A Proposal from the Crown Prince Read online

  She was horribly aware that if she wanted to avoid another opportunity to get to know the real Nico then the last thing she should be doing was playing hooky with him, asking him to choose something for them to do. But as she fell into step beside him, as her arm brushed his, as he gave her a quick grin she couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry or to suggest they went back to the original plan. One day and then they would be back on schedule, back to playing their parts. What harm could one day do?

  The track was in better shape than she’d expected, the grass mown down and the ground smooth underfoot. The trees on either side cast a much-appreciated shadow over her as she walked, relieving some of the oppressiveness of the hot late summer’s day. The path curved away in front of them and as they followed it a clear blue lake came into view, a few small wooded islands breaking up the smooth water. It didn’t seem to be a huge lake, less than half a mile across and another half a mile to one side; the other end was still out of view. It was very attractive, the edges ringed with golden beaches, the trees a green backdrop behind. ‘Oh, how pretty. Almost too pretty to keep to ourselves. This is exactly the kind of place you want potential tourists to see.’

  ‘We can come again with cameras,’ Nico assured her. He shot her an amused glance. ‘And appropriately dressed as well.’

  Posy shook her skirt out with a flounce. She might not be in full on trek-proof walking gear but she was more than adequately dressed for a wander around a lake...

  Or not. She came to a standstill as the rest of the lake and lakeside opened up before her, wider and longer than she had imagined—and instead of the quiet walkers’ paradise she had been expecting the lake was filled with sails and crafts, from small sailboats only big enough for one to kayaks, paddleboards to windsurfs. Two long jetties jutted out, boats bobbing alongside attached by short ropes, and kayaks were pulled up high on the beach. A low, long building was positioned behind the jetties and behind that a larger car park, this one full of cars. Picnic tables were dotted all around the building and the smell of fried food wafted enticingly from a serving window, a queue snaking back several feet.

  Nico turned with a grin of anticipation. He looked as if he’d come home. ‘Like it?’

  Posy stared. ‘I guess. I mean, everyone looks like they’re having fun.’ She hadn’t expected people, especially not so many of them.

  ‘So, what do you fancy? Pick your ride.’

  ‘Erm...what do you usually do?’ she hedged.

  ‘If I’m feeling lazy I might take out a paddle board, if I don’t want to think I usually pick a sail boat because that keeps me pretty occupied and if there’s some issues I need to work out I’ll kayak. I belonged to a watersports club in Boston,’ he clarified. ‘I like climbing as well but this was right on the river, easy to do after I’d finished in the library so a great way to work out. In winter I skied, obviously.’

  Obviously. How, in two weeks living at close quarters with him, had she not realised he was an adrenaline junkie? Come on, Posy, she scolded herself. He was skinny dipping the first time you saw him and even if you didn’t expect to get caught he must have known full well there was a chance he’d be followed. Of course he’s an adrenaline fiend.

  ‘I don’t ski. Or climb. Or do any of these things. I’ve always had to be careful of torn muscles or broken limbs.’

  ‘But you must kayak. All those summers at Villa Rosa. That beach is perfect for water sports.’

  She shook her head. ‘Petrol head sisters, remember? If there was anything that needed steering, revving or manoeuvring then they were there first. At first I was too little to care and then I was too worried about muscles in the wrong places so I didn’t mind sitting back while they rowed or steered. And since I joined the company it’s not been an issue. I’ve not been near a lake or beach except to sunbathe or walk or have a sedate swim.’

  ‘So what do you do to relax?’

  She took a deep breath, the lead weight back in her stomach. ‘I dance.’

  The words hung there for a moment and then she added, ‘But I’ll need something else now, I guess, and I don’t need to worry about developing the wrong muscles so what do you suggest?’

  ‘A kayak,’ he said promptly. ‘Let’s test your balance. And we can get a double so you don’t go drifting off across the lake and need rescuing.’

