A Wish and a Wedding (12 page)

She burst out into the cool night air with a sigh of relief—the car was there, just where Jazmine had said it would be, and there was a man leaning against the hood with a glass in his hand. Mari ran to the car and jerked the door open before he could move to open it for her. “Take me to the royal pier, please—as fast as you can.”

After a moment, the man said, in a tone of amusement, “Of course, my lady.” He hopped into the driver's side. “The keys are in the ignition. Everything's in place.”

“The King and Queen ordered the car to be ready for me,” Mari replied, trying hard to be pleasant while she was literally squirming. “The palace gates will open when we reach them.” She flicked a glance at the doors she'd left. Were they about to open? “I'd appreciate it if you'd lock the doors,” she said, mindful not to be imperious or cold. “Please,” she added again, turning to the rearview mirror to smile at the man. “Please, I really need to leave
now
.”

After a bare second of hesitation the man started the engine,
gunned it, and let it go. Then they were at the gates, which opened smoothly for them. Mari sat twitching in the back seat, tossing constant glances over her shoulder—

Nothing yet, thank heaven, but he could come at any second. Charlie's gentle, hands-off approach with Mikhail told her how delicate this situation was. It looked as if things might get ugly if she refused him again. Who'd ever have thought ordinary Mari Mitsialos could become entangled in international relations? But this was a kind of importance she'd give anything to not know! “Faster, oh, please go faster,” she pleaded, worst-case scenarios running riot through her head.

A smothered sound like a laugh met her desperate plea, but the limo moved through the gates. As Jazmine had stated they would, they swung closed behind the limo.

Flashes popped as the paparazzi assumed it was the bride and groom. She cringed away from the lights, covering her face; then they were through the thronged crowds. The boom gates and road spikes placed at the end of the private road, for royal safety in case of war, did the job on their pursuit, stopping the cars and bursting the tyres of the motorbikes. There'd be an official apology later, and talk of accidents, no doubt—and in the meantime the royal limo headed at breakneck speed for the royal pier.

A
S HE
drove for the royal pier, the note from the King and Queen of Hellenia lying open by his side, Lysander Marsalis wondered when would be the best time to tell her that he wasn't really a chauffeur, but a duke, with distant ties to the royal family…

The eleventh Duke of Persolis since his brother's retirement to a monastery a year ago, and a royal diplomat for the past decade, Sander was the current minder of the spoiled Royal Highness from whom the King's cousin was currently bolting. He'd been sanctioned by both the King and Queen to discreetly take the girl out of a situation fraught with a hundred potential landmines in the way of international diplomacy.

At the very least he was going to lose his position in Chalnikan for acting against Mikhail's interests—but having been given the orders by both Mikhail's father and Charlie, what else could he do?

“Can't we go any faster…please?”

A grin tugged at reluctant lips. The
please
, like all the others, had been so obviously tacked on as an afterthought. “Not without being arrested, miss.”

“Oh.” She slumped in her seat. “I'm sorry. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble.”

The grin vanished. The girl…Mari…really was worried—and yet she took the time to be concerned about his position as well. She was a nice young woman, far too sweet and innocent
for an infamous playboy prince only after some fun. “Not much longer, miss. In perhaps ten minutes we'll arrive safely.”

Relief rose in her face like the morning sun, until all of her seemed to glow. “Oh,
thank
you. I must seem like a drama queen, but I
really
need to get away.”

In the space of ten minutes Sander had begun to feel as if he was living on a roller coaster. This girl really lived on her emotions. “Was the wedding so bad, miss?”

She rolled her eyes. “You have
no
idea.”

He strongly suspected the title “drama queen” wasn't entirely incorrect. Mari Mitsialos, with her mercurial and vivid emotions rushing across her face like movie panels, was a refreshing change from the languid debutantes and elegantly bored nobles' daughters paraded in royal company every year. Every thought and feeling showed on her face, like sunshine bursting through clouds. She was just…cute.

It was obvious she wasn't born to privilege. In high-society circles one never snapped at underlings; one merely conveyed the impression that disobedience to the slightest whim wasn't an option. But Mari had a cute little wobble in her voice that gave her away.
Please, I need you to do what I want, because I'm so scared you won't, and I'll have no idea what to do then…
With a little training, she could be—

“It's all right, miss, no one's following us,” Sander said in a soothing tone as he saw her twist around to stare through the rear window for at least the twelfth time.

