morning at breakfast, and Marko had even teased her when they’d arrived at the school.

  Teased?

  Or flirted with her?

  Jasmine dug her
fingernails into the palms of her hands.

  Nope. She was not going to even consider that possibility.

  As she needed to keep reminding herself: charming women was what Marko did. It was who he was. He probably flirted so often—anywhere and with anyone—that it was a subconscious reflex.

  As she’d determined last night—it was not about her.

  But even so, they were building a rapport, weren’t they? And that was critically important to the success of this ruse.

  Although did that mean Marko would welcome her concern?

  She doubted it, but still, her eyes traced the hard, angry shape of his jaw uneasily: Marko was not okay.

  The car jerked slightly as it went over a pothole, and yet Marko remained resolute in maintaining his attention on the lovely—if a little repetitive—surrounding fields.

  He couldn’t really be any clearer in his wish for silence, but Jas couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Marko?’ she began.

  He spoke—but it wasn’t a reply.

  ‘Turn here,’ he said, to their driver. It was more of a bark, really. Definitely a demand.

  The driver didn’t hesitate—lurching the car to a speed capable of making the turn with copious application of the brake, and then accelerating down the un-signposted lane.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Jasmine and Heather asked at exactly the same time.

  Marko’s attention was back out the window. ‘This is palace property,’ he said curtly. ‘We won’t be disturbed.’

  Heather didn’t look very comfortable. Jasmine wasn’t comfortable either—she did not like going off schedule.

  But equally—if they didn’t know where they were going, then any threat didn’t know either. Their job was to safely get the principal through his day. Wherever that day might take him.

  And today, it would seem, it was down a compacted gravel lane, where occasional loose pieces of stone pinged against the underside of this extremely expensive car.

  * * *

  Marko had hoped that when the familiar gravel lane eventually led them to an equally familiar sandy track, he would relax.

  But when the car came to a stop—ill equipped for the deep beach sand ahead—he didn’t feel even the slightest loosening of the tension that enveloped his neck and shoulders, and caused his head to pound.

  Everyone was talking to him—Heather, the driver. They wanted to know what they were doing here, but honestly—wasn’t this the point of being a prince? To occasionally do random stuff without explanation?

  Actually—not everyone was talking. Jasmine had remained silent since her soft question ten minutes earlier.

  He couldn’t even look at her.

  He’d been aware of her attention since he’d decided to leave the school. At first, he’d sensed her censure—which hadn’t surprised him. But later, that censure had shifted to concern. She’d been worried about him.

  He did not like that.

  Marko yanked off his dress shoes and socks, rolled up his suit pants, and climbed out of the car and into the salt-tinged air.

  It was a decent hike from here to the beach—up and down over several hills that eventually became sparse, scrubby and rocky as the ocean neared.

  He shrugged off his jacket, and he gripped it with white knuckles as he took big strides over that last hill—and could finally see the water.

  The sky was cloudless today, perfect above the crystal-clear water of the small, absolutely private beach. Near the shore, he could see straight through to the rocks lining the ground beneath the waves, although about ten metres in the water went sharply from light aqua to deep navy blue, where—as Marko well knew—the water abruptly deepened as suddenly as an underwater cliff.

  He and Lukas had swum and snorkelled at this beach their whole lives. Not recently though—it had been...ten years? Or more? He’d been at university, and his father had still been alive.

  This place—and the small, hidden cottage that sat set back from the stone outcrops now above him as he negotiated the rocky path down to the shore—had once been the only place Marko had ever felt he could escape to. Lukas had felt the same way.

  Here they’d been safe from prying eyes, and from anyone’s expectations.

  So it should be no surprise it was where he’d gravitated to today.

  Now at ground level, Marko clambered over rocks in so many shades of grey—most no bigger in circumference than a dinner plate—a mix of smooth and square and sharp edges.

  He remembered the easiest path through the rocks, although he was sure it had been many years since anyone had trod it. He couldn’t imagine Lukas here now—his brother was just too important, too busy, too serious.

  Finally reaching the coarse sand of the one patch of rock-free beach, Marko sank to the ground, discarding his jacket in a careless pile of charcoal fabric.

  And then he put his head in his hands.

  He was being an idiot. Such an idiot.

  Such an idiot.

  What had Jas called him? A nong? A ning-nong?