  ‘I admire your faith in me. The only thing is, I know these clothes were free but I still don’t want to waste the designer’s generosity by taking a silk skirt into the water.’ Not to mention the certainty that her blouse would get see-through the second it was wet. Just because they hadn’t arranged for a camera to be here didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any candid shots leaked and Posy was quite sure the world had seen quite enough of her nipples, thank you very much.

  Nico nodded towards the shack. ‘They have a shop. Go get yourself kitted out. I have an account.’

  Twenty minutes later Posy had been kitted out in a bikini, which she wasn’t entirely sure covered much more than the nothing she’d worn just over two weeks ago, a pair of tiny board shorts and a cropped T-shirt. If she’d been able to fit in them she would have preferred to choose from the men’s baggier and lengthier range but the one T-shirt she’d tried had dwarfed her and the smallest shorts had slid right off. The appreciation in Nico’s eyes went some way towards mitigating her feeling of exposure but not much.

  ‘If I become Queen I am going to decree that everywhere should sell clothes that cover women properly,’ she said, pulling the T-shirt down and realising she was either exposing her bare stomach or her cleavage but there was no way of hiding both.

  Nico’s eyes slid over her approvingly. ‘I’ll immediately rescind it,’ he said. ‘In fact all women should dress like this all the time.’

  ‘Hardly practical. I’ve been here on the island in February before and it may not be London cold but it’s chilly. Ugh, this is ridiculous, I feel like I’m dressed for a swimsuit-calendar photoshoot.’ She tried tugging the shorts up and, when they still didn’t budge over her hip bones, started stomping towards the beach, resisting the temptation to wrap her arms around her torso.

  Nico watched her, obviously bemused. ‘Posy, you’re a dancer. I’ve seen pictures of you in outfits far scantier than that, flesh-coloured leotards, carnival costumes all glitter and sequins and nothing else. I agree it’s wrong not to give women the choice to cover up and not everyone is comfortable in such clothes, but why are you so het up?’

  It was a good question and Posy paused on her way down to the water, her newly acquired flip-flops uncomfortable on her feet. ‘Maybe because all those leotards are just costumes. No one looks at me in those and sees my body as anything but an instrument. I was always proud of my body.’ She looked down, at her taut stomach, muscles clearly defined, at her strong legs. ‘I worked hard at it, to shape it, to make it move the way I needed it to. But that night, when they took those photos, it stopped being something I was proud of.’ It had become something shameful instead. She gulped, barely able to say the words.

  ‘I just don’t want to be photographed like that again. Exposed like that again.’

  She bit her lip and looked down again. She’d been angry, at first, and from there whirled into this ridiculous over-the-top life of fake courtships and language lessons and never having time to think or be alone. There hadn’t been time to really process what had happened, time to admit how violated she felt even to herself. But as she stood here, in the ridiculously tiny shorts with an even tinier bikini underneath, the fear of being photographed like this, leered over, laughed at, judged, chilled her.

  Nico stood stock-still then turned and went back into the shack. He was only gone a short while, a minute at most, before he emerged wearing one of the bright surf T-shirts, holding his short-sleeved shirt in his hand. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to Posy. ‘Wear this.’

  The
shirt was a little crumpled, warm from the sun and his body heat, and as she drew it on she could smell his scent, the slightly salty, musky essence of him. It was large on her, baggy as she knotted it across her stomach. It was comforting. ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily.

  It was a sweet, thoughtful gesture. Posy shivered. This day was proving to be full of surprises and every one pulled her in deeper than she’d had any intention of going.

  ‘Here.’ Nico broke into her thoughts as he tossed a life jacket over to her. ‘This will cover you up even more nicely.’

  She took the luminous orange bulky inflatable and shrugged into it, glad to have something to occupy her hands, a reason to bow her head so he couldn’t see her face. ‘Okay, Captain,’ she said. ‘I’m ready.’