“Ooooh…that's good.
Thank
you.” The girl leaned back against the plush, butter-soft leather, and smiled into the rear vision mirror at him. “Honestly, you have
no
idea what it was like in there.”

The smile lit her face—in fact, it lit the entire car with inner sunshine. Despite her apparent addiction to italicising a word in almost every sentence, Mari Mitsialos was pretty, with long dark curls and sleepy eyes similar to her cousin the Princess Giulia—but when she smiled she was…well,
dazzling.

That smile was lethal. Not that she had dimples or perfect teeth—he couldn't put his finger on what it was. But whatever it was Mari had, she had it in spades. The
It
factor.

He'd known that from the day of Charlie and Jazmine's wedding. Seeing her dancing at the reception, he'd known Mari was unusual. From a shadowed corner he'd watched her laugh and smile and charm every man between fifteen and ninety-five into adoration without even trying. She was…well, lovable.

All of which meant he'd kept a serious distance. Mari was a nice girl, not one for a few nights' fun or discreet liaisons in designated places. And she was the King's cousin.

He had to remember to keep his face stolid, like a servant, as he answered. “I'd have thought a royal wedding with this new royal family would be a lovely affair, miss. You've been to both weddings, if I remember rightly?”

He put a tiny hint of question into the observation, leaving the way free for her to talk if she wanted to. It was obvious she was bursting to say something, to relieve the pressure somehow. Unfortunately her immediate family seemed oblivious to Mikhail's true intent, and pushed her into his arms at every opportunity. Poor girl… He'd noticed—

Don't think about it, Sander.
He had to keep the King and Queen of Hellenia on side. He needed to come out of this madcap experience with some kind of credibility, and that meant a strictly
hands-off
policy.

“Yes, I was at both weddings. I'm first cousin to both Charlie, um, King Kyriacos, and Lia, I mean Princess Giulia,” she replied, with a quiet touch of pride that made Sander squelch another smile. Well, why shouldn't she be proud? From obscurity to the cousin of royalty was a leap in status most people could only dream of.

“The King, the Prince and Princess have brought a breath of fresh air to the nation,” he offered, to see what she'd say next.

“Yes—and it was needed, from what I can see.” Though she spoke without rancour, he felt a touch of defensiveness. She
probably thought he was one of the old King's supporters, wanting to keep the almost medieval status quo.

“Their knowledge of the common people seems to have reinvigorated the country. They've done a lot already in putting Lord Orakis at odds with the people,” he said.

“He can never return after the arson investigation. That was down to Toby—the new Prince. Toby's one of the original good guys. He saved Lia's life, years ago—and he risked his life in that burning building to prove Orakis's guilt. He did that to save Lia. He would do anything to make Lia happy—
anything
.”

Ah, there it was again, the tiny, wistful note. Sander knew then why Mikhail's chase had been fruitless from the start. The extreme romance of the two royal weddings in the Hellenican royal family had infected many a woman around the world, but to be the cousin of the new royalty in love…well, why shouldn't she hold out for real love and a wedding?

“They seem very happy in the pictures I've seen, miss.”

“They've always loved each other. The whole family have been waiting for them to get together for years.” The yearning grew in her voice, misted her milk-chocolate eyes, and her smile was…well,
luminous
—

Beep!

At the indignant honking behind, Sander pulled himself together and looked at the road ahead with fixed determination. He'd known the deal when he took on the position of the Prince's Private Secretary. The King planned on abdicating as soon as Mikhail proved himself worthy. It was Sander's job to get him to that destination on an express train. Taking Mari on a yacht was saving Mikhail from the worst
faux pas
he could make. It was
not
for personal pleasure, no matter how much he derived from merely looking at her.

He was on an excellent wicket with this job, and Charlie and Jazmine had offered him the ripe plum of being Hellenican Representative to the UN if he handled it right. No way was he
about to risk his career, no matter how pretty or tempting Mari Mitsialos happened to be.

“Sorry about that, miss,” he said woodenly, and, after answering her reassurances with dogged politeness and no curiosity, he kept his gaze ahead with absolute determination.

 

Boy, they really have gorgeous chauffeurs here…

Despite his sudden Pinocchio face, Mari couldn't help staring in the rear vision mirror at him. His eyes were almost as green as those she'd seen in the stained-glass windows at the church today, and they
danced
. His dimples seemed grooved from the deepest part of his skin, warming a mouth full and carved from Michelangelo's imagination. Warm honey-brown skin, strong features, a voice of smooth, dark temptation, and an accent that was half-Mediterranean and half-Oxford—oh, what wasn't to like? A Greek god sat in front of her, seemingly risen from the sea on Neptune's trident. Oooh, to see him rise from the water, droplets of Mediterranean-Aegean running down his body…

“KING'S COUSIN RUNS OFF WITH CHAUFFEUR!”