  Well—a far stronger word was required when he’d literally just run from the first intrusion of paparazzi he’d had to deal with since his return to Vela Ada. An intrusion he’d expected and yet had, apparently, been unprepared for.

  He swore loudly—violently and creatively—at himself and into the sanctuary of this beach that absolutely nobody knew about.

  Something—a rock knocking against its neighbour—tugged his attention from his self-flagellation.

  It was Jas.

  About two-thirds of the way down the steep path to the beach—but facing away from him, as if beating a fast retreat.

  He did not want anyone on this beach with him.

  Jas looked over her shoulder, fleetingly meeting his gaze.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she called out. ‘I thought—’ A pause, but she didn’t elaborate. ‘I was wrong. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.’

  Then she continued her climb, her long dress flapping in the ocean breeze.

  For about another metre.

  And then, as Marko watched, a rock beneath Jas’s bare feet wobbled dramatically, and despite her arm-waving attempts to regain her balance she crashed to the hard ground with a shocked cry.

  In moments, he was beside her, crouching to assess how badly damaged she was.

  The breeze had tugged long strands of her dark hair free, and whipped them about her face as she looked up at him.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, very firmly.

  But then she shifted, as if about to get up—and winced.

  ‘You’re hurt,’ Marko protested.

  She shook her head. ‘Just give me a moment,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing.’

  He watched as Jas wiggled her left ankle—and winced again.

  ‘It’s something,’ he said grimly. ‘Here.’

  He stood and offered a hand to assist her up, which she took a moment to grasp.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said as she came to her feet, balancing on her uninjured foot. ‘You—’

  But then she wobbled again, and was suddenly falling towards him.

  He grabbed her reflexively, and he wasn’t particularly gentle, his hands gripping her firmly at the waist. Even so, he didn’t stop her fall entirely, and with a surprised, feminine oomph she landed against his chest, her hands sandwiched between them.

  There was a long moment of silence.

  A long moment where Marko was absolutely aware of everywhere Jas’s body was pressed, firmly, against his. They’d kissed last night—but they’d never been this close before. Chest to chest, hip to hip.

  Jas flattened her fingers against Marko’s chest, but otherwise she didn’t move a muscle, her gaze apparently trained on the buttons of his shirt.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ she said, yet again,
but Marko wasn’t really paying attention.

  Instead, he shifted his hands from her waist, bent his knees—and swung Jas up into his arms.

  She gasped against his shoulder as he headed to that small patch of sandy beach—safe from Jasmine’s apparent aptitude for identifying hazardous rocks.

  There, he sat her down on the sun-warmed sand, and—without giving his actions too much further consideration—sat himself down beside her. He propped his hands behind him, and stretched his legs out alongside Jasmine’s.

  Then, he looked at her.

  Her usually pale skin was tomato red. ‘You’re blushing,’ he said, surprised.

  She touched her cheek. ‘You think there’s a reason I shouldn’t be embarrassed after interrupting a clearly private moment, falling on my backside, and then causing a prince a permanent back injury having to heft me down that hill?’

  Marko was mildly affronted. ‘I can assure you I had no problem carrying you, Jasmine.’

  It had been the opposite of a burden having her soft, strong, warm body curled against his chest.

  She seemed about to argue with him—but then turned her attention to the horizon. Not a single sail boat interrupted the view.

  ‘This place is amazing,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘It’s a special place for me.’

  Her clothing rustled as she attempted to stand again, and he reached out to lay a hand on her leg—on her thigh—to stop her.

  Immediately he removed it, not intending his touch to have been so intimate. But, he didn’t want her to go.

  Or rather, she couldn’t go. She’d hurt her ankle.

  That was it, right?

  He rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

  ‘Stay,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind that you’re here.’

  As he said it, he realised it was true. Only minutes ago he’d grimaced at her unwanted arrival—and yet now her presence was almost comfortable.

  But not quite. Because that underlying current between them—and it was constant, no matter what clause they agreed to—hadn’t gone anywhere.

  That sat together in silence for a while.

  It was mid-afternoon, and the sun quickly heated Marko’s skin. He removed his tie and made quick work of his shirt—unbuttoning the cuffs and rolling them up to his elbows. His shirt had been pulled out of his dress pants, most likely when he’d picked up Jas, but his skin still prickled beneath his clothing—and if Jas weren’t here he probably would’ve stripped off and dived into the water, and worried about the lack of a towel and other practicalities later.