  * * *

  If Posy hadn’t been sitting in front of him, paddle clumsy in her uncertain hands, digging away at the water with more enthusiasm than skill, then Nico would have set out at top speed, pushing every muscle to the max as he forged through the water, burning every regret, every second thought away with sweat and searing muscles. Instead the pace was as sedate as a maiden aunt on an afternoon stroll, his attention focused on keeping the boat upright as Posy pushed it this way and that, squealing as she did so. ‘Sorry!’ ‘Oops!’ ‘My bad!’

  ‘I thought a ballerina would have perfect balance,’ he said. Unable to resist teasing her.

  ‘I have. It’s this boat that’s off...’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Blame the boat.’

  He tried to concentrate on the stroke, on matching her efforts, but instead her earlier admission rang in his head, the picture of her downcast eyes as she’d practically whispered her words, the knowledge she no longer celebrated her beautiful, perfectly honed body but sought to hide it instead. The way she’d tugged at that ridiculous T-shirt as if somehow with sheer force of will she could make it bigger.

  Before him she had loved her body, what it could do, how it made her feel. Now she was ashamed. And he’d had no idea.

  The last couple of weeks had been such a whirlwind and she had slotted into the role assigned to her with such grace and ease it was easy to forget it wasn’t a role she had applied for at all. She hadn’t complained once, had shed no tears as far as he could see, had borne with good grace any off-colour remarks or questions thrown at her by the pursuing reporters. He’d had no idea she was struggling, that that night had left scars that were still all too raw.

  He should have known. He knew what it was like to be vulnerable, exposed. And yet watching her pose for the cameras, the way she prettily flirted with him in public, the way she gave him space in private, the way she welcomed him into her bed—or on the sofa or floor—he’d had no idea she was hurting at all. He’d promised himself that no matter what he would be a good partner. Less than a month in and he was failing already.

  But how could he have known? What was normal to him was impossible to anyone else and it was so easy to forget that he was the one whose life was off kilter. He lived in a family where divorce was impossible, admitting to your sexuality even more so. He lived in a family who thrived on affairs, on scandal, whose every move was examined in tabloids across the world. Those photographs for him had been annoying, sure, but more because of the timing, less the subject matter. He had already been exposed in public in every way possible. ‘Sweet, enthusiastic but clumsy’ his first girlfriend had dismissed his early love-making efforts as, for all the world to read. Five years later some nearly forgotten woman had upgraded him to ‘blissful’. He’d barely noticed.

  But Posy hadn’t grown up in this world, in his world, and just because she hadn’t made a fuss about the photos evidently didn’t mean they hadn’t hit her hard. She might have made the first move that night on the beach but she had had no idea who he was, no idea of the risk she was taking, the risk he was letting her take. If she married him she’d harden; she would have to. The process had already begun. And he hated himself for the role he had played, was playing, in the painful process.

  He pushed the thoughts away, upping the pace to Posy’s evident surprise, guiding the kayak through the clear water towards the furthest island. ‘That’s it,’ he told her. ‘Keep it at that angle, let the paddle slide in, deeper than that. Well done, Posy, that’s great.’

  ‘It’s harder than it looks,’ she panted. ‘Although we do seem to be going a little faster than everyone else.’ She gave a longing look at the kayak they passed, the girl reclining in the front smiling up at the boy lazily paddling them sedately over the lake. ‘Look, they’re taking time to enjoy the view.’

  ‘I thought you were fit.’

  ‘I am fit, different muscles, that’s all. Remind me to challenge you to a workout contest some time.’ Nico wasn’t sure he wanted to take her up on the offer, now when he could see the play of muscles in her back through the thin fabric of his shirt, the flex in her arms.

  As he’d hoped, the furthest island was free of all habitation, most paddle boarders and kayaks preferring to explore the cluster of islands nearer the jetty, moving from one to another, while the sail boats tended to head to the other end of the lake. He swung himself out of the kayak, extending a hand to Posy before pushing the small boat up onto the small beach.