After all Charlie and Lia had done for her family, both before and after their elevation to royalty, could she make a mockery of the new Marandis Royal Family by feeding the paparazzi machine for months on end? No, family came first. Charlie and Lia needed them all to behave with strict propriety. Running away with gorgeous chauffeurs was absolutely in the realms of fantasy.

And he could be married for all you know, with five kids. And even if he was single, and you did know his name, he hasn't once even smiled at you.

She turned her gaze out of the window, to where the aqua-marine Aegean sparkled all along the coast road. Why was it that the men she found irresistible never looked at her, and all the nice guys she found so boring hung around in droves?

Yet when she'd been confronted with the kind of man she'd always dreamed of attracting, she'd discovered the difference
between dream and reality—and she'd realised what a big, old-fashioned, one hundred percent hypocrite she was! What she wanted was a good man to fall to his knees with a big fat diamond, his family lined up behind him in adoring approval of her.

But hey, it hurt nobody to dream, right? And if that daydream face had shifted subtly, so it now had deep-grooved dimples, eyes that sparkled like the ocean in sunlight and a smile that made her heart flutter, what did it matter?

“What do they
all
matter? Line up, fantasy number four hundred and thirty-seven,” she muttered in disgust—and then realised she'd said it aloud. She peered at the driver's face again, and blushed when those dancing-in-the-waves eyes met hers, his deliciously masculine mouth quivering to hold in a smile. “Sorry,” she said, with a rueful sigh. What was the point in being embarrassed? “I know—talking to myself is a bad habit.”

“It's said all the world's geniuses talk to themselves,” the driver said gravely enough, his eyes still twinkling.

“Thanks, but you don't believe I'm in their number any more than I do.” She shrugged and laughed, her hands lifting in mock-surrender. “But I haven't hurt anyone yet.”

“I'm glad of that, miss,” he replied, with such fervour she laughed again.

“My name's Mari,” she offered, putting out her hand, hoping to hear his name in return.

After a visible hesitation, he said, “I'm Lysander, miss.”

Though feeling the sting of the untaken hand, Mari felt her brow lift. “So you're named for the famed general and friend of Cyrus, the conquering prince of Persia. Your parents gave you a lot to live up to,” she said, grinning.

Lysander's mouth twitched again—then the wooden demeanour returned as he pulled off the road and rolled up smoothly to a guarded gate.

The guard stepped out of the small guardhouse, frowning at Lysander. Lysander produced the Queen's letter, and after a moment the man nodded and returned inside.

The car moved through the gate, and it closed behind them. The yacht Jazmine had called
small
was enormous, at least two hundred feet—which begged the question: what size was the
big
yacht? —and, judging by the appointments on the outside, absolutely oozed luxury. It bobbed in the calm waters before her in a silent siren call.
Come and play…

Playing wasn't on the agenda. All she needed to do was to get on board safely, spend a few days there until Mikhail left Hellenia, then she could return to her safe, anonymous life.

“Hurry, oh, please hurry,” she murmured, feeling urgency grab hold of her.

In answer, Lysander murmured quiet words into an intercom-style phone—and she saw the gangplank move and a larger one take its place a level down. It was wide enough for a car…and a dark, gaping hole had opened high up in the yacht.

Lysander drove into the yacht's hull, and blessed cool darkness filled the car, like a benediction of safety.

“Thank you, Lysander,” she breathed as the hole closed up behind them and she heard the engines start up. “Please, let's take off—push off—whatever it is boats do.”

She heard a choked-off sound as he opened his door and came around to open hers. In the darkness, his face glowed in the subdued lighting of the limo—and she saw he was laughing. It didn't matter if his lips were under total control, his dimples danced, just as his eyes did—and the combination fascinated her. “Aye, aye, Miss Mari. I'll go to the Captain right away and convey your orders to him.”

She felt intense relief fill her. “So you're coming with me?” And she was
not
thinking of having his company for the next few days—just the fact that she wouldn't be alone.

His eyes darkened as the laughter died. “The Queen's letter makes it perfectly clear—I'm to look after you.” The slight bow of his head was touched with respect and filled with irony. “So until my orders change, Miss Mitsialos, your wish is my command.”