  ‘Our very own island,’ Posy said appreciatively as she waded in. ‘Shall we build a modest hut and live off coconuts and fish?’

  ‘We’d soon starve. This is barely a hundred metres wide. One dwelling and a few fires and we’d be out of trees. Plus I hate to break it to you but there’s a distinct lack of coconuts.’

  ‘No coconuts? What will we do?’

  ‘Luckily I am a trained hunter gatherer.’ Nico reached into the kayak and retrieved the bag he had stuffed in at his feet. ‘My lady, a feast awaits.’

  It was hardly palace standard. No blanket or chairs, just the grainy sand to sit on. Bottled water and a grilled panini apiece stuffed with mozzarella, grilled vegetables and pesto. A dish of olives. But sitting there, the sun beating down overhead, feet in the warm water, Posy by his side, Nico felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He thought the word might be content.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘YOU NEED A CAUSE.’

  Posy peered up at Melissa, the private secretary she was sharing with the Dowager Queen, and tried not to yawn. Last night Nico had kept his word and introduced her to Guido, Alessandro’s partner. Usually on the nights she didn’t have to endure the formal dinners, she ate in her rooms, either alone or with Nico, still struggling to come to terms with the knowledge she could order anything she liked whenever she liked and it would be prepared and delivered to her. She’d had a couple of useful conversations with the head chef and as a result he made sure he always stocked her favourite ingredients, creating delicious salads full of wild salmon, avocado, quinoa and all the other foods she filled up on to keep her body at optimum strength and fitness.

  Of course now she could binge on pizza three times a day but old habits held hard. She might not be in class for eight hours but she stretched religiously and spent at least an hour on the old familiar exercises on the makeshift barre, in the centre, on pointe. She didn’t ask herself why, didn’t want to examine her motives too clearly, but she knew deep inside she hadn’t quite given up on her dreams no matter what she told herself.

  Last night had been the first time she had set foot in Nico’s rooms. A similar size and layout to hers, they were decorated in a stark white and dark wood style, the furniture almost aggressively modern with its sharp lines and lack of decoration. He’d ordered a selection of the small tapas dishes so popular on the island, taking their influences from the cuisine of all the larger nations that had colonised it over the years, so plates of grilled vegetables, arancini, bruschetta, cheeses and rich meaty stews had all jostled for attention on the large glass table. Posy had warmed to Guido immediately and they had stayed up long
into the night, drinking the rich red wine so typical of the island and eating until all they could do was lie supine and groan. He was a good conversationalist with a huge knowledge of the island’s myths and traditions and, although Posy knew how hard it must be for him, to have no formal recognition as Alessandro’s partner, no way to mourn publicly, he showed no bitterness or anger.

  ‘They say,’ he’d told her, ‘that anyone who kisses under Neptune’s Arch on the beach under the Villa Rosa will be in love for ever. Alessandro and I would sneak away there sometimes. It was a risk, a crazy risk but it was his way of committing to me. I knew what I was getting into, that we could never really be together, but I know he loved me and he knew how I felt. In the end that’s all that matters.’

  Posy hadn’t been able to look at Nico as Guido had talked. They had kissed under Neptune’s Arch—under it, against it, a lot more than kiss. But it hadn’t been love that lured them there. ‘We used to watch couples sneak onto the beach when I was a kid,’ she’d admitted. ‘It was a tradition for newly engaged couples to come out to the arch by night and kiss there to bring good luck to their lives together. Sofia always knew but she never tried to stop them. She was a big believer in love.’

  What would she say if she knew Posy was even contemplating tying herself into a loveless marriage? She’d be horrified. She’d preferred to live alone and in love than settle for any of her wealthy, adoring admirers.

  ‘Miss Marlowe?’ Melissa’s sharp voice brought Posy back to the far too early morning and she blinked, taking a long sip of her coffee as she did so. ‘Yes. A cause. What do you mean?’